Death in the West Wind (3 page)

“I would have thought as much,” she answered acidly.

Jan shot her a reproving glance. “I, too, have suffered from them recently and in my case the malaise is brought about by worry.”

“Certainly one of the causes,” John answered pleasantly.

“What are the others?” asked Richard.

The Apothecary shrugged a fashionable shoulder. “There are so many. Tension, eye strain, a surfeit of wine, general debility, to name but a few.”

“I get them at school,” the spotty boy replied thoughtfully. “I reckon that would be too much studying. Indeed I shall be glad to get out of the academic place and on to Oxford.”

Emilia laughed. “Surely that will be equally academic.”

“But at least I’ll be treated as a scholar and not some grubby little inker.”

She laughed again, much amused, and Richard looked suitably gratified.

His sister bent her head toward him, her hair glistening. “Won’t you miss all your “ friends?”

It was an innocent enough remark but he paused, his fork arrested on its journey to his mouth. “What do you mean?” he said thickly.

Juliana smiled. “Simply that. Won’t you miss your friends?”

“Yes,” Richard answered, filled his mouth, swallowed, then gulped noisily.

What a curious exchange, thought John. Van Guylder clearly felt the need to explain. “The Grammar School is very good, you know, even though Richard complains of hard work. It was founded in the reign of Charles I for the instruction of the sons of freemen. Now, however, it caters for the offspring of the middle classes. Nonetheless, younger boys from the aristocracy appear there from time to time and I must say that Richard has got in with a very good social set. He is invited to some splendid homes. He has even been to stay with the Rolles.”

Emilia looked blank and Juliana, over- sweetly, said, “A very prominent family. John Rolle has been a Member of Parliament for Exeter.”

“How fortunate for you,” came the equally sweet reply, “that your brother moves in such circles. That must open many doors for you too, Miss van Guylder.”

Richard rushed in with all the naivety of youth. “My friends call Juliana, “the Belle”.”

“How lovely,” said Emilia, smiling sugar.

To say, thought John, surveying them, that this was a family not at ease with itself was understating the case. Tensions and hidden thoughts bubbled just beneath the surface, particularly emanating from the complex Juliana, whom he had already marked down as a bitch with a secret. So it was a relief when the two ladies retired and he was left alone with the Dutchman and his son. Port was passed and an odd kind of peace descended beneath the blue clouds of good Dutch tobacco smoked in long pipes made in Topsham, the bowls decorated with marguerites, the motif of the town’s patron saint, Margaret.

“Juliana is very beautiful,” said John, speaking his thoughts aloud.

“Too much so for her own good,” Jan answered gloomily.

“How can anyone be too beautiful?” said Richard, sounding just fractionally drunk. “That remark is nonsensical, Father.”

“If I may say, you know nothing about it, boy. You are still a child in the ways of the world and if you are going to speak to me so, I would suggest you go to your room and stay there.”

His son rose to his feet, his face pale, his” pimples on fire. “I know a great deal more about the world than you imagine, Sir. But I shall do as you wish and leave the company.

Good night to you, Mr. Rawlings.” Richard turned in the doorway. “One day you’ll find out just how much I understand about society, my dear father. And I look forward to you doing so.”

So saying, he was gone, leaving John to gaze at his host in rather an embarrassed silence.

*
 
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*

“I did not enjoy that occasion,” said Emilia, stretching out beside her husband in the fresh white linen of their bed in The Salutation. “I thought it was most rude of them to argue like that in front of us.”

“It was certainly very difficult for the guests, though the three of “em didn’t so much disagree as make digs at one another. I pity poor van Guylder his situation, I truly do.”

“He should enforce greater discipline,” Emilia stated firmly. “That girl needs putting in her place.”

“I still think she is a victim of circumstance. It can’t have been easy to lose her mother so young.”

“I suppose you’ll be sorry for that silly, spotty boy next.”

“Of course I am. He’s clearly in with a crowd of demi-rips and choice spirits who are most likely leading him astray. He’s probably struggling to keep up with them.”

“You’re so tolerant,” said Emilia with a note of exasperation. “Don’t you ever get cross with anyone?”

“Frequently,” answered John, and thought of Coralie Clive and how enormously angry he had been with her.

“But not with me?”

“No, not with you.”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” he answered and snuggled down beside her in the bed to show her just how much.

2

W
hy John woke quite so punishingly early the next morning he didn’t at first understand. Then he realised that he had not slept deeply but had spent most of the night considering the problems of the van Guylders and worrying about how their situation would resolve. For after Richard had left the room his father had truly opened his heart, relating such a tale of sadly failed relationships that John had felt himself at a loss as to what to say that did not sound trite. His instinct that van Guylder badly needed to talk had proved absolutely right. The man clearly longed for the advice of someone outside not only the family circle but also the busybody grapevine of Topsham. And it had been the Apothecary’s fate, for better or worse, that he had been the one.

Glancing at his watch, John saw that it was still only half-past five and though there was light in the sky, dawn had not yet broken. Beside him, sweetly serene, Emilia slumbered peacefully, but he was too wide awake to contemplate further sleep. Moving quietly so as not to disturb her, John carefully got out of bed and dressed as best he could in the fitful light. Then opening the bedroom door just enough to slip through, he closed it silently behind him.

The inn’s servants were already up and at their tasks but despite the tempting smells emanating from the kitchen, the Apothecary decided to have breakfast with his wife and work up an even greater appetite by walking along the riverbank for half an hour. Consequently he wrapped himself in an enveloping cloak, for it was a sharp morning, put his hat on his head and, turning out of the hostelry, made his way to the quays.

