Miranda stood in the entrance, dressed in a gorgeous nightgown and nothing else. Barefoot and without any kind of robe on the top, John felt she represented some old Norse goddess come to earth to bring summer. She stood immobile, staring from one to the other. Then she saw what lay there, cried out, ‘Montague,’ and rushed towards the heap that Lady Sidmouth was just covering.
She stopped short. ‘Is the naughty man in his cups?’
Lady Sidmouth gazed at her gently. ‘No, my dear, it is a little worse than that.’
Miranda looked roguish. ‘He has lost consciousness. Oh la, that is a fine way to spend a wedding night.’
She began to tug at the corner of the tablecloth. ‘Oh Monty, you are a bad boy. I think it is time you came to bed.’
Viscount Falmouth straightened himself up and crossed rapidly in her direction. ‘Don’t do that, Miranda. It is better that you don’t see.’
‘You’ll address me as Your Grace, in future, Maurice. Remember that I am now the Countess of St Austell.’
‘Whoever you are,’ he snapped at her, ‘don’t look under that tablecloth.’
‘Oh pooh,’ she answered and gave it one final tug.
The mortal remains of her husband lay before her like a piece of butchered meat and there were cries from around the room as people saw him.
Miranda clapped her hands over her mouth and her eyes widened in a most fearful manner, then with a great groan she fell unconscious to the floor.
John leapt forward but did not reach her before the Viscount, who scooped her up into his arms, then stood staring helplessly about him.
‘Odds my life!’ said Robin Sidmouth. ‘I do believe the lady faints.’
There followed a profound silence and just for a second John closed his eyes, thinking of all the duties that lay before him. The acrid smell of blood was suddenly everywhere and mixed with it the scent of hyacinths, sweet and beautiful. It was like the two extremes of life. The cruelty of people, the beauty of spring flowers forever mixed in one overpowering perfume. The Apothecary sighed, opened his eyes, and set about the tasks that must be done.
Eighteen
It turned out that three people had died in all. As well as St Austell and Mrs James there was a third guest that nobody knew particularly well, but still a lost life for all that. Of the wounded there were many more than John had first realized. These amounted to a simple graze as a bullet had flown past to several people having been hurt. The Apothecary and the surgeon were in the middle of giving life-saving first aid when Elizabeth came from upstairs and called Mr Perkins to attend. Much as John had suspected, Imogen was miscarrying her child. Which would, no doubt, be a relief to the anxious woman he had spied in the apothecary’s shop.
At last the line of hurt people was dealt with and John was just sipping a cup of coffee, which he had requested in order to steady himself, when a very pallid Felicity came to stand beside him.
‘Mr Rawlings, I wonder if you would look at my arm. I think I might have a bullet in it.’
He noticed then that the shawl with which she had covered herself was bloodstained and as he pulled it away she gave a little shudder.
‘I’m sorry. Did that hurt you?’
‘Yes, it did rather.’
She gave him a brave smile but he saw as soon as he examined her that she had indeed a bullet lodged in her upper left arm.
‘I will bandage this up for you but I daren’t remove the cause of the problem. We must get the surgeon to look at you fairly soon.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes, tonight. There’s no escaping that fact, young lady. Where is your mother?’
‘Over there.’ And Felicity pointed to where Lady Sidmouth was dispensing hot drinks and small eatables to the shocked and wounded.
‘How was it that you got shot?’ John asked the girl, his opinion of whom was rising by the second.
‘I picked up a candelabra and threw it at one of them.’
John leant back and gave a low whistle. ‘We shall have to report all this to the Constable. By the way, has he been sent for?’
‘Mama thought it best to wait until tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know that that was entirely wise. He really might like to see the scene as it is.’
‘But who is the Constable. Do you know?’
‘I have no idea because the job changes annually. But Exeter seems to have a system of each citizen chosen for the unpleasant task employing a certain individual to take his place. And if that system still holds good and if the individual is the same as the one I came across when last there was a murder in Devon, then his name is Tobias Miller and he is a first-class individual.’
Felicity gave a little shiver. ‘Must I go to the surgeon tonight? He seems awfully busy.’
‘Yes, you must, foolish child. It will be painful but it is best the bullet comes out as soon as possible, otherwise infection might set in.’
‘How do you know that it won’t anyway?’
‘Because I have spread on a good paste from Lady Sidmouth’s store cupboard. That will look after it very well until the bullet can be removed.’ John looked round him. ‘Is there anybody else?’
But it seemed that there wasn’t, and he decided that it was time he had a brief chat with Felicity’s mother before leaving.
Lady Sidmouth had proved herself to be a woman made of steel. Her headdress had come off, she had bloodstains all over her dress but, nothing daunted, she plunged into caring for the injured and keeping up the spirits of the rest as if it were her bounden duty. Which, John considered, it probably was. She looked up as he approached.
‘Well, Mr Rawlings, this is one wedding you won’t forget in a hurry.’
‘Indeed not, Madam. I can honestly say that it will be imprinted on my memory for ever.’
She smiled grimly. ‘Lady Imogen has lost a child, by the way. I had half guessed she was pregnant. Had you?’
‘Oh yes. It is better all round that that burden has been taken from her.’
‘Indeed. They say it was old St Austell’s by the way.’
‘What?’
‘Apparently he has been interfering with her since she was a child. If it’s true then he met his nemesis today.’
‘What a foul old bastard!’ John said with vehemence. ‘He deserved everything he got. Of course I feel sorry for Miranda…’
‘I wouldn’t do too much of that,’ came the sharp reply. ‘I think she knew perfectly well what she was getting into.’
The Apothecary held up his hand. ‘Say no more, please. Let me have some illusions left. Now, my Lady, Felicity must see the surgeon tonight. She has a bullet in the arm which I cannot remove.’
‘Young Perkins shall come as soon as he’s finished with Imogen. He’s a nice fellow. Lives in Exeter. As a matter of fact he is quite a friend of Felicity’s. Indeed I have certain hopes. Damn this going after a title business. If he’s a sound man, then let nature takes its course.’
John gathered from this somewhat convoluted statement that Mr Perkins was a possible suitor for Felicity’s hand.
‘Then will you get him?’ he asked.
‘I’ll go upstairs at once,’ she answered.
Having reassured himself on that point, John surveyed the scene. Lady Bournemouth was spreading her girth on to a small chaise while Cordelia and Freddy both fanned her face frantically. Mr Cushen, very grey about the gills, was escorting Mrs Cushen out to their waiting coach. Robin Sidmouth had tired of trying to comfort Maud and had whirled round the room like a bee and was presently deep in conversation with Viscount Falmouth while Maud sat alone, a miserable and solitary figure. Meanwhile a group of strong young estate workers, obviously having been called from their beds, had come into the Grand Saloon armed with planks and determined expressions. They went first to the late Earl and regardless of the blood seeping through the cloth that covered him, hefted him on to the plank, shoulder high.