Death and the Cornish Fiddler (10 page)

John slowed his pace. “You don’t like the child, do you?”
 

Tim chuckled, sounding quite human. “I can’t stand her. In fact I’ve disliked her ever since I first saw her.”

“Then why…?”

“Money, old boy. Mrs Pill is damnable rich. Old man Pill was a wealthy merchant and when he shuffled off, his widow gained the lot. Now I’m quite happy to admit I am delighted to be a kept man. It seems to me that work is something to be avoided if at all possible. By the way, you surprised me today. I had no idea you were an apothecary.”

“Really? Well I have been since I was sixteen.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s how old I was when I began my indentures.” John allowed a small smile to cross his features as he thought of his old Master. But Tim was continuing to talk.

“Anyhow that wily old bird Pill left a clause in his will that means his widow loses all her money should she remarry. So I have to remain the perpetual lover, which is wretchedly tiring let me assure you.”

John could not help but grin by the frankness with which it was all said. Then he thought of Elizabeth, of her strangely beautiful face with its ugly scar, of her strong, almost masculine, body, of the thrall she held him in, and determined to regularise their situation.

As if reading his thoughts, Painter said, “That’s a handsome piece you’re involved with. What exactly is your relationship?”

John gave him an amused glance. “Were close friends - that is all.”

“All?”

“Yes,” the Apothecary answered shortly, and let the matter drop.

They had been searching while they spoke, going up to the top of the town until it vanished into trees and countryside. There was no sign of Isobel but undeterred, knowing that she could not be far away, they came back and searched the length of Meneage Street. The crowd had now thinned and the dancing had ceased in this particular spot. John, looking at his watch, saw that it was three o’clock and realised that the gentry folk had all gone to tea. Distantly he could hear the sound of the Cornish fiddler - as he had come to think of the man - but all was quiet elsewhere.

“Where
is
the wretched girl?” Tim asked in exasperation.

“Probably back in the bosom of her mother by now.”

“Well I suggest we return to The Angel and have some ale. I’m sick to infirmity of looking for the child.”

“So am I,” answered John, feeling tired and longing to sit with Elizabeth and just talk.

They exchanged a glance and then went into the hostelry. There was no sign of the Marchesa but the three ladies, namely Mrs Legassick, Mrs Bligh, and the omnipresent Anne Anstey, were partaking of afternoon tea. They made much of the arrival of the two men, inviting them to join them. Tim Painter refused, quite abruptly John thought.

“Thank you, but no. Mr Rawlings and I are bound for the taproom.”

Anne Anstey made a moue and smiled widely. “How tired you gentlemen must be. Did you find little Isobel?”

“No. Isn’t she here?” asked Tim, surprised out of his lethargy.

“We haven’t seen her,” said Mrs Bligh.

“God’s life. Perhaps she’s gone directly upstairs.” He turned to John. “Rawlings, old chap, go and check the situation for me. I can’t abide any more of Mrs P’s hysterics.” And with that that most handsome of creatures strode off in the direction of the bar.

John, only too aware of Anne Anstey’s warm glances, bowed and left them equally quickly, climbing the stairs to where he knew Kathryn was lying, hopefully unconscious. The physic he had given her had been a combination of mistletoe, valerian root and vervain in equal parts. This was a well-known remedy for nervous disorders and should also have had a certain sedative effect. Hoping for the best, the Apothecary knocked extremely gently on the door.

Somewhat to his dismay a voice immediately answered, “Come in.”

She was sleepy, there was no doubt about that, but had not actually gone to sleep. Instead Mrs Pill lay in a darkened room, her eyes closed but for all that still conscious.

“Isobel? Have you found her?”

“She was in the vicinity of the church, Mrs Pill. She is perfectly safe and has not fallen into the Loe Pool.”

Kathryn reared up in the bed, looking far from attractive. “Where is she? Is she downstairs?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then where have you hidden her? What’s happening? Oh God, spare me from further misery.”

She started to weep again and John’s hand automatically reached for the salts which he always carried about his person.

“Mrs Pill, please don’t distress yourself. Take a deep breath from this bottle.”

“I don’t want your horrid sniffs. Take them away. What have you done with my girl? Where have you hidden her? What game are you playing with me, Apothecary?”

“None at all, I assure you, Madam. The fact is that Mr Painter and I must have missed her by ten minutes or so. We then searched the town high and low but I’m afraid that Isobel eluded us.”

“So she’s still not been found?”

“No,” John answered flatly, “I’m sorry but those are the facts.”

Mrs Pill let out a terrible gurgle and fell back on the bed with a thud. Realising that the shock had been too great and she had fainted, the Apothecary hurried to her side.

His medical bag was downstairs where he had left it earlier and now he ran down to retrieve it. Thankfully all the ladies had gone about their business and the parlour was empty. Snatching the bag up, John hurried back to his patient, and while she was unconscious took the opportunity of administering some more of the sedative he had given her previously. Then by holding his salts beneath her nose he brought her round once more.

She wept quietly and the Apothecary felt so sorry for her that he put his arms round her.

“She will come back,” he said, but even as he uttered the words he wondered to himself whether he was speaking the truth.

Tim Painter was well away by the time John caught up with him. He had also been joined by young Nicholas Kitto, this evening looking like a sleek and happy ginger cat, wearing an emerald green suit cut by a tailor from Redruth, or so he informed the Apothecary. This particular garment enhanced his naturally red hair and freckles so that with his strangely fine features the fellow looked positively handsome.

“Are you coming to the ball tonight?” he enquired of the other two men.

“No, I shall remain here and see what’s what,” Tim answered, slanting his eyes.

“I would like to go. How does one get hold of tickets?” said John.

