Deryn Lake: Death and the Black Pyramid

‘That’s true enough. But I have always thought that London must be a sink of iniquity.’

John smiled. ‘Perhaps it is. Anyway, I’ll take two bottles of the infusion, if you please.’

‘Certainly, Sir. And I hope that your wife will have an easy labour. Is this her first child?’

‘No, her second,’ John answered, and wondered at himself for adopting the role of Elizabeth’s husband with quite so much ease.

Stepping out into the street he paused for a moment to stare into the window of the apothecary’s shop, fascinated, as always, by the great glass bottles full of bright blue liquid. And he was standing thus, thinking of nothing in particular, when from across the street he heard a horribly familiar voice.

‘Vere is mein canary bird?’ it was shouting ridiculously. ‘Oh, mein Gott. I must have left him in ze market.’

And a moment later, allowing John just the merest glimpse of her, Fraulein Schmitt hurled herself into a hackney coach and vanished from view. Disconsolately, John walked along High Street, thinking that the wretched woman must live in Exeter or its environs. Then, without really looking where he was going, the Apothecary suddenly found himself outside The Half Moon. And there in the courtyard, almost ready to depart, was the London coach, polished up and with fresh horses in the traces but the same driver and guard standing beside it. Immediately John went in to greet them.

‘Good morning to you.’

‘Good day, Sir. And how are you?’ answered the driver.

‘Very well, thank you. Not quite ready to leave for London, however.’

‘Enjoying life in Devon then?’

‘Indeed I am.’ John produced a guinea from his pocket. ‘May I speak to you in confidence?’

‘You certainly can, Sir,’ said the guard, and seeing the flash of coin, came closer as he echoed, ‘Certainly.’

‘It’s about the murder the other night. Tell me, did you know the murdered man at all?’

‘Mr Gorringe? Well, strangely enough I had seen him a few times before,’ the coachman replied.

‘Oh? When and where was that?’

‘It was on another run that I do from time to time, London to Shoreham via Lewes and Brighthelmstone. He used to come on that quite regular.’

‘You’re sure it was him?’

‘Positive, Sir. He had a very arresting face, if you know what I mean. A cruel face really. I’m not surprised somebody had it in for him.’

‘Can you remember where he got off on this other run?’

‘Lewes, Sir. And he always had a coach waiting to pick him up.’

‘Strange he didn’t travel in that.’

‘Well, he didn’t. And there’s another funny thing as well.’

‘What was that?’

‘He used to call himself something different. I know because I heard his coachman use the name.’

‘And what was it?’

‘That’s the devil of it, I can’t remember.’ The coachman turned to the guard. ‘Can you?’

‘Sorry to say I never even heard it, Sir.’

John handed over the coin. ‘Thank you for the information. It was very interesting.’ He turned to the driver one more time. ‘You are certain it was him?’

‘Either that or his twin brother, Sir.’

‘I see.’

John nodded and went on his way, very puzzled indeed by what he had just heard. It would seem that Gorringe — or whatever he had called himself in the past — had been a man of some means and had either lived near Lewes or had visited somebody regularly in that particular vicinity. At this moment, disgruntled as he was, John would have put his money on Paulina Gower as the murderess, assisted by the German woman. But that was only his present mood. He was actually, to quote the guard, totally bewildered by the whole affair.

Stepping into The White Swan he sat turning his wine glass in his hand, staring fixedly into its depths as though it could tell him the answers. And so he was sitting, not really seeing anyone as he tried to make some sort of sense of what he had just heard, when he felt a movement at his side. Looking up, John saw that Martin Meadows was standing by his table, looking earnest. He half rose.

‘Mr Meadows. I’m so sorry. I was deep in thought.’

‘That’s perfectly all right. May I join you? There is something I would like to discuss.’

‘Please do. Would you like to share my bottle? I have to ride back and I must keep my wits about me so I can’t possibly drink it all.’

‘That would be very kind. But I, too, am returning to work and therefore one glass will suffice.’

Having procured another vessel from the serving maid, John turned his attention to the solicitor who today was looking far less startled, his eyebrows seeming fuller and his wig — very new and curly but once again brown — sitting sedately upon his head.

‘What is it you wish to discuss with me?’ the Apothecary asked.

‘I have been thinking over the coach journey down — in fact I can think of little else — and I keep remembering how worried Gorringe was. At the time, as you know, I put it down to mental disorder, but now I realize that the man was telling the truth.’

‘What was it he said exactly?’

‘That the Black Pyramid reminded him of a slave he had once had, though he could not be certain as so many years had passed. The other person he kept talking about was none other than our little dancing master friend, Cuthbert Simms.’

‘Good gracious,’ said John, totally startled. ‘Of all the mild-mannered men.’

‘That is precisely what I said at the time. But Gorringe insisted that he had employed the fellow as dancing master to his children and that his appearance on the coach was decidedly sinister.’

The Apothecary downed his wine and said, ‘But why? I frequently meet people I know and nothing could be further from my thoughts than a threat to my safety.’

Martin sighed. ‘That is what I told him. But as things have turned out it seems that he was right all along. I can tell you now that I went to that fight yesterday to get a closer look at the black man.’

‘And what did you think of him?’

‘A magnificent specimen. But as to his character, who knows?’

John looked thoughtful. ‘I heard something interesting today.’ And he launched forth with the tale told him by the coachman.

Martin Meadows behaved in a particularly professional manner, folding his hands and listening intently. Then, when John finally grew silent, he spoke.

‘So if the coachman is to be believed it would seem that Gorringe had another life and another name. How very odd. I wonder what it was.’

‘That’s what I would like to know.’

‘It certainly gives one food for thought.’

‘Indeed it does.’

Shortly afterwards the two men parted company. John going to fetch his horse, which was tethered nearby, Meadows returning to his office. As he rode back to join Elizabeth for dinner the apothecary found his head full of the case and he wished that he had the Blind Beak to consult and, even more useful, the incredible Joe Jago to help him sift the matter through.

After they had dined and were sitting in the Blue Drawing Room Elizabeth turned to him with a beautiful smile.

‘Sweetheart, it is Lady Sidmouth’s ball next week and knowing what cutting fashions you besport I wondered whether you would like to order a new set of night clothes from the tailor in Exeter.’

The Apothecary collected himself and looked at her, nodding.

‘You have a definite point. The suits I brought do look rather tired. How quick is the fellow?’

‘I believe he takes a few days only.’

John got up and took a seat beside her, putting his arm round her gently expanding waist. ‘Tell me truly, do I appear like last year’s model?’