Deryn Lake: Death at the Wedding Feast

‘Did you now? And did she have much of interest to say?’

‘Very much so. I promise to tell you all about it as soon as we are seated.’

John hurried upstairs to change and on the way looked into the nursery. In two cots on either side of the room his sons lay sleeping peacefully. First he leant over James, noticing the details of his face which seemed to be changing. The Apothecary wondered then when exactly it was that babies grow. Every day you saw them and they looked the same, but all the time they were doing that miraculous thing — getting bigger.

He crossed over to Jasper, identical in every way to his brother. How sweet he was, a flicker of light coming through a gap in the drawn curtains illuminating the sweep of dark lashes against the creamy skin. The hair, curly like the Apothecary’s but midnight black like Elizabeth’s, was already growing thickly on his head. John tiptoed back to James and saw that he, too, had a good dark thatch. His eyes filled with tears and he wished for the millionth time that everything could have been different and that Elizabeth had been a woman who wished for a settled life. But then would he have loved her as much and as powerfully as he did? He knew the answer as he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

She was playing with the piece of veiling and looking thoughtful as he came downstairs ten minutes later. She smiled up at him.

‘Would you like some sherry?’ she asked.

‘Indeed I would.’

He sat down opposite her and told her, quite quietly, that Herman Cushen had been one of the two assassins and that though the Constable had given chase he had lost him in the back streets of Exeter.

‘But why him?’ Elizabeth said. ‘What grudge could he possibly bear against the people he shot?’

‘None whatsoever. It was done for money, pure and simple. He probably fell in with some of the rough element of local society and one of them was hired by the murderer to go and do the dirty deed at the wedding breakfast. That is my reading of the situation.’

‘So who is the murderer?’

‘At the moment your guess is as good as mine. Tell me, what did Lady Sidmouth have to say?’

‘She is extremely worried about the sick women in her house. Mostly she is concerned about Felicity, who is recovering somewhat slowly from the bullet wound she received. The surgeon from town calls every day to tend to her.’

John pulled an amused face and one of his mobile brows was raised.

‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ Elizabeth continued with a laugh. ‘She is slightly less concerned about Miranda, however, who has started to eat again, but very little. The Countess insists on keeping to her room and cries at least once an hour. Very loudly.’

‘What a bore! Did she have anything else to say?’

‘Only that Felicity feels that she is in some sort of danger but cannot explain why. Her high fever has made her delusional and prone to strange fears.’

‘I see,’ said John, and put his chin on his fingers. ‘I should like to go and visit her tomorrow.’

‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t. After all, you can call in a professional capacity.’

‘I should not like to interfere with Mr Perkins,’ he said, grinning once more.

‘I am sure that Mr Perkins can take care of himself,’ Elizabeth answered innocently.

All night long the thought that Felicity believed herself in danger came back to haunt him. Was it merely that she had a high fever and was suffering from delusions or was it something more sinister? Whatever the problem, John slept little and rose early and made his way to the stables as soon as he had eaten. There he once more borrowed the good-natured horse — as good natured as any horse can be, that is — and heaved himself into the saddle. Then he set off for Sidmouth House as quickly as it was possible for him to go.

He had taken the precaution of packing a small bag with medicaments for fever and ague: Cinquefoil, for he had been taught in his training that one leaf cures a quotidian, three a tertian and four a quartan ague; Angelica, otherwise known as Tansies or Heart’s Ease, and a pleasant plant to use; and Centaury, which when boiled and rubbed into the skin was a sure-fire cure for everything from sciatica to voiding the dead birth.

Halfway to Lady Sidmouth’s residence it started to rain, heavily, with large drops that penetrated his clothes and soaked him to the underwear. Cursing his luck, the Apothecary rode gamely on but eventually drew to a halt beneath a large tree, to give the animal a rest as much as anything. Dismounting, he drew the horse into the deep shade and there waited for a quarter of an hour.

While he stood in silence he saw a horseman go by. Admiring the man’s easy athleticism, John stared with envy as he passed close to them. He did not have a full glimpse of the face for the man had his collar turned up and his hat pulled down, but he could have sworn it was Lord George. So he was back from Cornwall empty handed. In the excitement of yesterday John had forgotten to ask Tobias Miller if he had any news of the whereabouts of Imogen, and now he found himself truly hoping that she had made her escape from that rotten family.

John’s thoughts turned to Maurice, the new Earl. He was certainly a strange character, not exactly unlikeable but nebulous. He seemed to have a different skin for every occasion, rather like a chameleon. The Apothecary was in the unusual position of still being uncertain as to what the man was really about. He wondered then if Maurice had something of a yen for Felicity, but discounted that idea in favour of George. The handsome rake would have married anyone who could have brought him a good dowry and he had certainly had his eye roving around at the wedding feast. But that had been before the two assassins came in and killed three people.

The rain had eased off and John remounted again with some difficulty and continued on his journey. A quarter of an hour later the splendid house came into view and John walked the horse round to the stables so that he might arrive on foot. Feeling like a tatterdemalion, his hat slopping water, a bag in his hand like a salesman, his coat drenched through, the Apothecary rang the bell.

A footman answered and looked at him in some surprise. ‘Mr Rawlings, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I have called to see Miss Felicity.’

‘If you would wait in the small receiving room, Sir, I shall send for Lady Sidmouth.’

John handed the footman his damp coat and hat and waited in silence for a moment or two before the door was flung open and Lady Sidmouth stood there. To say she was much changed would have been too great an exaggeration, but she was most certainly haggard and looked on the point of collapse. So much so that the Apothecary hurried forward and helped her into a chair.

‘My dear Lady Sidmouth,’ he said, ‘sit down, do. You look quite weary.’

‘I am wrung out, my friend. I am so worried about my daughter. She seems to be getting weaker by the minute, despite the ministrations of Mr Perkins. He cannot understand it. The wound is healing up but in her body she is deteriorating. Oh dear.’

And she flung the apron she always wore over her face so that John could not see her tears. He waited a moment then said, ‘Would you like me to have a look at her?’

The apron lowered. ‘Indeed I would, Sir.’

‘Tell me, is she eating?’

‘All she will have is a little vegetable soup. She spends most of her time sleeping.’

‘But a few days ago she was in the garden with Mr Perkins.’

‘That is the strangeness of her complaint. It is as if some awful thing is attacking her. But heaven alone knows what when she is tucked safely in her room night and day.’