Deryn Lake: Death and the Black Pyramid

The Marchesa shot her an amused glance and said, ‘I am enceinte, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

Lady Sidmouth did not turn a hair. Instead she asked, ‘And who is the father, may I ask?’

‘I am,’ John answered. ‘And in case you are wondering I have repeatedly asked Elizabeth to marry me but she will have none of it.’

‘Very wise too. My husband gave me ten children, ranging in ages from thirty to eleven, and then he died. Worn out I expect.’

John looked at her with new interest. She might be a peculiar-looking little creature but she was as outspoken as the Marchesa herself.

‘Very probably,’ he said, and smiled, at which Lady Sidmouth threw her apron over her face and laughed long and loud.

A footman entered the room and seemed to take the situation entirely as normal. ‘You rang, my Lady?’ he said, remaining utterly straight-faced.

‘Of course I did, Hopkins. Who else would have done it? Can you bring a decanter of the dry sherry and three glasses, please? Oh, and some of those sweet little biscuits that I like.’

‘Very good, my Lady.’

A memory was stirring in John’s mind, of a Robin Sidmouth he had once met in Bath. He turned to his hostess.

‘Do you by any chance know a Robin Sidmouth? I met him once, some years ago.’

‘Of course I know him. He’s my eldest son. He’s inherited the title now his father is dead.’

John turned to Elizabeth, who said, ‘The Earl of Sidmouth. That’s Robin.’

The Apothecary, who had always wondered about Robin’s doubtful sexuality, asked, ‘Is he married?’

‘Of course,’ his mother snorted, ‘to a dull, lifeless girl called Maud. They’ve been wed two years and have had two children. Mind you he went kicking and screaming to the altar. I’ve always thought he was a Miss Molly myself.’

John, remembering, said, ‘Who knows?’

To which she replied, ‘Pish. I should have thought it perfectly obvious.’

Lady Sidmouth poured out the sherry and handed round the plate of biscuits which Hopkins had placed before her. ‘You must excuse my wearing an apron,’ she said. ‘Fact is I’ve been in the kitchen making plum jam. Our fruit trees were laden this year.’ She fixed a piercing glance on Elizabeth. ‘Was there another reason for your coming to see me? Or was it merely to announce that you were with child?’

‘No, there was another reason, my dear Dorothy. My friend John travelled down in a stagecoach with two people whom you are currently employing. One was a dancing master, the other a milliner. You know of whom I speak?’

‘Yes, I know them very well. One is Simms, getting on in years but none the less a fine master of the Terpsichorean art. The other is Lovell, a dark-complexioned girl but for all that something of a beauty. They are both currently under my roof.’ She turned to John, her tiny eyes gleaming with curiosity. ‘Why do you want to know?’

The Apothecary hesitated, wondering whether or not to tell her about the murder of William Gorringe. He decided to be truthful only after another glance at her assured him that she would ferret the facts out of him one way or the other.

‘Actually, a fellow passenger was murdered in the inn on the night before last. Jemima Lovell knew of it but Mr Simms did not. I wondered whether he should be informed before the Constable comes calling.’

‘Will he come calling?’ Lady Sidmouth responded.

‘He might well. The hunt is on to find the missing passengers.’

‘Then go and talk to him, Mr Rawlings. He is teaching even while we speak. You will find him in the ballroom. Hopkins can show you where it is.’ And she rang the bell again.

But as he mounted the stairs behind Hopkins’s stoutly stockinged legs the Apothecary thought that he had small need of directions. For from a room on the first floor there came a great deal of noise — cries of ‘No, no. Do it like this,’ followed by the strains of a frantic violin and a great deal of heavy-footed thumping. With a majestic gesture Hopkins threw open the door and John gazed within.

Children of assorted ages and sizes — a dozen of them — were ranged in ranks before a red-faced Cuthbert Simms, who had the traditional violin tucked beneath his chin and was presently haranguing them about not getting a step correctly. Eager young virgins of seventeen languished at the back while in the front were younger sprigs, one in particular looking horribly like Robin Sidmouth, all pouting mouth and high heels.

John stepped into the ballroom and every head turned in his direction. The dancing lesson ground to a halt.

‘Mr Rawlings,’ said Cuthbert in tones of great surprise. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

‘I have come to speak to you, actually.’

‘Very well. Ladies and gentlemen, you may take a short break during which you will practice the steps I have been endeavouring to teach you this morning.’

There were various squeals of protest but Cuthbert looked firm and clapped his hands, after which there were one or two half-hearted attempts made to obey his instructions.

‘Well, my dear Sir,’ he said, drawing John to one side. ‘This is most certainly a surprise.’

‘Indeed it is, Sir. But truth to tell there was a fatality at The Half Moon which had not been discovered at the time you left. I thought it only fair to warn you that the Constable might come to interview you.’

‘Me?’ exclaimed Cuthbert. ‘Whatever for? I know nothing about it. What fatality?’

‘William Gorringe was murdered in his bed during the night,’ answered John, looking mild and honest — an expression he had been working on for some time.

‘Gorringe, you say? Oh dear me, whoever could have done that I wonder?’

He turned away, wiping his sweating face with a large handkerchief and John could see that even the back of Cuthbert’s neck had turned bright red.

‘I’ve no idea. The matter is — as I said — in the hands of the Constable. We shall have to await developments.’

The dancing master was clearly flustered because he clapped his hands together and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you may have the rest of this morning off. I shall see you here at two o’clock sharply.’

There was a loud shout of delight and a charge towards the door. Cuthbert sighed. ‘No matter how hard I try they behave like little hoydens.’

‘Boys will be boys, I suppose,’ John answered cheerfully. His gaze fell on two young ladies walking neatly towards the exit. ‘Now that couple do you credit. Who are they?’

‘The Lady Felicity Sidmouth — the Earl’s sister. And the Honourable Miranda Tremayne. She’s some sort of cousin and stays here as a guest.’

‘I see.’

As they drew level the pair dropped neat bobs and John made an effusive bow in return. Miranda gave him a saucy glance and as she went through the door turned to look at him over her shoulder.

‘My goodness, she’s going to grow up a beauty.’

‘She already is,’ sighed Cuthbert. ‘She has half the young men in the county calling on her. She is also my favourite pupil, being anxious to learn every dance there is.’

He was clearly relaxing now that the subject of Gorringe had been dropped but John felt it was his duty to persevere.

‘Did you know William Gorringe before the journey to Exeter?’ he asked casually.

The colour swept back into Cuthbert’s cheeks and he answered very swiftly, ‘No. No indeed. The man was a complete stranger to me until we met on the coach.’

He was just a little too emphatic John thought. But he felt he could question the dancing master no further. He got up from the chair to which Cuthbert had motioned him.

‘Well, my friend, I’ll bid you adieu. I just thought I ought to warn you before the Constable descends on you.’