Death on the Rocks (19 page)

‘Isn’t that true of everywhere? Are not we all a mixture of good and evil?’

‘And some have evil done to us, would you not agree, Lady Tavener?’

‘I would certainly.’

She poured herself another glass of lemonade and said, ‘Poor soul, poor soul,’ under her breath. Hoping wildly that she was talking about Lady Tyninghame, John remained silent and it was Henry who said, ‘Are you talking about the woman who has recently returned, Mother?’

‘Yes, my dear. Violetta. Poor, sad creature.’

‘Nonsense,’ Henry retorted. ‘I saw her in the Long Room t’other night looking as if she had just fallen in love.’

‘What?’ said his mama, sitting bolt upright.

‘Yes, truly. She danced dance after dance with some dashing blade who is here to take the waters, or so he says.’

‘Good heavens! Don’t tell me the Marquis was right all along.’

John put on his innocent face and said, ‘I don’t quite understand.’

It was clear that Lady Tavener enjoyed a gossip as much as anyone, because she turned to the Apothecary and said in thrilling tones, ‘I am speaking of a Lady Tyninghame, who was always thought of as a much maligned woman. She was married to the Marquis of Tyninghame, but he was cruel to her – they say he used to beat her mercilessly – and she left him. Rumour had it at the time that she had fallen in love with a much younger man who wanted to marry her. Apparently they used to meet at the grotto – which I have always personally thought a smelly little hole – and there used to hold hands. Be that as it may, the Marquis found out and divorced her, at which she wandered off, poor fey creature, and now she is back and in love again, or so it would seem.’

‘An interesting tale,’ said John.

So had the lover been Julian Wychwood all along? Had the pair been recently reunited? The Apothecary cast his mind back to the meeting last Sunday and vividly recalled the expression on Violetta’s face when she had first heard the name of Wychwood. But did the ages fit?

‘When did all this occur?’ he asked.

‘Do you know, I can’t remember. But it was quite a while ago,’ Lady Tavener replied.

There was a silence before Henry, snatching his mother’s hand, planted a kiss on it.

‘Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Mama, but Mr Rawlings and I must be off now.’

John stood up as well. ‘Thank you so much for the sherry, Lady Tavener. Will we see you later at cards?’

‘I shall certainly be going to the Long Room. I have arranged to meet my brother-in-law there.’

‘Then our paths will cross again,’ John answered, and gave a fulsome bow.

The evening was pleasant, but throughout dinner and the subsequent dancing the Apothecary had an uneasy feeling that all was not well with Elizabeth, that she was in the final stages of that dreaded disease called carcinoma. Thus, he excused himself early and walked briskly back to the hotel. He knew, had known almost certainly, that the porter would deliver him a letter. One look at it and he was aware of its contents even before he had broken the seal.

To John Rawlings, Esq.

Good Sir, I beg you to come at Once to Devon. Lady Elizabeth is near ye End and I write to You to Make Good Speed and come Forthwith.

I remain, Sir, your Humble Servant,

R. Sawyer (Steward)

In the fine clothes he had put on for the evening, John sprinted to the tavern which he knew Tom frequented at nights. He burst through the door and the Irishman, to his eternal credit, took one look at his master’s face and rose to his feet. He asked one question.

‘Is it Milady, Sir?’

John nodded, too out of breath to speak.

‘Are we to go immediately?’

‘Yes, now. How long will it take you to get the horses ready?’

‘About fifteen minutes, Sir. Then we’ll go at once.’

Exactly twenty minutes later they left. John had thrust some clothes into a portmanteau and penned a swift letter to Sir Gabriel. Then they were away into the darkness, heading for Bath and then Exeter, Irish Tom driving at a speed he had never attempted before. They changed horses several times, but the coachman stayed grimly at his post until after several hours of peering through the darkness, John suggested that they alight at Taunton and take some refreshment. Looking at his loyal servant he saw that Tom’s eyes were red-rimmed.

‘Tom, I’m going up on the box. You try and snatch some sleep in the coach.’

‘But, Sir, you’ve no experience. We might overturn and then where will we be?’

‘In the hedgerow, flat on our backs. Come on, my friend, I insist.’

So it was John who took the reins between Taunton and White Ball, where they stopped to change horses and exchange places once again.

