Deryn Lake - Death and the Black Pyramid

But who were the riders and where had they been heading? That was the question that puzzled him for the rest of that day.

That late afternoon brought a surprise visitor to Elizabeth’s house, none other than the Constable of Exeter himself. An hour before the time to dine John was sitting in the red salon, perusing the newspaper, when the head footman entered.

‘There is a personage here to see you, Sir. He says that he is Constable Tobias Miller. He also says that he is from Exeter.’

John looked up. ‘Send him in, Perkins. I can assure you that he is perfectly genuine.’

Toby came into the room walking solemnly behind the footman, his bright eyes darting round the room and all its magnificent furnishings.

‘Good evening Mr Rawlings,’ he said, and gave a bow of the head.

John stood up. ‘My dear Mr Miller, this is an unexpected surprise.’

‘Forgive me calling without an appointment, Sir, but I just wanted to inform you that I have now seen most of the people who travelled on the coach that night.’

John motioned the man to sit down and poured a dry sherry which he handed to him. Tobias sipped it like a connoisseur.

‘And how were they?’

‘All very charming, Sir. I must say I took to Mr Simms.’

‘When did you see him?’

‘I called at Lady Sidmouth’s this afternoon. Mr Simms had had a day off and had just come in from a ride.’

‘Really?’ said John thoughtfully.

‘Yes. We talked awhile. A very polite gentleman, he was.’ Tobias leant forward confidentially. ‘Now, about that business we were discussing the other day, Sir.’

‘Yes?’

‘Believe me, if I had the time and the resources I would investigate that. But here I am, a professional Constable, and as busy as a bee as a result.’

‘You really think the answer might lie there?’

‘God’s boddikins, Sir. We have nothing else to go on at all. I think Mr Gorringe’s past is the only hope we have.’

‘That’s something Sir John Fielding always says.’

‘Well, I never,’ said the Constable, and made a pleased mouth.

‘So you want me to look into it?’ John asked.

‘If you do, Sir, it would be greatly appreciated.’

‘Then I will. But not just yet.’

‘I don’t know how to express my thanks.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ John said, taking Tobias’s glass and refilling it. ‘Changing the subject, did you by any chance manage to locate the German woman, Fraulein Schmitt?’

The Constable sighed and shook his head. ‘Now that is the one person I cannot find at all.’

‘Then tomorrow I’ll go and search for her,’ the Apothecary answered, and even as he said it felt that he had set himself some monumental tasks of which Elizabeth might not altogether approve.

That night the Apothecary slept by himself and dreamed that he was alone in Wildtor Grange, climbing that enormous staircase, terrified out of his mind. A figure stood motionless at the top and John approached it with a feeling of dread, a pounding of his heart and a feeling of sickness in his throat. The figure had its back to him and the Apothecary longed to turn and run but, in the way of dreams, his legs were powerless and refused to move.

‘Who are you?’ he called — and his voice came out as a mere whisper.

The figure stood there, silent and unmoving, and then it turned. John gazed in horror at the face of William Gorringe, hideously maimed by his appalling injuries. Behind him a voice said, ‘Can’t catch me,’ and the Apothecary woke drenched with sweat and wondering what meaning the dream could possibly have.

Proceeding into town early the next morning, John left Elizabeth’s carriage at the habit makers — where she was being fitted for several new gowns to see her through to the end of her pregnancy — before she went to dine with Lady Sedgewick and her family. Then he went on foot to the market place. For there he knew he would find a man selling caged birds who might just remember selling one to a German woman several days before.

The market thronged with life. Glove makers jostled fishermen, who had brought their latest catch in to be sold, including live lobsters and crabs. Stalls selling haberdashery stood beside those selling farming implements. A gypsy fortune-teller had erected a small tent and was giving bashful young maidens advice on their love lives. And next to her, with canaries and linnets chirruping in cages which John considered too small, was a dark, swarthy pedlar plying his trade. John went up to him and pretended to examine the birds.

‘May I interest you in a songbird, Sir? A pretty canary for your pretty lady?’

John looked pensive. ‘Alas my lady is a keeper of cats. I do not fancy the bird’s chances greatly. But perhaps you could furnish me with some information.’

The man’s eyes grew wary. ‘Oh, and what might that be, Sir?’

John produced a coin and held it beneath the pedlar’s nose. ‘I wondered if you could give me some tidings of a customer I believe you had recently.’

‘I have many customers, Sir. How would I know this particular one?’

‘I don’t think you would forget her. She was a German woman, large and loud-voiced. She would have come to your stall several days ago.’

‘Oh yes, I do recall someone. She argued with me over the price.’

John handed over the coin. ‘Yes, that would be her. Do you know where she comes from by any chance?’

The man scratched his stubbly chin. ‘Said she was buying the bird as a gift for her sister.’

John winced at the thought of there being two such women.

‘Have you any idea where her sister lives?’

‘Sorry to be unhelpful, Sir, but I don’t. It’s not the sort of thing I discuss with my customers. Why do you ask? Has she done something wrong?’

‘I’m not sure,’ John answered enigmatically, and gave the man another coin.

He walked away, thinking what a bore everything was. And then he had another idea. Fraulein Schmitt had taken a hackney coach from the stand opposite the apothecary’s shop. With quickening footsteps John made his way there.

As luck would have it the coach she had taken was just pulling in to the place reserved, John recognizing it by its faded woodwork. He immediately went up to it and the driver looked pleased.

‘Where to, Sir?’

John put on his authoritative face. ‘Tell me, my good man, do you remember a fare you took the other day? It was a large German woman who had mislaid her canary bird and got into your hackney to take her back to the market.’

‘Yes, I remember her, indeed I do.’

Yet again John produced a coin. ‘Did she ask you to drive her home once she had rescued the bird?’

‘Yes. And I took her. She’s staying with her sister in Porch House in Sidford, not far from the bridge.’

‘Take me there,’ said John, ‘and you’ll get double this.’ And he threw the coin to the driver as he leapt into the coach and rumbled out of Exeter’s cobbled streets.

On his honeymoon and during his earlier adventures in Sidmouth, John had never visited Sidford. Now as he drove along its narrow — and only — street he found himself staring at it with a certain admiration for its rural aspect. Heavily lined with trees, the dust-covered way wound downwards, culminating in a rustic packhorse bridge which spanned the River Sid. A sheep and a cow, quite unattended, were making a slow way across it, the only living creatures in sight.

John called up to the driver. ‘Porch House, you said?’

‘Aye, Sir. That’s it there.’

The Apothecary followed the line of his pointing whip and saw a Tudor building, standing in its own well laid-out gardens. At that moment he wondered what on earth he was going to say to the German woman and to her sister, who, he imagined, would be equally formidable.