Deryn Lake - Death and the Black Pyramid

The play being performed was Shakespeare’s tragedy Macbeth and John was astonished to see that Paulina Gower was playing the Lady herself. Thinking she had had scant time for rehearsal, he realized that Paulina must have studied the part before and come down to Exeter almost at the last moment, which made him wonder whether she was a stand-in who had been called upon at the very end.

Taking his seat in a box, sitting between Elizabeth and Lady Thackeray, John looked at the Playbill programme which informed him that the part of Macbeth was to be played by Thomas Roundell, rather a mediocre actor in the Apothecary’s opinion. The rest of the cast were unknown to him but John had the feeling that he was about to see a performance that was slightly under par. Yet Paulina surprised him, making him literally quiver with fear in her spellbinding mad scene. In fact he clapped enthusiastically when the curtain, raised and lowered only at the beginning and end of the performance, finally came down.

John turned to the two ladies. ‘Lady Thackeray, Elizabeth, would you forgive me if I absent myself for a few minutes. I would like to call on Paulina Gower and congratulate her.’

Lady Thacheray raised a large quizzing glass which snuggled comfortably on her voluptuous bosom and peered at him through it. This magnified one of her eyes to four times its size so that John had a momentary illusion that he was being regarded by a Cyclops.

‘Do you know her?’ she boomed.

‘I met her in the coach travelling to Devon.’

‘A somewhat superficial acquaintanceship.’

‘Be that as it may,’ John replied evenly, ‘I think I will go and pay my respects.’

Elizabeth waved an airy hand. ‘I will await you in the coach.’

Realizing that he had little time the Apothecary hurried through the audience as best he could and out into Water Beer Street, then turned down into a little alleyway that ran beside the theatre. But here he enountered a problem. A crowd had already gathered and if he were to linger and speak to Paulina he would keep Elizabeth and her formidable companion waiting an unconscionable amount of time. Searching in his pockets for a piece of paper he found an old bill and scribbled on the back of it, ‘Dear Miss Gower, I thoroughly enjoyed your performance. Do you remember me from our coach journey to Devon? I would like to talk to you about an important matter. Please meet me tomorrow morning at ten…’ John scratched that out and wrote eleven. ‘… o’clock at The White Swan in High Street.’ He added his signature and, pushing his way through the throng, handed it to the stage door keeper. That done he scurried round to the front of the building and joined Elizabeth in her coach, Lady Thackeray already having left.

‘Did you see her?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘No, the company was too great. I would have kept you waiting.’

In the darkness the Marchesa took his hand. ‘You are going to investigate that murder, aren’t you? The one that happened in the inn.’

John raised her fingers to his lips. ‘I am doing so already,’ he answered with a smile.

Paulina Gower was wearing far more face paint that John remembered. With her carmined lips and her cheeks painted a becoming pink, to say nothing of the kohl applied to her eyes, she looked very charming and quite different from the pallid creature who had been travelling in the Exeter coach.

‘Madam, may I compliment you on your appearance,’ John said gallantly, and rising from his chair kissed her hand as she sat down opposite him.

‘Thank you. But you said you wanted to see me on a matter of some urgency and I am afraid I have little time,’ she answered, her Welsh accent audible once more, though it had been greatly modified during her performance.

‘I understand. But first of all allow me to get you a drink. What would you care for?’

She gave a half smile. ‘Well, as I am not acting tonight I will have a small, dry sherry.’

‘You do not drink when you are appearing on stage?’

‘Never,’ she answered. And at that moment John had a glimpse of a highly disciplined woman who kept everything, particularly her emotions, under tight control. He summoned a potboy — a great deal friendlier than the one of the previous evening — and as soon as he was gone, Paulina turned to the Apothecary.

‘What is it you have to say to me?’

He came straight to the point. ‘Did you know that William Gorringe — one of our fellow passengers — was murdered during the night at The Half Moon?’

‘Yes. The Constable came to see me in the theatre last evening. It quite unnerved me I can tell you.’

‘I see.’ And the Apothecary thought for the twentieth time what a fantastic fellow the constable was to have located them all with very little help. ‘What did he ask you?’

‘If I was acquainted with Mr Gorringe. If I could think of any reason why anybody should want to do away with him. That sort of thing.’

‘And what did you reply?’

Paulina gave him a wide-eyed stare. ‘That I had never seen the man before in my life. Naturally. And now may I ask you a question?’

‘Certainly.’

‘What is your interest in the affair and what gives you the right to question everybody else? Are you someone special or is it just your native curiosity?’

John put on his important face. ‘The fact of the matter is, Miss Gower, that I work for Sir John Fielding. I am investigating the matter on his behalf.’

It was a half-truth but it gained the right results. Paulina looked suitably impressed. But she was an actress, John thought with slight chagrin.

‘Really?’ Paulina said. ‘I met his brother, Henry, you know. Years ago in Glastonbury. He had gone there to take the waters from the Chalice spring, as had my father. I was just a slip of a girl but I can distinctly remember Mr Fielding because he was so tall. I believe the Blind Beak is as well, though I confess I have only seen him from above, as it were. I have been to his courthouse in Bow Street several times.’

She spoke the words lightly but the Apothecary felt that they contained a slight criticism, as if he should have been present in court as well.

‘I act as an occasional investigator for him,’ he said, and the explanation sounded lame.

‘Really?’ she said again. ‘How interesting.’

Now there could be no doubt. Her voice was decidedly sarcastic.

John leaned forward on the table that separated them. ‘So, Miss Gower, there is absolutely no need for you to listen to or answer one word I say. I would like to make that quite clear.’

‘In that case,’ she said, standing up, ‘I’ll save you the trouble of proceeding.’ And she swept from the snug in which they had been sitting.

John stared after her, feeling annoyed. The interview had been highly unsuccessful and he had been quite definitely challenged over his role in the affair. All he had learned from it was that Paulina had some acquaintance with the Fielding family and that she had — according to her at least — no knowledge of William Gorringe. But was that true he asked himself. Or was the talented actress merely putting on a performance for his benefit?

Half an hour later found him in the apothecary’s shop discussing the merits of an infusion of raspberry leaves in both pregnancy and childbirth.

‘It is excellent, Sir. My wife drank it constantly throughout her eight confinements.’

‘Good heavens, did she really,’ said John, trying valiantly not to laugh. ‘Actually I do know about it. I am an apothecary myself.’ And he handed the man a card.

‘Oh, you’re from London town, Sir. You must see some strange people in that place.’

‘Yes, quite a few. But I imagine that you do too. After all, ailments are ailments wherever one comes from.’