Deryn Lake: Death and the Black Pyramid

Meadows looked shocked. ‘What an unpleasant thing to do.’

‘Yes. It was.’

‘What happened to her?’ This from John.

‘She died, alas.’

‘How very sad.’

‘Oh, yes it was. A tragedy in fact.’

Cuthbert Simms sighed for the third time and stared into the dregs remaining in his glass.

‘Allow me to get you another port,’ said the Apothecary, standing up.

‘Just a wee one perhaps.’

As John crossed the floor to attract the attention of the potboy his eye was caught by the late arrival of Gorringe, the reception area being clearly visible to his left. The man strode in and shouted at a maid who happened to be standing in the hallway at the time. She bolted off and a few minutes later the landlord appeared. Unfortunately, the Apothecary could not hear a word of what was being said but he guessed that the hawk-faced man had gone to look for alternative accommodation but had been unable to find any at this hour of the night. Now he had returned and was demanding a room. Rather hoping that the landlord would refuse, John’s hopes were dashed as a key was produced and Gorringe was shown upstairs.

The potboy was at his elbow. ‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Two cognacs and a glass of port at that table, if you please.’

‘Very good, Sir.’

‘You’ll never guess who has just arrived and been given a room,’ John said, rejoining the other two.

Martin laughed. ‘William Gorringe — and he hasn’t just arrived. He was first out of the coach and booked a room for himself before the rest of us had a chance to stir. Didn’t you see him?’

‘Frankly, no I didn’t. I wonder where he wandered off to instead of coming in to have a drink?’

Cuthbert Simms gave an exquisite little shrug. ‘La, who cares? I think he’s a horrid man and not worth the discussion.’

John laughed. ‘You’re right. Let’s talk of something else.’

But the dancing master downed his port and stood up, wobbling just the slightest bit. He made a perfect bow however.

‘Gentlemen, if you will excuse me. I am afraid I am not used to so much alcohol. I must take to my bed immediately. Goodnight to you.’

And he went out using tiny precise steps. John turned to Martin Meadows.

‘Do you have a room to yourself?’

‘Yes, fortunately. The landlord was expecting our coach and had accommodation ready for several of us. And you?’

‘Yes, I also.’

They finished their drinks then, having collected candles, made their way upstairs. John led the way and eventually found his room high up on the third floor. It was rather cramped but it had a clean and comfortable bed in it and he took off his clothes and crawled into the sheets. Contrary to his expectations, he slept fitfully, dreaming wildly and waking at least once an hour. Checking the time by his travelling clock he saw that it grew late and still he had not achieved a proper rest. Reluctantly he got out of bed and made his way to the bedroom door, thinking of going downstairs and getting himself a glass of water. And it was while he was standing there that he heard a noise from the floor below. Slowly, and somehow stealthily, he heard a door open and close.

Wondering why the sound should have made him so uneasy, John peered over the banisters and down the stairwell. He saw a figure — quite unrecognizable — moving swiftly along the landing, holding a candle aloft. Looking to see whether it was a man or a woman — for the figure was wearing a floor-length cloak — it vanished before he had time to come to any conclusion. John went slowly back to his room, deciding to forget the glass of water.

He sat down on his bed, thinking. Then he concluded that perhaps it had been a secret tryst and that it was no business of his to enquire further. And it was with this thought uppermost in his mind that he finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

John woke late, so late that for a second he thought he must have missed the coach. And then he recalled that his journey was over, that all that remained now was to hire a horse from a livery stable and make his way up to Elizabeth in her great house high above the river Exe.

He got out of bed and washed in cold water, scraping a razor over his chin as best he could. Then he went downstairs and into the guests’ parlour to partake of his usual hearty fare. Somewhat to his surprise — it being a little after nine o’clock — he found that the only other person sitting there was Jemima Lovell. And on enquiring where the rest of their party were, was informed that most of them had left the inn on the final stages of their journey.

‘I’m afraid that I overslept,’ said John apologetically.

‘I too. I did not sleep well the night before. Paulina Gower snores rather and it kept me awake.’

‘Yes, of course. You were bundled into a room with two others. Did you have a place to yourself last night?’

‘Yes, I did,’ she answered.

John, remembering the strange person wandering on the landing of the floor below his, wondered if Jemima had heard anything but did not quite have the temerity to ask her.

‘Tell me, where do you go from here?’ he said instead.

‘To Lady Sidmouth’s house, not far from the small fishing village of Sidmouth. Do you know it?’ Without waiting for his reply she plunged on, ‘I am going there to make her a hat or two and some headdresses. I am a milliner, you see.’

‘Isn’t that where Cuthbert Simms was off to?’

‘Yes. There is to be a huge assembly for her daughter’s birthday. He is to prepare them all for the dances and I am to make their headgear.’

‘How did he get there?’

‘Lady Sidmouth sent a coach this morning and like a ninny I slept through its arrival. I shall have to make my way by whatever transport I can find.’

‘Perhaps she will send it back for you.’

Jemima gave a delightful smile. ‘I think not somehow. Once will be quite enough in Lady Sidmouth’s opinion.’

‘I see,’ said John, and did.

They ate on in silence, the parlour almost empty except for a sprinkling of other guests who were partaking of their meal, their conversation sporadic. And then, quite distinctly from somewhere far above them, John heard a cry followed by the sudden pounding of feet.

‘Whatever’s that?’ asked Jemima, startled, looking in the direction of the sound.

‘I don’t know,’ John answered, but he half rose from his chair even while he spoke.

The noise of commotion grew nearer and the Apothecary stood up. Excusing himself to Jemima, he hurried into the hall.

The maid whom he had seen the night before being shouted at by William Gorringe was flying down the stairs at top speed, a jug in her hand, the contents of which was spilling out all the way down the staircase.

‘Oh help!’ she was shouting. ‘Oh help! Somebody help.’

The landlord appeared from the area of the kitchen. ‘What is it, my girl?’

‘The gentleman in 103…’ she gasped out.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s dead, Mr Tyler. Oh, Sir, it’s horrible.’

John stepped forward. ‘I’m an apothecary. Can I be of any assistance?’

Tyler looked him up and down. ‘Do you have a medical bag with you?’

‘No. I am here for social reasons. But I have one or two bottles of physic that I always carry.’

‘Perhaps you had better bring them.’

‘If the man is dead they won’t do him a lot of good,’ John replied shortly.

They climbed the staircase in silence, ascending to the second floor, the one below John’s bedroom. The door to 103 stood ajar and the Apothecary realized with a start that it was the very door from which he had seen the mysterious cloaked figure emerge. He decided that for the moment he would keep the information to himself.