Death at the Wedding Feast (14 page)

In that moment, before a word was spoken, John regarded the elderly bridegroom-to-be and actually felt physically repelled. It was as if the man's soul had been dragged out, leaving a husk with cold blue-ice eyes with which to glare at the rest of mankind. And what eyes they were. It was like looking at an Arctic landscape and feeling the chilling gale blow, like gazing on a terrain where the sun never shone. Despite himself, John looked away.

St Austell stood there in silence, obviously considering himself too high up the social scale to start any kind of conversation. It was Elizabeth who saved the day. She swept a small curtsey, with much rustling of her gown, and said, ‘We meet again, Lord St Austell. To remind you, I am Lord Exmoor's daughter. May I congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage. And you, Miranda, I wish you every happiness.'

St Austell stared at her and John could have sworn that a glimmer of salacity moved in the depths of those terrible eyes. Then he spoke.

The Apothecary had been expecting a deep boom but instead the voice rasped, almost painfully. ‘How dee do, Lady Elizabeth? I trust you are keeping well. You may present your friends to me.'

Elizabeth did not meet John's eye as she introduced Lady Bournemouth, who made much of curtseying to a peer of the realm, sweeping very low and then having some difficulty in rising again. Thankfully her great niece offered an arm and an embarrassing situation was avoided. John made a short bow and muttered his congratulations. On the one occasion he looked at the Earl it was to see the slightest of sneers upon his face.

Cordelia and young Freddy Warwick had obviously met the man before and all they had to do was to congratulate him and wish Miranda well, it being considered the height of bad manners to offer congratulations to the bride as if she had finally achieved her objective. This done, there was a short silence into which Miranda spoke.

‘I can't tell you how happy I am,' she said gushingly, linking her arm through that of her future husband. ‘Montague is so good to me. I dare not tell you or I think all you ladies will be jealous.'

Neither Elizabeth nor Cordelia smiled, but Lady Bournemouth let out a high-pitched titter. John caught Freddy's eye and they exchanged a glance. But George Beauvoir was making his way towards them at which young Mr Warwick, running his fingers over the back of Cordelia's hand in a gesture that no one was meant to see, made a hasty exit.

‘Well, Grandpa, how are you doing?' George asked, bowing laconically as he did so.

‘I am doing very well,' rasped the other.

‘Surrounded by beautiful women as usual.'

‘This is not the place for that sort of remark.'

‘Sorry, Sir.' George paused, then said, ‘Good God, here comes Falmouth. I thought he was still in town.'

John turned his head to see who they were regarding and scarcely recognized the figure that was coming towards him. Previously it had had its nose in a book and had appeared to be slightly subnormal, to say the least. Now it was wearing a well-tailored black taffeta suit and was striding along with a smile on its face; however, it still had the huge pair of glasses hiding the eyes.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,' said St Austell in that grating rasp, ‘may I introduce my elder grandson, Viscount Falmouth. He has just returned to us from the city of London.'

Lady Bournemouth contemplated another deep curtsey but, remembering the last occasion, thought better of it and gave a small bob.

John Rawlings bowed then stared at the fellow. ‘I believe we have met before, Sir.'

‘Have we?' asked Falmouth vaguely.

‘Yes, Sir. You came into my shop in Shug Lane and I served you. Do you remember?'

‘By Jove, yes I do. Well, how the devil are you?'

‘I am very well indeed,' answered John – and gave a crooked smile.

Fourteen

Afterwards, when John was sipping a glass of champagne and standing alone, having wandered off to a window to gaze at the plunging sea below, he recalled that recent time in his shop in Shug Lane when Maurice, Viscount Falmouth, had come in, presenting himself as an absent-minded human being ordering strengthening potions for his poor old grandfather. How different he seemed today, alive and full of energy, though still clearly short-sighted. And, furthermore, could it really be true that the terrifying Earl needed aphrodisiacs, regardless of the fact he was in his seventy-third year? John knew that time could take its toll, but surely not from so fierce and vital a creature as St Austell. He had a sudden mental picture of the man crushing Miranda beneath him and despite the warmth of the day found himself shuddering.