The Apothecary had not slept a wink but was not conscious of feeling fatigued. The only thought in his mind was that he should hold Elizabeth in his arms as she breathed her last. And yet, despite this feeling of high alert, he must have dropped off to sleep because he awoke abruptly as the horses began to pull uphill and he realised that he was a stone’s throw away from Elizabeth’s great house. He looked at his watch and saw that they had been on the road for some fifteen hours.

‘Tom,’ he called out of the window.

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘A bit tired, Sir, but holding on.’

‘Good man.’

They clattered past the lodge and up to the house, and as they approached John’s heart plummeted. Every window was swathed and dark, all the curtains in the place drawn. He knew at one glance that he was too late. Elizabeth was already dead. An icy calm possessed him, as if a small block of ice had penetrated his soul. They pulled up at the front door and John saw that the knocker was swathed in black material. Tom gave him a glance of dread.

‘I’m so sorry, Sir.’

‘Not now, Tom, though I thank you most sincerely. I must keep a cool head for the sake of the boys.’

The steward, Mr Sawyer, was sent for as soon as John was admitted and came through from the servants’ quarters to bow low.

‘Sir, I am indeed sorry. Lady Elizabeth died yesterday. It was all very tragic.’

John stood up straight, his long coat almost sweeping the floor, as the servants filed past him, the women fighting back tears, the men tight-lipped with grief. When all was done and he had thanked each and every one of them, he turned to the steward.

‘May I see her, please. Is she in her bedroom?’

The steward’s face assumed an expression that in any other circumstances John would have thought of as quaintly humorous.

‘She is not here, Sir.’

‘What do you mean? Where is she?’

‘Somewhere in the sea, Sir. The body has not yet been recovered.’

For the first time John flinched and a servant placed a chair behind him.

‘You mean she committed suicide? That she threw herself off the cliffs?’

A servant audibly burst into tears and was hurried out of the great hall.

‘Not quite, Sir. Come into the Blue Drawing Room and I’ll give you a glass of brandy to steady your nerves. As for your poor coachman, he looks quite done in.’

‘I’m sorry, Tom. That was inconsiderate of me. Go and rest, for God’s sake.’

Somebody took his arm and guided him to the Blue Drawing Room, then sat him down in a comfortable chair and poured him a large restorative drink. For a second his icy calm had been broken but he drew it back around him like a familiar old cloak. He looked up and saw that Mr Sawyer was still standing.

‘Oh please sit down, my friend. You should be seated when you tell me what happened.’

Sawyer balanced on the edge of a chair and looked at John sadly.

‘I’ll relate the whole story, Sir, because I think you’ll want to hear it.’

The Apothecary nodded silently.

‘You’ll remember her favourite horse, Sir. That big black devil called Sabre. Well, it was amazing to us all to see how it pined and weakened. It just stood in its loose box, head drooping. When one of the grooms tried to exercise it, it threw him, and him an experienced rider and all.’

‘Does this have anything to do with her death?’

‘Yes, indeed it does, Sir. Well, we called the horse doctor in and he said it would have to be shot. No life left in the poor beast at all. No-one told Lady Elizabeth, but it was as if she knew. She got out of bed and insisted that she be helped into her riding habit. Then she was assisted downstairs and out to the stables where she somehow climbed onto the back of old Sabre. They got the back from an old chair and put it behind her to support her. Then off she goes with a young groom to keep her company lest she should fall off. Sir, the groom is in the kitchen. Do you want me to fetch him?’

‘Yes. I would like to know what happened.’

With Sawyer gone, the echo of silence rushed in at the Apothecary like a great wave. He wondered why he had not shed a tear, why he had not broken down, but knew it was because he had to hear all that there was to tell. And because somewhere upstairs in that great and quiet house there were two frightened little boys waiting to know their fate. But the sight of the groom unnerved him. The youth was wretched with weeping and was fighting to keep control of himself.

‘Please sit down,’ said John. ‘And tell me how it ended.’

‘I should have stopped her, Sir. I know it.’

‘I beg you not to blame yourself. Whatever happened was at Lady Elizabeth’s wish.’

