Death on the Rocks (23 page)

She moved her arms rapidly and a wisp of hair fell out of her hat and bobbed in the breeze. Mrs Lightpill looked terrified but merely nodded her head. Miss Thorney continued relentlessly.

‘Talking of ladies, I saw the strangest thing t’other night. You know that little village of Clifton? Well, I was invited up there to partake of a little cold collation with my friend Miss Wilson. She is a companion to the Honourable Mrs Anstruther – such a martinet, I fear. Anyway, as I was saying, I was invited to sup. Well, my dear Mrs Lightpill, I was fair put out by the thought of how to get there. Anyway, Sir Geoffrey most kindly lent me his coach because he was retiring early, having a bad attack of the gout. He is a martyr to it, my dear, a martyr. Well, I was saying, I had the most terrible journey there up the steepest of hills. I was thrown about like a shipwrecked spar …’

She laughed suddenly and very loudly, a noise which made Mrs Lightpill jump with fright.

‘… but eventually reached the top. We drew level with those horrid steps – you know the ones, carved out of the rock – and there was a woman at the top on her hands and knees, scrubbing them. I could hardly believe my eyes.’

John, who had been trying not to listen, suddenly strained his ears. Mrs Lightpill, who had not said a word up till now, whispered, ‘Why was that?’

Miss Thorney, mistaking her, said impatiently, ‘Because it was such a silly thing to see. A woman of quality scrubbing steps in the darkness, the only light thrown by a watchman’s lantern. I think she must have spilled something or other.’

Mrs Lightpill went pale but said nothing.

‘I knew she was a woman of quality by the cut of her cloak. Very grand it was. Anyway, as soon as she heard the carriage she dived into the shadows and I went on to Royal York Street. Miss Wilson lives at the very best address, you know.’

‘Well, who was it?’ Mrs Lightpill asked eventually.

‘Who was who?’

‘The woman scrubbing the steps?’

Miss Thorney looked thoroughly put out. ‘Well how should I know? Her face was hidden by her hood. It could have been anyone.’

Mrs Lightpill nodded meekly. John stood up and made his way to Miss Thorney’s table, at which he bowed very courteously. She looked startled, though Mrs Lightpill looked relieved.

‘Ladies, good day to you. I trust you will recall me. I am John Rawlings, son of Sir Gabriel Kent.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Miss Thorney nodded her head vigorously and some more of her hair fell down. ‘Won’t you join us? We’re quite put out for a little male company.’

John bowed again and said, ‘The pleasure would be entirely mine. May I get you ladies some more coffee?’

‘Too kind, too kind,’ gushed Miss Thorney.

The order placed, John turned to her wearing his honest citizen face. ‘Forgive me, Madam, but I could not help but overhear what you said just now. Pray tell me, how can you be so certain it was a woman?’

Miss Thorney heaved her shoulders and went a bright poppy red. ‘Because as she stood up from the scrubbing her cloak slipped back and I saw the outline of her …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, her womanly things.’

‘You mean her breasts?’

Miss Thorney gave a subdued squeal and whispered, ‘Yes.’

So this was news indeed. The woman putting goose fat on the steps had been witnessed. But who was she? In his mind, though he continued to smile and nod at Miss Thorney, John ran through the list. There was Augustus’s bastard, Maud; her ghastly old mother; Lady Dartington; Lady Tyninghame; Lady Tavener; and the Honourable Titania Groves. None of them seemed a remote possibility. Inwardly the Apothecary groaned. Surely it was not possible that a stranger had entered the equation at this late stage. Abigail Thorney’s voice broke in on his thoughts.

‘Well, I must be going, Mr Rawlings. I have all Sir Geoffrey’s packing to do before he leaves for Bath. And a great many items to be given to the launderess,’ she added in a sinister voice. ‘Are you coming, Mrs Lightpill?’

The tiny woman spoke. ‘No, I will remain here for five minutes, Miss Thorney, if it please you.’

‘Oh very well. Suit yourself.’

John rose to his feet and bowed yet again and Miss Thorney swept off, the last of her hair descending with a thrust of her head. Mrs Lightpill smiled at John and he smiled back.

‘Miss Thorney can be very commanding,’ she murmured.

‘Indeed she can,’ he answered, and patted her little gloved hand.