“From the landlord of The Angel. The ballroom is here. But hurry, it may well be sold out.”

At that moment from the street outside there came the familiar strains of music and Elizabeth appeared bearing Rose, large-eyed, in her wake. There was the usual stirring of male disapproval but the Marchesa ignored it and walked up to the group fearlessly.

“Gentlemen, good evening. As you can hear the dancers are returning. Tell me, did you find the child?”

“Little beast eluded captivity once more,” answered Tim in his beautiful voice, never taking his eyes off the Marchesa, who returned look for look.

Nicholas turned to John. “Sir, will you present me to the lady?”

The Apothecary, feeling somewhat put out, performed the introductions, remarking as he did so how charmingly Elizabeth curtsied and how well Nicholas conducted himself while the formalities were obeyed.

Rose, meanwhile, took refuge behind her father’s legs, staring out at all that was taking place with all-seeing eyes. John, suddenly aware of her presence, bent down to her.

“Shall we go outside and watch the dancers, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Papa. I would like that.”

He straightened up and looked at Elizabeth. “Rose and I are going to see what is going on. Would you care to join us?”

“Very much. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Both Nicholas and Tim made disapproving noises but accepted the Marchesa’s departure with reasonable grace. Once outside, she turned to John with a brilliant look.

“I have bought two tickets for the ball tonight. Do you want to come or should I ask Tim Painter to accompany me?”

“Are you serious?” John asked severely.

“Of course not. I would prefer to dance with you.”

“Then nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be your partner.”

Elizabeth looked business-like. “What is happening about Isobel? Had she been seen or was it just a false rumour?”

“No, the Vicar saw her near the church. It’s the damnedest thing but the child is definitely avoiding capture.”

“Why? Nobody is cruel to her. In fact her mother dotes on her, I would say.”

“Yes, but Tim might be handy with his fists. He openly admits that he dislikes the child.”

The Marchesa shook her head. “No, he hasn’t got it in him to beat anyone. He’s too indolent; too relaxed. The only thing that would arouse him from his torpor is the pursuit of a pretty woman.”

“He is involved with Mrs Pill because she has been left a considerable amount of cash apparently.”

“I thought it would be something like that.”

Rose, whom they had temporarily forgotten, suddenly piped up, “Oh see the ladies. Don’t they look strange.”

John followed the line of her pointing finger and saw Mrs Legassick, Mrs Bligh and Mrs Anstey cavorting down the street in what appeared to be an odd form of morris dance. Partnering them were the two brothers, Geoffrey and Gregory Colquite, and their cousins Eustace Sayce and Herbert Reece. What it was about the dance that was unusual the Apothecary could not possibly have said. But it seemed as if all seven of them were abandoning themselves to the music, dancing wildly and as if their very lives depended on it. Even respectable Muriel Legassick appeared to be quite worked up, her little mouth in a tight line, her eyes glistening. John smiled to himself, glad to see such a decent bunch of people enjoying themselves in so uninhibited a manner.

“Odds my life,” said Elizabeth, laughing to herself, “I’m sure they rival the Furry Dancers themselves.”

But she had spoken too soon, for down the street in a great and colourful line were coming the gentry folk, refreshed and ready to dance the night away. Watching them, the Apothecary thought them almost magical; the women dressed finely in vivid colours, hats and bonnets upon their heads, the men in their turn in their best clothes, glittering buckles winking upon their shoes as they whirled their partners in the brilliant sunlight. And it was then that he caught a glimpse - and glimpse only it was - of little Isobel. Just for a second the crowd of onlookers across the street parted and he distinctly saw her, dancing along, parodying the adults. He caught her eye, gestured to her, called her name. She heard him, stared at him, then she vanished once more, and it was with that one brief sighting he had to be content. Even if he hadn’t caught her he knew she was safe and would no doubt return when she finally grew tired.

By the end of the evening he was deeply in love. The sight of Elizabeth in white muslin, her black hair cascading round her shoulders, worn loose and unconventional, had driven him practically mad. As he had partnered her through the dances for six or eight couples he resented the moments when he had to leave her and dance with the other women in the set, glad when she put her gloved hand back in his and gave him an unreadable glance. That she was deliberately playing with him the Apothecary had no doubt, but he had no power to prevent it.

Emilia was starting to fade into memory, yet she would still come in the night to haunt his dreams. Had he loved her as much as he loved Elizabeth he asked himself? Yet there could be no comparison of the depth of his feelings. He felt that his marriage and all the many memories that were attached to it had assumed an almost unreal quality and that Emilia herself was beginning to slip away.

Yet even in thinking of the future the Apothecary knew that difficulties lay ahead. As soon as his visit to Cornwell was ended he must return to London. And he felt certain that Elizabeth would refuse to accompany him. Therefore his principal challenge lay in persuading her to give up her country seat and to dwell with him in town. Yet how he was going to do it he had no idea. With a determined effort, John tried to put the whole problem out of his mind and concentrate instead on having a thoroughly good time.

Elizabeth looked up at him. “What are you thinking?”

“About Emilia,” he answered truthfully.

“You loved her very much,” she replied, not as a question but a statement of fact.

“Yes I did.” He held her close. “But now I have fallen in love with you, Elizabeth. In fact with each passing day it grows a little more.”

She smiled at him quizzically. “You’re certain of this?”

“Positive.”

The Marchesa gave him an inscrutable glance. “And you are contemplating proposing to me, no doubt?”

“Well, I…”

“My sweetest Apothecary, I love you too. Who wouldn’t? But I will never marry you. Of that you may rest assured.”

And so saying she whirled him off his feet in a lively jig.

Chapter 10