‘Well we rode out in the direction of Sidmouth House. I thought she was going to call on her old friend – ill though Milady was for visiting – so I stayed a few yards behind her. Oh Christ, Sir, what followed was so pitiful.’ Tears sprang out of the groom’s eyes but he continued the story in a halting voice. ‘She suddenly calls out, “Come on, Sabre, you and I are both done for,” and with that she kicks him into a gallop and just for a moment, Sir, it looked as if they were both flying towards the sun. They soared off the cliff top in an incredible arc. And then they plunged down and down into the sea.’

There was no sound except for the groom’s quiet weeping. John sat like a frozen statue, then slowly he raised the brandy to his lips and drank deep.

‘Go on.’

‘I got to the top and looked downwards to the sea. I could see the great dark horse lying in the waves, quite dead. Of the Lady Elizabeth there was no sign. I think she was down in the deeps and gone from us.’

At last the Apothecary cracked. He just said two words, ‘Oh no,’ and then he wept like a broken man.

They fetched Irish Tom to him and the big fellow held John in his arms and let him cry himself out. Then eventually, when the storm was over, Tom said, ‘What about your boys, John? Don’t you think it best that you go and see them?’

‘Yes, yes, you’re right. Thank you, my old friend, you have witnessed me at my lowest.’

‘Say no more about it, Sir. Now tidy yourself up and go to your lads. They’ll be in a state of bewilderment, no doubt.’

A quarter of an hour later, washed, shaved and smelling pleasantly of his toilet water, John followed a footman up the grand staircase and to the right to the nursery. There he found a fire roaring and the nurserymaids busy about their work, while two little boys sat side by side, their faces very solemn. John walked through the door and two pairs of eyes regarded him. Neither child smiled or moved.

‘Hello, James. Hello, Jasper,’ he said, trying to sound jolly.

They stared at him. ‘Hello,’ one whispered back.

‘Can I come and sit with you?’

‘Yes, but we really want Mama. Is it time for us to go and see her?’

John’s heart felt as if it were shattering into a thousand pieces. ‘I’m afraid your mama isn’t here,’ he said, aware that the nurserymaids were looking at him with reproving glances.

‘Where is she?’ asked one child, John could not tell which.

‘She’s gone away.’

Simultaneously the twins started to cry, tears running down their sweetly innocent cheeks.

‘Where has she gone?’ asked the other one.

John was silent for a moment, trying desperately to think of the right answer, well aware that they were too young to understand the concept and finality of death. Then he had a flash of inspiration.

‘She’s gone to swim with the mermaids,’ he said.

They stopped crying. ‘Has she?’ asked one.

‘Has she really?’ asked the other.

‘Yes, she’s gone on a great swim through all the seas in all the world. She’ll be away a long, long time. So meanwhile I’ve come to look after you.’

‘You’re our papa, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, James and Jasper, I am your papa. Will you be happy with me?’

They looked at him appraisingly.

‘We’ll try,’ they chorused.

John slept in the guest wing that night and had the most vivid dream. He was fast asleep yet he dreamt that there was a gentle knock on his door, which then flew open to reveal Elizabeth. She was wearing her riding habit and had a beautiful feathered hat on her head. She looked just as she had when first they met and she smiled and winked at him.

‘I long to kiss you,’ she said.

In his dream John sat up in bed. ‘That is what you said when we first met.’

‘But now I cannot do so,’ she said, and a chill wind blew through John and he realised that she was transparent and that he could see the wall behind her. ‘My will is with my lawyer in Exeter. The house passes in the entail to my cousin because my sons are born bastards. So from now on they will be with you. You will care for them, won’t you, John?’

‘I swear it.’

‘It was clever of you to tell them that I am with the mermaids, because in a way, now I am. Goodbye, my love.’

The room was full of the scent of lilac in full bloom and she was fading before his eyes. ‘Oh Elizabeth, don’t go,’ John cried out.

‘Goodbye,’ sighed a million sighs, and he woke to a guttering candle and the room full of deepening shadows.

The letter from Sir Gabriel had been kind but immensely direct. In it he had advised his son to remove the twins as soon as could be arranged and take them to London.

They must start their new Life as soon as possible and their little Minds must be turned away from Withycombe House and their Treasured Recollection of Elizabeth. This may Sound Harsh, my beloved Son, but believe me, it will Be for The Best.