Death and the Cornish Fiddler (9 page)

“She’ll be too tired by then anyway, Papa.”

“Very true,” said John. He bent down and kissed his daughter. “Look after Mrs Elizabeth for me.” And he was off, heading purposefully for The Blue Anchor. Somewhat to his surprise, he found the Constable straight away. The chap was in the taproom holding forth about something or other and was clearly as drunk as a lord already. Having bought himself a pint of ale to steady his nerves, John approached with certain trepidation. The Constable, who was enormously tall and broad, a veritable giant of a fellow, bent his head down and said, “What do you want, little man?”

“To speak to you if I may, Sir.”

Trethowan roared with laughter. “Well, of course you can speak. The question is, will I listen?”

This brought a chorus of belly laughs from the other occupants of the bar, all of whom were well the worse for drink. John decided that the only thing to do was to act mysteriously.

“I’ve a tale to tell, Sir. A tale of a terrible child and what might have befallen her.”

“Taken off by a bad man, was she?” said somebody.

“Shush,” demanded Trethowan. “I want to hear.”

Well at least he’d caught his attention, thought John.

“This girl is a stranger to these parts and went to see the Hal- an-Tow this morning. Anyway, little monster that she is, she insisted on joining in and when the men remonstrated with her she bit one of them on the hand. Then, when they turned on her, she ran down the street in the direction of the fields, possibly towards Loe Pool and hasn’t been seen since. So I thought, Sir, as you are the Constable, you ought to be told.” There was silence in the room for a second and then the blacksmith burst out laughing.

“So a child has gone missing, has she. I’d like a sovereign for every young “un that gets lost on Flora Day, so I would.” He paused, drank half a tankard of ale in a swallow, then bent down to the Apothecary once more. “Tell you what, my friend, if she’s still lost tomorrow morning then come and see me and I’ll organise a search. Meanwhile, may I suggest that you go and enjoy the rest of the day as I intend to do. Goodbye.” And he turned his large back.

John felt utterly deflated. His mysterious ploy had failed dismally and now he was left with no alternative but to limp back to The Angel with his tail between his legs. He bought himself another pint of ale for consolation and went to sit in a dark corner to think about the situation. But he had no time to get very far for the door to the taproom opened and there were the brothers Colquite with the two other men the Apothecary had noticed earlier. Snatches of their conversation drifted towards him.

“…there’s enough to form a…” This last word said very low so that it was impossible to hear.

“.. .but what about th…” John could not catch the rest. “Nonsense.” This from Geoffrey Colquite. “Let us proceed as planned.”

“Oh, well you always were…”

At that moment they were disturbed by the arrival of a potboy and that particular conversation ceased, though one voice continued talking loud and enthusiastic rubbish. John drank up and walked out past the quartet. They greeted him as if he were a long-lost brother, calling him over and bowing most politely.

“My dear Sir, how very nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you,” echoed Gregory.

“May I present even more cousins, Eustace Sayce and Herbert Reece?”

A couple of males rose and bowed. One was short and round with a face like a grinning red melon. He was the one who had been conversing noisily and now he winked at the Apothecary and rolled his eyes. He obviously considered himself a character and wanted everyone else to do so as well. The other was very small, almost dainty, with tiny little hands and feet. They were, all things considered, a very ill matched duo. John bowed politely and made small talk but eventually extricated himself and headed off for The Angel, thinking deeply.

His main thought was about the actual role of Constable. It was generally a detested occupation, compulsory and unpaid, so much so that several citizens appointed a deputy to do the job for them. This had resulted in the formation of a class of men, mostly illiterate and existing on the pittance paid them by their employers, who had become professional deputies. Some, indeed, held the office for many years, going from one employer to the next as the obligatory year came to an end. And it seemed to the Apothecary that Helstone’s Constable resented the job tremendously. Indeed it may well be true that children were lost during the Floral Dance. Considering the crowds who watched, it seemed more than likely. But for all that, John had found his attitude patronising and pretentious, at the very least he could have organised a search for the missing Isobel.

John believed that she was probably hiding in the woods near Loe Pool and that she would come out when things got quiet and she grew hungry. The best idea was to enjoy the rest of the day. With this thought uppermost in his mind, he whistled his way into The Angel to discover a scene taking place in the dining parlour. Mrs Pill was in floods of tears and refusing to be comforted by anybody. One look was enough to send John up to his room to fetch his medical bag.

He returned and studied the situation. Tim Painter had given up and was taking the opportunity to give Diana Warwick, who sat serene and lovely and a little bit remote, the eye. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Rose watched fascinated but did not attempt to interfere. This was being done by Mrs Legassick, who held the semi-swooning woman in a tight embrace. The female whom John had noticed earlier, namely she of the large frame and succulent eyes, was also comforting Mrs Pill. Indeed she looked up as the Apothecary entered the room, attempting to appear professional.

“Shush, my dear. I think this gentleman is a doctor,” said Mrs Legassick.

“I am an apothecary actually, Madam. Now, Mrs Pill, let me have a look at you.”

He knelt beside the fainting woman, acutely aware that the large lady was watching him with a positively lecherous expression on her face.

Fortunately Isobel’s mother was too far gone to put up much resistance and swallowed a measure of physic that the Apothecary guided towards her mouth.

“There, that should calm her.”

“One of your magic potions?” It was the big woman speaking. “But excuse me Sir, allow me to present myself. I am Anne Anstey. I am so interested in the apothecary’s art. My late husband was one of your brotherhood, you know.”

“Charmed, Madam. My name is John Rawlings,” John answered briefly, peering intently into Mrs Pill’s face which was utterly drained of colour. Suddenly, and rather shockingly, her eyes flew open and stared into his.