It being so near the end of the season, the last celebrations were now in place, and so it was with the ball held in the Upper Long Room. It was to be a special occasion and there was an air of some excitement among the guests gathered to celebrate the event.

John was dressed very finely in crimson satin with white waistcoat, and Gilbert Farr had made a great effort and appeared looking mysterious in midnight blue. But neither of them could hold a candle to the elegant Sir Julian Wychwood, who made a great flurry over his entrance, dressed in silver brocade with stark black adornment. Women turned their heads to stare and men looked at the floor as the saturnine seducer walked the length of the floor and bowed before Miss Groves. She blushed like a rosebud and allowed him to lead her out for the first dance.

‘I’ve something to tell you,’ John whispered urgently to Gilbert.

‘Be quick. I’ve got to join the dancers.’

‘It’s—’

But too late. Lady Dartington was bearing down on him, quizzer raised. ‘Ah, Mr Rawlings. Where have you been? I have not noticed you this last day or two.’

He made a fulsome bow. ‘I have been hither and yon, my Lady.’

‘Are you going on to Bath?’

‘Unfortunately no. My father and I are returning to London to settle in for the winter.’

She lowered her voice. ‘I hope that wretched fellow is not coming.’ Her eyes indicated Sir Julian, who was stepping out in a sprightly fashion with Titania. ‘He has quite turned my daughter’s head. But fortunately he seems greatly attached to Lady Tyninghame and she to him.’

‘Yes, I had noticed that.’

‘If you ask my opinion she is head over heels in love with him – quite unsuitably, I might add.’

‘Why is that?’ John asked politely.

‘Because she is a deal too old for him. There is much talk of it behind the fans.’

‘Gracious!’ John answered, looking suitably shocked. ‘And what of him? Does he have an equal
tendresse
for her?’

Lady Dartington gave what would have been the equivalent of a snort in a person of lesser degree.

‘I should hardly think so. He is using the poor fool for what he can get out of her.’

John nodded and attempted to look wise, though he was having some difficulty in subduing a smile. The Hotwell, like every other place on earth, was alive with gossip and scandal mongering. He gave a short but polite bow.

‘Excuse me, Lady Dartington, I spy my father over there. I really must join him.’

Tonight the great beau shimmered like a dark flame, his high old-fashioned wig sitting well upon his head, his strong features alive and interested, yet John saw to his immense sadness that the old fellow was at long last starting to slow up, that the great fire which had been his father was beginning to burn low. An irrepressible sob caught in the Apothecary’s throat as he considered Sir Gabriel’s mortality. Yet the face of his son showed not a trace of these thoughts as he bowed before his father and said, ‘Good evening, Sir. May I mention how very fine you look.’

‘As do you, my boy. As does everyone. What a well-dressed company there is here tonight.’

John was about to answer, but as the dance ended a sudden hush fell over the room and the Master of Ceremonies announced, ‘Lady Tyninghame.’

She was both fragile and lovely to a heart-breaking degree, clad from head to toe in lavender satin with lilac adornments, the material swirling round her slim form and accentuating her delicate features. The Apothecary almost clapped as she walked into the room unaccompanied. Immediately Sir Julian, dark beast to her pale beauty, was at her side, kissing her hand and making a great to-do of greeting her.

Sir Gabriel looked at John and raised a finely chiselled eyebrow. ‘A love match?’ he said.

His son looked thoughtful. ‘I’m not so sure,’ he answered.

The next dance was called and though Sir Gabriel decided to remain seated and consume a glass of punch, John felt obliged to bow before Miss Abigail Thorney, who was sitting amongst a collection of mothers and spinsters, trying to look animated. She went the colour of a beetroot and stood up, knocking a thin woman half off her seat as she did so.

‘Oh, Mr Rawlings,’ she gushed. ‘Do you really want to dance with me?’

‘It would be my pleasure, Madam.’

