Deryn Lake: Death at the Wedding Feast

‘You certainly may.’

Elizabeth signalled a footman and champagne was brought in and consumed with much gaiety but John could not join in wholeheartedly. Something was niggling in his mind. Something indefinable yet which he knew had already been said to him.

Later, when the guests had gone and Elizabeth had retired for the night, he sat up late and thought the whole thing through. At the wedding of Miranda Tremayne to the old rake the Earl of St Austell, two hired assassins, dressed as women, had made their way into the wedding feast and deliberately shot three people, all of whom had strong connections with the Earl. Mrs Lettice James had been his mistress but an indiscreet one. A born gossip, a woman who could keep nothing to herself but must talk about it through the town. Then there had been Mr Alan Meakin, a country solicitor who had worked closely with St Austell and had drawn up his recent will — duly signed and perfectly legal — leaving a considerable fortune to his bride.

Felicity had been wounded and John had had a bullet fly right past him. Other people had suffered minor injuries — but Sir Clovelly Lovell had heard the assassins say ‘Not him’, or words to that effect, which suggested some local knowledge.

So who stood to gain? Possibly the Earl’s three grandchildren: Viscount Falmouth, Lord George and Lady Imogen. Mr James, if he had loved his spouse sufficiently, might have wiped out her lover. The Meakins? John could only discount them when he thought of the heavily pregnant wife. Perhaps Felicity, who might have willingly received a wound in order to cover some enormous secret. And lastly Miranda, the weeping widow, still confined to her room and refusing to eat.

A fine list of suspects indeed. But of them all the biggest question mark hung over Lady Imogen herself. Just supposing that the child she had carried had been fathered incestuously by her grandfather and that she was using Jessamy Gill as a means of escaping from her sordid past? What then?

For once the Apothecary felt quite ill-at-ease thinking about the whole sorry affair. He had instinctively believed Mr James and Imogen — but supposing the reaction of his gut had been incorrect? And what about Mrs Cushen, who had been nervously praying in Exeter Cathedral? Why had she been at the wedding? What connection did she have with the Earl of St Austell?

John stepped outside to get a breath of night air, wandering into the garden and gazing up at the full moon, feeling oppressed by his wretched thoughts. Yet as he did so he felt rather than heard another presence. Somebody was watching him, he felt certain of it.

‘Who’s there?’ he called.

Nobody answered and nothing stirred but still he felt that pair of unseen eyes observing him. He was in no mood to investigate. Turning on his heel John sprinted back into the house and locked the doors behind him.

The next day he took the small coach to Exeter, leaving at an ungodly hour and for once forgoing his breakfast. He knew that the Constable rose early to start his investigations and was determined to catch him before he began his official duties. Consequently he knocked on the door of the small house close to The Blackamore’s Head at eight o’clock in the morning. A girl with a mop and pail answered and showed him into a small parlour where Toby was just finishing his breakfast. He looked up in some surprise.

‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Rawlings. I have a great deal to tell you.’

‘And I you. Furthermore an important piece of evidence was handed to me last night and I wanted to give it into your safekeeping.’

So saying, John removed the garter from where it lay in tissue paper and handed it to Toby, who examined it and gave it back.

‘And where did this come from, Sir?’

‘Could I have a slice of your toast and then I’ll tell you?’

‘By all means, Sir. Would you like some tea?’

John nodded, his mouth already full and the girl trudged in and took the teapot away.

‘Mrs Miller not here?’ John asked.

‘Alas, no. She died of an infection last winter. I am a widower, I fear.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that. You must miss her terribly. Now, if you’ve no objection, I would like to tell you about that garter.’

And John proceeded to fill Toby in with absolutely everything that had taken place since they had last been together. It was a long tale and during it John managed several cups of beverage and consumed a fairly hearty breakfast. He wound up by presenting his list of suspects and his reasons for being doubtful about Geoffrey James and Lady Imogen.

Toby nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, the Coroner opened his inquest on the Earl and closed it again till a later date. Likewise with the other two. But he has released the bodies for burial so we are going to have three funerals on our hands.’

‘I see. So where are the late Earl’s grandsons at the moment?’

‘Staying at an inn in Exeter. They plan to wait here until they can accompany their grandfather’s body back to Cornwall.’

‘Any news of them?’

‘Well, apparently Lord George is going round getting into fights and falling fantastically drunk. The new Earl, however, having recovered from his little fit which I believe I engendered, has seen the light and is now being very solicitous of those who were injured. He has called repeatedly at Lady Sidmouth’s asking to see both his grandstepmother — the weeping Miranda — and Felicity. The former won’t have anything to do with him; the latter, who is allowed up to sit in a chair, has received him on several occasions. The last time he asked to see his sister and was told she was out. He did not like that at all.’

‘Has he discovered that she has gone?’

‘Not yet, I believe. Lady Sidmouth is either being very tactful or very clever. I know she has set in train her own enquiries but the fact that her estate manager has also disappeared is a powerful piece of evidence.’

‘Does she realize they have gone off together?’

‘Yes, and I think she secretly thinks good luck to them.’

‘Do you feel as I do that Lady Imogen was not behind the crime?’ John asked.

‘Funnily enough, her choice of husband has swayed me in her favour. You see, I know Jessamy Gill. He used to come into Exeter every so often and he is the salt of the earth, as the saying goes. If he thought she was mixed up in anything like a murder plot he would have turned his back on her for ever.’

‘And what about Geoffrey James?’

‘Him I am not so certain of. I’ll take your word that he’s mad with grief but I would need a little more convincing than that.’

‘I forgot to tell you that someone was in the garden last night, silently watching me.’

A gleam shone in Toby’s eyes. ‘Who was it? Do you know?’

‘No, I saw nobody, but I was just aware of his — or her — presence.’

‘Perhaps it was your imagination.’

‘Perhaps,’ answered John.

They formulated a plan that they would divide the suspects between them. John would take Miranda, the ex Viscount — now the new Earl, Lord George and Mrs Cushen. Constable Miller would take Geoffrey James, Lady Imogen and Felicity.

‘What if Imogen has already left for Dorset?’

‘Then I’ll follow her there, Sir. I am very thorough, you can believe me.’

‘And the owner of that soiled and grubby garter?’

‘He’ll have gone back to whichever rathole he emerged from long since.’

‘Perhaps not. Perhaps he was an Exeter man.’

‘In that case, his days are numbered.’

John had started the day so early that it was only eleven o’clock when he emerged from his conference with the Constable. Feeling that the net must be tightening around who actually masterminded the killings, he decided that time was of the essence and ordered the coachman to go first to the apothecary’s shop in the main thoroughfare then on to Sidmouth House. An hour later he bowed his way into Lady Sidmouth’s receiving room and asked if he might visit Miranda as he had several healing medicaments he wanted to give her.