John got up and crossed to the small window, looking out at the sight of Padstow by moonlight. Nothing stirred except for an occasional marauding cat. Yet he knew that not far away in the mortuary lay the body of a woman who, on a simple visit to the town, had met a cruel and untimely end.
Twenty
The coroner had released the body and pronounced that Augusta Schmitt had died an accidental death. Matilda had immediately arranged for the coffin to be transported back to Sidford on a cart so that her sister might be buried close by in the parish church. Elizabeth had offered the unfortunate woman a ride back to Devon but had been politely refused. Mrs Mitchell and the sensible Miss Davenport were enduring the rigours of travelling with the departed to make sure that the coffin arrived safely. John had most sincerely wished them a safe journey and had stepped into Elizabeth’s carriage feeling what it must be like to be a member of the privileged classes and always travel in comfort.
He had arrived back at the Marchesa’s house in a positive spasm of impatience to see Joe Jago again.
‘He’ll only have a few days left before he must return to London,’ he said by way of explanation as he immediately went to the stables to find himself a reasonably placid mount.
Elizabeth waved a hand. ‘Oh be off with you! Go and find your red-headed alter ego and give him a kiss from me.’
So, despite it being late afternoon, John set forth and found Joe Jago in the taproom of The Blackamore’s Head in company with the Exeter Constable, no less.
‘Hah,’ he said, arriving at their table in a whirl, ‘the two men I most wanted to see.’
They both looked up in surprise and Joe sprang to his feet. ‘Mr Rawlings, I hope I find you well. How was your visit to Padstow, Sir? Did you get the information you wanted?’
‘No, I did not. But thereby hangs a tale.’ And sitting down beside them John proceeded to tell them everything that had taken place since he had last been in Exeter. They listened in astounded silence until Joe finally said, ‘So you believe Miss Schmitt was pushed?’
‘There is no way of knowing. I spoke to the fishermen who picked her up from the beach but they saw no-one.’
The Constable spoke. ‘Forgive me if I sound a little slow, Sir. But why should anyone want to shove the lady off the cliff?’
‘Because of a possible link with something in the past,’ John answered. ‘She mentioned a Helen and a Richard to me. Those were the names of the people who lived at one time in Vinehurst Place in Sussex. The place we agreed I should visit.’
Toby Miller sat silently for a moment or two, considering what he had just been told, then he said, ‘But there is no firm connection between William Gorringe and the house you visited, Mr Rawlings, as we both hoped?’
‘None at all.’
‘I see.’
Joe Jago pulled thoughtfully at his ear lobe. ‘I have explained to Mr Miller that I am clerk to Sir John Fielding and that I am here to assist you, Mr Rawlings. But as far as I can see the case must now be closed. We have reached an impasse, as it were. The chances that Helen and Richard were connected in any way is extremely remote. Furthermore I must return to London in two days’ time. I am sorry that I have been unable to help you further.’
John smiled ruefully. ‘You’ve done your best, Joe. I know you tried hard. By the way, how did you get on with Paulina Gower?’
A dull glow appeared in the clerk’s rugged cheeks. ‘A very pleasant lady,’ he said non-committally.
John, who had found her sharp and unhelpful, looked at him in some surprise. ‘Oh,’ he said, but decided to leave his most searching questions until later.
Toby stood up. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, but duty calls.’ He turned to the Apothecary. ‘I am afraid that I agree with Mr Jago, Sir. There is nothing further I can do in the case of the murder of William Gorringe. Should any further evidence come to light I will naturally pursue it. But, alas, I think that is now highly unlikely.’
John was forced to agree. It seemed as if every door had slammed shut in his face. He bowed to the Constable.
‘It’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Were you in London I would recommend you as a court runner to Sir John.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Joe.
They watched the man go out and Joe, looking at his departing back, said, ‘An excellent worker, that one.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ John’s eyes glinted. ‘Tell me about Paulina? I take it you got on rather well.’
The colour returned to the clerk’s craggy face. ‘I found her very charming actually, Sir.’
‘Do I detect a hint of romance?’
‘No, good heavens, nothing like that,’ Joe protested loudly. ‘I pretended to be an admirer of her theatrical work and as a result we became quite friendly.’
John collapsed into a fit of wild giggling. ‘Oh, Joe, I do wish you could see the expression on your face. You resemble a naughty boy who has been caught at the jam pot.’
The clerk assumed a dignified air which drove John to further excesses. He chortled loudly and clutched his sides, tears pouring down his cheeks.
‘I am glad that I give you cause for amusement, Mr Rawlings.’
John calmed down, thinking that he might have wounded his old friend’s feelings. But he still had the strongest suspicion that all was not quite above board as far as Mrs Gower was concerned. He wiped his eyes.
‘Tell me, did she explain how she came to be sharing lodgings with the Black Pyramid?’
‘She said that she struck up an acquaintanceship with him on that original journey and that they have remained cordial ever since.’
‘I see. Did you believe her?’
But it was a superfluous question. Joe Jago had clearly done so, more than a little swayed by the power of Paulina Gower’s middle-aged charms. John clamped his lips shut and said no more.
‘Well, Sir, where do we go tomorrow?’ asked the clerk, pointedly changing the subject.
‘I would be most obliged if you would attend the funeral of Miss Schmitt with me and Elizabeth. I think it will be a very small affair and I know that Mrs Mitchell would be grateful for all the support she can get.’
‘I shall certainly do that, Sir.’
‘Good. Then perhaps you would ride out to the big house at eleven o’clock. We can take a coach from there. On second thoughts why don’t you come and dine with us tonight and spend the night. I know Elizabeth would be pleased.’
The clerk drained his ale without answering and John guessed with unerring accuracy what he was going to say next.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, I have a previous engagement.’
The giggles — not far away — threatened to come back. ‘I see. Anywhere interesting?’ John asked innocently.
‘I am going,’ replied Joe Jago with enormous dignity, ‘to the theatre.’
Sidford had one parish church and it was to this that Elizabeth’s carriage made its way at twelve noon on the day following. John had prearranged that Joe should escort the Marchesa inside while he would follow some ten minutes later and take a seat at the back where he could observe. Much to his surprise when he did eventually enter the church’s shadowy interior he saw that the place was full. It seemed that the entire village had turned out in support of Matilda Mitchell and John was hard put to find a pew at the far end. Sitting down, he saw something even more astonishing. Also present — and sitting near the front at that — were the Black Pyramid, Nathaniel Broome and Paulina Gower, all dressed in solemn shades. Remembering how the black fighter had physically put Miss Schmitt out of the coach when they had travelled down with the murdered man — a journey that John felt he could never forget — the Apothecary felt frankly astonished.
The coffin entered, carried by six stout men, followed by Mrs Mitchell, heavily leaning on the gallant Miss Davenport. A couple of elderly people walked with them who John presumed must be friends of the family. Another surprise. The Black Pyramid solemnly rose to his feet and stood with bowed head as the casket passed by him. Nathaniel Broome and Mrs Gower did likewise and the Apothecary felt more puzzled than ever. It was just as if they were paying their final respects to an old friend.