“She’s drowned,” she hissed in a thrilling sibilant. “My girl’s drowned and I know it.”

The thought that the Apothecary had resolutely been pushing away ever since he had seen Loe Pool now came surging back.

“Nonsense, my dear,” said Mrs Anstey, “she’ll be home soon. As soon as it gets dark. They don’t like being out after dusk, do little girls.”

But John, thinking of the size of Loe Pool and guessing at its depth, thought of little Isobel and knew that whatever faults the child might have had, she did not deserve a fate like that.

“Tell me,” he said gently, “exactly what happened today. Explain to me what you saw.”

The physic was obviously starting to take effect because Mrs Pill was visibly starting to relax. The weeping had stopped and along with it the high hysterical voice. Indeed her speech was now quite quiet and slow.

“As I think you saw, Mr Rawlings, Isobel ran away from me down the street. I followed but being older I can’t run as fast as she, further my clothes impeded me. In any case I saw her sprint into the fields at the street’s end. Then I briefly lost sight of her as she disappeared into some trees. But then I saw her again as she hurried on. To cut to the heart of the matter I had some difficulty getting to the Pond because of the marshy land surrounding the Cober but I managed to make my way round it and there lay this enormous lake.”

“Tell me, did you see Isobel there?”

“No, no. I feel that she had already fallen in by the time I got there.”

“But you have nothing to prove that. It’s only what you suspect.”

“Come now, Kathryn. We walked right round the lake - a distance of about five miles, I might add - and nowhere was there a sign of anyone having fallen in. It is all in your imagination. I swear it.” Tim Painter had joined them and was doing his best to cheer up his light-of-love.

Mrs Pill shook her head. “I know that she has gone. You cannot deny a mother’s instinct.”

“I’m not denying it but I think you’re wrong,” Tim answered impatiently, and John caught himself thinking that the man was hardly sympathetic.

He cleared his throat. “Madam, if I might suggest you retire and have a rest. I have informed the Constable of the turn of events and he has agreed to organise a search tomorrow. But it is his contention that Isobel will return before nightfall. And I think there is a good chance that he might be right.”

Kathryn made signs that she wanted to rise and Anne Anstey heaved her to her feet. “Now you get some sleep, Mrs Pill, my dear. I promise to be here when you wake up again.” John asked, “Would you like me to accompany you to your room?”

“No, I shall be perfectly all right. I’ll just go down for an hour or two.”

And with that she staggered out, accompanied by the everpresent Mrs Anstey.

Elizabeth looked directly at John. “What are the chances of the child having fallen in?”

He raised his shoulders. “How would I know? The Pool is certainly large and deep but without any evidence one could not possibly say.”

“But what do you really think?”

“I shall wait and see if she returns before I say anything further.”

Tim Painter spoke up. “Well, now that she’s gone I think Kathryn might well be right. I mean where did the child disappear to? She hasn’t been seen since this morning and that is a long time ago now.”

The three of them stared at each other helplessly and it was at this moment that there was a movement in the doorway. Turning they saw the Constable, breathing hard and somewhat red in the face.

“Ah, Sir,” he said, advancing on John, “wasn’t it you who came to report a missing child earlier?”

“Yes, that’s right. Why, do you have news of her?”

“Yes, Sir, I do. She, or a child answering her description, has been seen.”

“But I didn’t give you her description,” the Apothecary answered.

“Never the less, she’s been spotted.”

“Where?” asked Tim Painter.

“Up in the town, beyond the school and close to the church.”

“What was she doing?” asked Elizabeth.

The Constable roared with laughter. “Why, bless you all, she was dancing of course.”

John was not sure who ran the faster, him or Tim Painter. Panting up the street to where the Guildhall stood, they turned left into the steeply sloping lane that led to the church. They pounded down this, going as fast as they could, at the same time calling out, “Isobel? Where are you?”

There was no answer but they did not let that deter them. Instead they ran towards the holy building and, only slowing their steps slightly, sprinted the last few yards over open country to where the church stood serenely in its own grounds.

“Do we go in?” asked Tim.

“Of course. She might well be hiding inside.”

Removing their headgear, which both men had thrust on before they started to run, they proceeded in through the door in the porch. Immediately the atmosphere of the church made them walk quietly and speak in subdued voices. There was no one in sight but a step behind them had them spinning round hopefully.

An elderly cleric stood there, sweet-faced and very kindly in appearance. He seemed astonished to see anyone and John realised that after the morning service very few people must visit the church on Flora Day. He made a formal bow.

“Good day to you, Sir.”

“Good day, young man.”

Tim Painter gave a lazy bow. “How do?” he said.

“Have you by any chance seen a young girl, aged about seven? She has a mop of dark hair and was heading for the church when last observed.”

“Yes,” said the vicar surprisingly. “A child answering that description was hiding in here but ran out when she saw me.”

“How long ago was that?” This from Tim Painter.

“About fifteen minutes or so. She can’t have got far.”

“Thank you a thousand times,” said John. “If you don’t mind we ll go in pursuit.”

“I’m glad I was of service. I hope to see you in church some time.”

“Oh, you will,” the Apothecary called over his departing shoulder.

Tim Painter, on the other hand, raised his hat but said nothing.

Chapter 9

T
hey ran out and back to the Guildhall as quickly as they had come. John, panting somewhat, looked at Tim and thought to himself that the fellow was in the peak of condition, lean and fit and not in the least out of breath. Painter, aware that he was being stared at, gave the Apothecary the familiar idle smile and said, “When I get my hands on that little bitch I’ll give her a lesson she won’t forget in a hurry.”