Death and the Cornish Fiddler (20 page)

“That is partly correct,” she answered, just a shade too quickly as if what she was saying had been often repeated. “Nicholas is indeed my nephew, he is my late sister’s child. She was a Miss Ennis but married a Mr Kitto.”

John put on his best sorrowful face. “And she has passed to her rest?”

“Yes, indeed. I attended her at the birth but, alas, it was too much for her.”

“And Mr Kitto senior?” asked the Apothecary in saddened tones.

The Vicar cleared his throat. “He died before the child was born, Lord forgive us.”

“What a wretched tale,” said John, and gave Nick’s female relation a beatific smile. He turned to Mr Robinson once more. “Well, Sir, I must be off. It has been so nice conversing with you.”

“Likewise, my son. God bless you.”

“Thank you.”

Placing his hat onto his head with a flourish, John Rawlings started to walk away but not before he had taken a good look at the hair colouring of the ovate woman. It was, as he had known it would be, definitely red in shade.

So that was it. She matched the description Nick had given him exactly. She was more than likely the erring mother. It was rather difficult, the Apothecary concluded, to imagine her being sinful with anyone, let alone ending up saddled with a bastard. But then he knew from long experience that people changed with time and imagined that in her youth she must have been reasonably pretty. He tried to picture Lord Godolphin with her and somehow that particular pairing refused to come into his head. There was something too precise about the aristocrat to warrant such an action. The beautiful Diana Warwick he certainly could envisage, but not Mrs Humpty Dumpty.

As he neared Nick’s house John looked at his watch and saw that it was now time for work to start. He was therefore not in the least surprised when the front door flew open and the young man uppermost in his thoughts appeared in the entrance. He was clad from head to toe in deepest black and his eyes were red and puffy with weeping. The Apothecary thought that if this was indeed a show, then it was one of the best he had ever seen.

He gave a short bow. “Good morning, Nick. Off to work?”

“Yes,” came the abrupt answer.

“May I walk with you?”

“Of course you can. I’ll be glad of the company.”

Now came the most difficult moment to contend with. He had not seen young Kitto since the discovery of the tell-tale feathers in Diana’s nose, the feathers which revealed a pillow had been pressed down on her face and held there until she could no longer breathe.

John cleared his throat. “Nick, there is something I have to tell you.”

A bleary eye regarded him. “What?”

“It’s rather bad news I’m afraid.”

Kitto slowed his pace and turned to stare at the Apothecary. “It’s about Diana, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Nick stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh God,” he said loudly. “Oh my God.”

Surreptitiously the Apothecary felt for his salts and got his hand round them. “I’m sorry to have to tell you…”

But he got no further. Nick let out a piercing scream and beat the air with his fists. “She’s been murdered,” he said, “murdered. Oh woe is me!” he added theatrically.

Quick as a flash the salts came out of the pocket and were firmly implanted under Nick’s nostrils.

“Breathe deeply,” the Apothecary ordered. “Come along now.

Deep breaths.”

Willy nilly, the poor young man had no option but to inhale, a fact which made him cough appallingly.

“That’s the spirit,” said John. “There’s nothing like a good lungful of brackish odour to clear the head.”

Nick produced a handkerchief and wiped at his streaming eyes and nose. “That’s enough, thank you,” he gasped.

The Apothecary withdrew the offending bottle, holding it at arm’s length. “How did you know?” he asked.

“What?” Nick asked, a touch belligerently.

“That she had been murdered.”

“I just guessed. As God is my judge, I just knew somehow.”

“How very perceptive of you.”

“What are you insinuating, Sir?”

“I’m insinuating nothing. I am merely pointing out that you are intuitive in your powers of instinct. Tell me, when you found Diana did you guess that someone else had played a part in her death?”

“No, you know damned well I didn’t.”

John decided to change the subject. “Look, Nick, are you fit to go to work? Or would you rather leave it for today?”

“No, I’d prefer to go,” said Kitto, blowing his nose loudly. “It will be far better than my mother bellowing questions at me.”

“So I was right. I’ve just met her talking to the Vicar. You have her colour hair.”

“I hope the similarity ends there,” responded Nick ungraciously.

John did not answer, instead he said, “If you are going to work you will have to hurry.” And young Kitto increased his pace.

They drew to a halt outside the offices of Penaluna Brothers and John held out his hand. “If you feel in need of talking you know where I am staying. But in any event we must converse soon. I shall need to find out everything you saw that early morning.”

“Why?” said Kitto mutinously. “And besides, why should I talk to you? Surely it should be the Constable I converse with.”

It was a question that John had long been dreading and yet was at a loss to answer. In London he could claim quite legitimately that he was working with Sir John Fielding. But here, miles away in Cornwall’s mysterious and cavernous depths, that reply would cut no ice at all. He cleared his throat.

“Let me just say that I have taken part in various investigations into unexplained deaths before.”

“Really,” Nick replied sarcastically.

“Yes, you have my word on it. I work for the Public Office in Bow Street, London.”

“Never heard of it.”

John ran out of patience, despite the man’s obvious misery. “Do you want to help me find who committed this crime or not?”

“Yes, obviously I do.”

“Then stop being so truculent and cooperate. When can we discuss what you saw?”

“Tonight. At eight o’clock, if that would be suitable?”

“Perfectly. I’ll call at your house.”

“Say nothing about your true purpose until Mama has retired.”

“I shall remain silent as the grave,” said John, then regretted it when he saw the expression on Nicholas’s face.

As the Apothecary turned into Coinage Hall Street he heard the rumble of carriage wheels and saw, coming at a remarkable pace, two coaches, one behind the other. Staring within he saw the pale profile of Mrs Pill together with several men, all bearing the same set expressions. So she had returned reinforced with her sibling and servants. The hunt for Isobel was about to recommence.