A movement at his elbow brought his attention back to the present and he saw that Lady Sidmouth stood there, an oddly comic figure in her fine array.

‘I saw you shake, my friend. May I ask what caused it?'

‘I don't know, Madam. Perhaps a goose walked over my grave.'

And this remark made him think of that chilly warning given to him by his daughter, that strange little sprite who loved him so dearly. Looking round the room it seemed to John at that moment that the crowd gathered therein had somehow developed a sinister aspect. Everyone had a cruelty, a hardness about their features, even the Marchesa had become like a mask in a carnival, blank and uncaring.

Without thinking, John heard himself say, ‘What is your opinion of the Earl?' a question he would never have dared ask directly had he not been in such a strange mood.

He felt Lady Sidmouth draw close. ‘He is a monster,' she answered.

Startled, the Apothecary looked at her. ‘Then why did you permit the marriage?'

She looked up at him from her half-closed eyes, and what he could see of her pupils were glazed and dull. ‘I could do nothing to stop it. Miranda is merely a cousin. The poor girl's mother is dead and her father remarried to some uncaring wretch. She is twenty years old and she insisted that she had her way. Filled me up with some poppycock tale of being in love. With that ogre! But I think they deserve each other. The only thing that worries me is that he enjoys depths of depravity of which poor Miranda knows nothing.'

‘Could you not tell her that?'

‘I tried, believe me. I spoke to her more frankly than is common between guardian and ward but she would have none of it. Told me that I was mistaken and to say no more. Quite honestly, Mr Rawlings, I have had to give up arguing for the sake of my sanity and my daughter, Felicity.'

She let out a sudden suppressed sob and John instinctively put an arm round her shoulders. ‘My dear Lady Sidmouth, you have clearly done your best and I am sorry that I said what I did. Miranda has always struck me as a self-willed girl and now, having made her bed, she can lie in it.'

‘Which I believe she will with some enjoyment,' Lady Sidmouth answered sadly, and walked away with sloping shoulders.

Their conversation was at an end and John was on his way to rejoin Elizabeth when that extraordinary young man, Viscount Falmouth, bore down on him. John was about to make him a bow when Falmouth said, ‘Don't bother with that, I beg you. It is I who should be bowing to you.'

Startled, the Apothecary replied, ‘Why, my Lord?'

Falmouth gave him a good-natured grin and John saw that beneath his ugly glasses, beneath his rather other-worldly expression and his general air of bookishness, there lay a very handsome fellow indeed. His white wig enhanced his strong features and when one peered one could see a pair of dazzling green eyes, currently hidden by that unattractive pair of spectacles.

‘Because I came in and asked for . . . well, you know.'

‘For something to help your grandfather on his wedding night?'answered John directly. ‘I should say – judging by his general demeanour – that he would need no such thing.'

Maurice Falmouth laughed. ‘I think perhaps I was a little previous with my request. I must admit that he looks hale and hearty enough to me now that I see him. You see, I was reading a book about an older man getting married again and failing miserably, if you understand my meaning, and that was what had me wandering into your shop and asking for your help.'

The Apothecary thought that it was a reasonable enough explanation for someone who had his nose in a novel most of the time, but had no chance to think anything more about it for at that moment George came bounding up, punching Maurice jovially on the shoulder.

‘How did you enjoy London, you bugger?'

‘Very well. It was dirty and smelly but of good cheer.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. Did you manage to meet any rum duchesses?'

‘That's more your style than mine.'

‘I'll say,' answered George, rubbing his hands together.

‘You want to watch where you tread,' Maurice said with meaning. ‘Or you'll end up with something nasty.'

‘Well, there's always a good apothecary to help me out.' And George slapped John so heartily on the back that he was winded for a full two minutes. Red in the face he gasped for air, a sight which seemed to highly amuse both Maurice and his brother.