It may have been early but the riverside was already swarming with people. Great ships had come in during the night and now that there was enough light to see, the unloading of their cargoes had begun. Holds stood open and hoists lifted out bundles and barrels and crates which were caught by the brawny-armed dockworkers and carried ashore. In the midst of this activity a coach plied for hire beside a notice reading Topsham to Exeter Return, Runs Twelve Times a Day, One Shilling. Some early travellers were already getting aboard and the Apothecary could not help but glimpse Richard van Guylder, soberly dressed and clearly heading for school before lessons began. However he had not expected to see the beautiful Juliana abroad at this daunting hour. But there she was, being helped into the coach by her brother, clad in a black velvet cloak, pale as a wraith inside its dark folds. Her skin seemed drained, transparent almost, and the expression on her face was so devoid of animation, so lifeless, that she seemed as if she were on the point of death. Judging by her appearance, there could be little doubt that some sort of malaise affected the girl. Desperately concerned for her, John stepped forward. “Miss Juliana, Richard, good morning.” They both jumped and shot him the most guilty of glances and the Apothecary realised that he should have left them alone, that Juliana was probably going to Exeter without her father’s knowledge and the last thing she wanted was to run into someone she knew.

“Good morning,” Richard answered sullenly, but though her lips moved Juliana did not utter a word.

John attempted to cover his gaffe. “Just taking the air early, though I must be getting back. My wife will be wondering where I am.” The boy managed a half smile. “Do send her my regards, Sir.”

The Apothecary decided to do what he had originally intended. Producing a card from an inner pocket he handed it to Juliana. “If you should ever suffer with the headache or any other condition, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I can deal by post and you are probably bored to sobs with all the local apothecaries.”

She met his eye and a slight flush came into her ashen cheeks, but her words were forceful enough. “If ever I need you I’ll let you know,” she said, and taking the card dropped it into the reticule that hung over her wrist.

Richard frowned at this but before he could say a word the coachman consulted his watch and called out loudly, “Any more, if you please? We leave punctually in one minute.”

“Bon voyage,” said John, and raising his hat, bowed a farewell. His last sight of Juliana was looking back at him through the coach’s small rear window, her expression restored to its usual cat-like secrecy, as the carriage moved off to Exeter.

*
 
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*

“Where shall we go today?” asked Emilia, spreading marmalade upon a thin slice of toast.

John, who was tackling a mound of ham and eggs, indicated that his mouth was full and that he could not speak for a moment or two. Then he said, “Down at the harbour some old sea dog told me that a spell of unseasonably hot weather is coming.”

“I thought it felt rather cold.”

“So it does, but he explained all that. He said the wind had changed to the north but that it was about to veer westward again, bringing warm weather from the Scilly Isles which, according to him, have been baking hot for the last few days.”

“He was romancing.”

“On the contrary. He seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. The
Daisy
had just come in from Tresco and the crew had told him all about it. He said they were practically black with tan. So, my darling, in view of this I would like to take the opportunity to swim in the sea, it now being the consensus that sea water is as beneficial to the health as that of a spa.”

“You’re interested in the properties of water, aren’t you?”

“Did I tell you that?”

“No, Samuel did. He said you experiment with putting bubbles into drinking water.”

“I have done in the past, though I still can’t get it right. I thought I might build myself a little laboratory in Kensington and try again.” Emilia smiled. “I can just see you surrounded by gurgling alembics like a magician of ancient legend.”

“Merlin, perhaps?”

She considered. “Grow a beard and one could hardly tell the difference.”

“You are a very rude young woman. Now, can you swim?”

“Yes. My brothers threw me into the river when I was very young. It was that or drowning.”

“Then we shall take to the ocean together.” Emilia shivered. “Not if it’s as cold as this.”

“Wait and see. These old salts always know what’s going to happen.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t like to see you die of a chill.”

“I wouldn’t relish it much either, come to that.”

For some reason John had decided not to tell Emilia about his early morning encounter with Juliana and Richard. Despite the girl’s sarcastic manner, he felt that the Dutchman’s daughter bore a secret and was perhaps involved in something she could not control, so should be pitied rather than disliked. But aware of his bride’s antipathy, the Apothecary chose to keep the latest news to himself and was glad that the present conversation was merely banter. He decided to continue it that way, at least for the time being.

“So where are we going?” Emilia was asking.

“The sea dog told me that Sidmouth was a fine place for bathing and had recently started to become popular with genteel folk.”

“Well that won’t suit you,” his wife commented, roaring with laughter.

“What do you mean?”

“That never in my entire life have I ever met anyone less genteel than yourself.”

“I shall take that as the greatest compliment you have ever paid me,” John replied with dignity. “Now, my dear, hurry up and pack your things. I want to see this miracle of the changing weather for myself.”And so they did, proceeding out of the city on one of the coaching roads to the West, passing a hostelry named the Half Way House, supposedly because it was halfway between London and Falmouth, then travelling several miles further on before they turned down a somewhat evil track and headed towards the sea.

“There,” said John, “I told you.”

“What?”

“The wind’s changed, can’t you feel it?”

“Yes,” said Emilia, “I can. Oh let’s get out for a moment, John. I’d love my first glimpse of the sea to be on foot.”

The Apothecary thumped on the coach’s roof with his great stick. “Stop a minute, Tom. We’re going to walk for a while.”

So it was that they rounded a bend in the track, strolling hand in hand, and saw, gleaming like silver in the sun, a distant dazzling flash of argent.