Arriving at the door of The Angel, John watched them dismount. Kathryn was helped down by a man so like her that he could only be her brother. John thought that in his case the plainness of feature didn’t matter quite so much, cast as it was in a masculine setting. But poor Mrs Pill looked even worse than when he had last seen her; white as a daisy and her lips almost bloodless. She turned to the landlord, who was hovering.

“Have you seen Mr Painter about?”

“No, Mam. He’s gone out I fear.”

“Well there was no way he could have known when I was arriving, I suppose.”

The brother looked grim. “Don’t make excuses for the bounder. He should have been waiting for you.”

John, not wishing to get embroiled in a family disagreement crept on down the road, heading for The Blue Anchor, but was unfortunately spotted.

“Oh Mr Rawlings,” Kathryn cried out, “there you are. This is my brother Jasper Hughes.”

John bowed and said, “How do you do, Sir.”

“May I present John Rawlings. He is an apothecary and has been most tremendously kind to me, as has been his travelling companion, the Marchesa di Lorenzi.”

“I am delighted to meet you, Sir,” said Jasper, bowing back. Meanwhile an aged porter, assisted by the landlord and the bevy of servants accompanying Kathryn and her brother, were carrying in various bags and trunks. She turned to John.

“Tomorrow we start to search this town from top to bottom. Nowhere shall go unnoticed. I am determined to find Isobel.” John looked sombre. “Supposing she is in Loe Pool. Trapped beneath somewhere.”

Jasper spoke. “From what you have told me I think she has been kidnapped.”

Yet again the picture of Gypsy Orchard’s face came vividly into the Apothecary’s mind. “I don’t believe that somehow,” was out of his mouth before he had time to think.

Mrs Pill looked sick. “So you think my daughter is dead?” The Apothecary shuffled his feet. “Well…”

“It’s not fair to quiz the chap so,” said Jasper. “Now Kathryn, my dear, why don’t you rest for a while. The journey has exhausted you. Meanwhile I’ll locate Painter and tell him we are here.”

She turned to John. “Yes, I’ll go and lie down. But please inform the Marchesa of my arrival. She was so kind to me.” The Apothecary bowed, “Certainly Madam.” He said to Jasper, “I think I know where he might be if you would care to accompany me.”

“I was going to suggest that you give me a tour of the town, Sir.”

“I will certainly do so later. But first I must speak to the Marchesa and also to my daughter. I was out before either of them were up.”

“But of course. I shall wash the stains of the journey from my person and meet you outside in thirty minutes if that is acceptable.”

“Perfectly.”

John walked into the entrance hall and was pleasantly surprised to see the Marchesa and Rose, dressed for the street and about to take the air. Elizabeth shot him one of her amused glances.

“Up early I see.”

“I’ve much to tell. But first a message. Mrs Pill is back with her brother and several male servants.”

“I shall seek her out later.”

Rose piped up. “Have they come to look for Isobel?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“But she’s drowned, isn’t she?”

“I think so, yes.”

The Marchesa lowered her voice. “Have you seen any of the men that Betty mentioned?”

“Only Nick.”

“And how is he?”

“Weeping and hollering fit to burst.”

“Is it to cover guilt?”

“I’ll let you know later.”

He escorted the two females to the door and walked a little way up the street with them. Then he turned and sauntered back to the inn where, after a few minutes, Jasper Hughes joined him and they made their way to The Blue Anchor. Very much as John had suspected and despite the earliness of the hour, Tim Painter was standing by the bar, holding forth to a group of cronies.

What happened next was so quick that nobody was prepared for it. On seeing him, Jasper entirely lost control and flew to where the man stood.

“You damnable bastard,” he shouted, and with that swung a fist into Painter’s handsome face.

“Eh?” croaked Tim, and having said that plunged to the floor where he lay motionless.

“Good God!” exclaimed John, and fetching his salts from his pockets knelt down by Painter’s prostrate form. Jasper, wiping his hands on his sides, calmly stepped over them.

“A jug of ale, if you please,” he said, and smiled benignly at the world.

Chapter 19

I
t had all been so quick that for a moment no one in the room, with the exception of John Rawlings, said a word. Then a rumble of remonstrance came from the lips of Tim’s cohorts. “What “oo done hit him for?”

“Aye. That’s what I’d like to know.”

Jasper eyed them. “I downed him because he is a trifler with women’s affections. And the woman with whom he is currently involved happens to be my sister.” He looked down at where the Apothecary knelt at Tim’s side. “My dear chap, don’t waste your valuable time. He’ll come round soon enough.”

John shook his head. “Whatever one may think of him he is temporarily my patient. And I am therefore obliged to do my duty.”

“Don’t get into high stirrup over him. He’s not worth the trouble.” Jasper drank his ale. Allow me to buy you a drink, old fellow.”

“Not just now. It’s a bit early.”

“You’re sounding a regular prat, Sir, and I’m sure you are not.” John stood up. “No, I don’t think I am, though others may, of course. But forgive me if I attend to Painter. I agree with you he’s a shiftless creature but for all that he’s a human being.” From the floor came sounds of groaning and John crouched down once more. With a flutter of eyelids Tim was regaining consciousness. His handsome gaze looked round, a glazed expression in its depths.

“What am I doing down here?” he said. Then memory returned and he fixed Jasper with a glare. “You filthy bastard Hughes. I’ll be revenged for this.”

“You already have, damn you.”

“Wfoat do you mean by that?”

“You did for little Isobel, didn’t you? You’ve always hated the girl and made no secret of it. Now you’ve got rid of her, you devil.”With some assistance from the Apothecary, Tim scrambled to his feet. “How dare you make such accusations?”