No sooner had he recovered than John punched George hard, also in the back, saying, ‘Oh yes, we can cure most things but not, I'm afraid, the great pox – from which the only way out is the powdering tub.'

‘Not a pleasant idea,' said Maurice firmly. ‘Well, it has been most delightful talking to you, Mr Rawlings. No doubt we shall meet again.'

‘No doubt, my Lord.'

George bowed then sauntered off in the direction of Freddy Warwick who, seeing him coming, plunged into earnest conversation with the local vicar. After a few moments observing, George lost interest and went in search of a pretty girl. John finished his somewhat interrupted contemplation of the sea and went to rejoin the Marchesa.

Afterwards, riding home in the carriage, John said, ‘You know I must take Rose back to London, sweetheart. She starts at her school next week.'

The Marchesa turned to look at him. ‘Oh dear, I had quite forgotten about that. What a shame she must go. She is so sweet to have around the house and is very good with the twins. Do you know I have heard her sing to them and they join in with strange little cries. It is quite the most remarkable sound.'

‘She must go and get an education, Elizabeth. I regret her departure as well but I would not like her growing up an ignoramus.'

‘No more would I.'

‘Madam . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘You wouldn't come as well, just for a short time? I would so like to show my sons to my friends in London.'

She turned to look out of the carriage window. ‘I think they are too young to face the journey, don't you?'

A small clutch of hope departed from the Apothecary's heart. ‘Perhaps at the moment. But one day in the future . . .' He left the statement hanging in the air.

Elizabeth placed her gloved hand over his and said quietly into the darkness, ‘One day, John, it will all turn out as you wish.'

Fifteen

It was Rose's cries that woke John up. For a moment he wondered where he was, dreaming that he was still in Elizabeth's great house and that he was lying beside her. Then as he hastily struck a tinder and lit a candle, he saw that it was his bedroom in Nassau Street and remembered that he and his daughter had travelled back to London a few days before. The swift feeling of reassurance that he was back in town was instantly dissipated by the shouts of terror coming from her bedroom. Then as he leapt out of bed he heard another pair of feet running towards her door and flinging it open. Unable to gather his thoughts, John hurried to Rose.

Jacquetta Fortune was sitting on the bed holding his daughter in her arms but the child was looking toward the door and sobbing, ‘Papa, Papa. Oh where is he? Is he safe?'

‘I'm here, dearest girl,' he said from the doorway.

‘Oh thank goodness you are alive! Oh Papa, I had such a terrible dream.'

Jacquetta released the child into his custody and stood up. John smiled at her and just for a moment thought how beautiful she looked with her lovely hair loose around her shoulders and that awful, frightening thinness disappearing and a shapely body starting to emerge. Then he turned his full attention to Rose.

He had never seen her so frightened; his spirited daughter, who was afraid of nothing, who had strange and rare abilities, whose very exuberance was a pleasure to behold, lay like a crumpled doll in his arms, her small frame raked with sobs.

‘Shush, sweetheart. It was only a dream. It's all gone now. You're safe in your bed and I'm here with you. Tell me what it was that frightened you so much.'

She pressed close to him and he could feel her trembling. ‘It was that wicked old brown woman. The one who wears the big bonnet. She came in my dream and said she was going to kill everyone. And you were there, Papa. I saw you.'

‘Where? Where was this?'

‘I'm not sure, that's the trouble. But there were a whole lot of people all in one place. And then this terrible . . . Papa, be sure to lie flat when you see her. It is vital that you do.'

‘But why, darling? What is it you see about her?'

Rose wept again but this time with frustration. ‘I don't know, I don't know. It's just that something tells me you will be safer lying down.'

‘I swear I will go flat if ever I see this old apparition.'

‘But you will see her, Papa. I am certain of it.'

‘I promise you that I shall be on my guard,' replied John solemnly.

She relaxed a little but remained in the protection of his arms. ‘Do you have to return to Devon, Pappy?'

‘I do, my sweetheart. I promised Mrs Elizabeth and the twins that I would return next month. So I am duty bound to go.'