She danced like a haystack as well, this one caught in a violent wind. Whirling about, clapping her hands with excitement, she laughed so much that she did not notice the other dancers smiling as well. John rather enjoyed himself and cavorted vigorously, until, with a great chord from the orchestra, Miss Thorney fell over and was helped up by various gentlemen amidst cries of ‘Oh, how foolish I am,’ and ‘Please excuse, silly me.’ Afterwards John escorted her to the punch bowl and ladled her a glass while she looked round the room, smiling contentedly. And then her eye was caught by something and she began to stare fixedly. John, following her gaze, saw that it was trained on a couple who stood a little outside the rest of the happy dancers. It was Lady Tyninghame and Julian Wychwood, talking earnestly, she gazing up into his face, which she suddenly put both hands up to and pulled towards her to kiss him fondly on the cheek.

Miss Thorney let out an exclamation of surprise. John smiled.

‘I agree. It is rather public a place for a caress.’

She looked up at him, her expression concerned. ‘It’s not that, it’s just …’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. For a split second I thought … But it’s only silly me. Please pay no attention.’

‘But what startled you?’

‘Just for a moment she looked awfully familiar. But then she has been around here for the season, so that would explain it.’

‘Yes,’ said John, but looked terribly thoughtful.

Another dance was called and this time he partnered Titania Groves. But in the middle of all the whirling and stamping he thought of Elizabeth and how much she would have enjoyed the occasion. She was always in the background of his mind, but John was a born survivor, which meant that though he had come face to face with personal loss twice in his life, he would not and could not let it bring him down. He felt as deeply as those who made a great show of sorrow, wearing their widowed state like a mourning ring for the rest of their days, but he could not join them. He was too strong a character to allow it.

The dance ended and he made his way to where Lady Tyninghame and Sir Julian had been standing together. But the doors leading from the Long Room were open and he realised that they had stepped out onto the balcony together. Feeling slightly dishonest but for all that extremely interested, John paused in the opening and listened.

‘You are beautiful,’ came a voice, not Julian to Violetta but the other way round.

Julian laughed in the silvery moonlight. ‘Come now, my dear, surely that is going a little far?’

‘No, darling, I mean it. You are outstanding. In all my wildest imaginings I never thought you could be so fine.’

‘Flattery will turn my head. But I must say I enjoy it.’

‘Surely you must get enough of that from that Titania?’

‘I’ve told you already, I like her well enough but that is all there is to it. The most wonderful thing about this season was meeting you. And of all places in this funny little spa.’

‘Fate brought us together, Julian. I really believe that.’

But there the eavesdropping ended as some other dancers made their way out and John was forced to relinquish his place in the doorway. That Violetta and Julian were lovers he was now certain. But what of his other ideas? At the present time there was no answer to them.

Probably because he had thought of Elizabeth during the dance, he dreamt of her that night. He was in a boat, far out at sea, which was hit by a sudden squall. It began to founder and in the dream John was washed overboard. He started to swim but after a while ran out of energy and felt his head go under the waves. Then a pair of strong arms seized him round the waist and bore him back up to the surface. He turned and saw that Elizabeth was there, swimming with him, holding him up.

‘So you
did
become a mermaid,’ he said in the dream.

‘Oh yes,’ she said, and smiled her gorgeous smile, ‘and I’ll always swim beside you.’

John woke abruptly, scared for some strange reason because the dream had been a reassuring one, and then realised that there was a persistent tapping at his door. It was not loud and threatening but a constant sound which sent a chill down John’s spine.

‘Who’s there?’ he called.

There was no answer, but the sound continued, growing a little more urgent.

‘Who is it?’ he called again.

This time someone spoke at the other side of the door and John was able to make out that it was a man, but whoever it was said their name so softly that John could not catch it. Reluctantly, he got out of bed, lit a candle and threw a loose silk gown over his night shirt. Then he went to the door. Outside stood a shadowy figure.

‘Come forward,’ John ordered. ‘Step into the light that I might see your face.’

Samson took a pace in, his tall frame filling the doorway.

‘Master,’ he said.

‘What is it?’

Samson sank onto one knee. ‘Master, I’ve come to confess.’

John stared at Samson. ‘What for?’

‘Why, for the murder, Sir. The murder of Augustus Bagot.’

John gaped. ‘Why you of all people?’

Samson looked at him without a flicker of emotion. ‘I did it, Sir. That’s why I’ve come to confess to you.’

‘Well you’d best enter and tell me about it.’

Samson’s large frame threw an enormous shadow on the wall as he gingerly sat on the end of John’s bed, while the Apothecary parked himself on the one chair that was in there.