John stood, slightly annoyed and quite definitely nonplussed. He had made a firm arrangement to call on Geoffrey James and now the fellow had backed out. He decided that he would try to locate him and knocked on the door again.
It was opened after a minute and Gertrude thrust her unlovely face out. ‘Wot is it?’
‘Do you know where Mr James has gone?’
‘Down to the river. Says he’s going to drown hisself.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ John answered impatiently, and set off at some speed.
Originally the River Exe had been tidal and navigable up to the city walls, and it had thrived as a busy port. In the 1270s, however, Isabella de Fortibus, the Countess of Devon, had built a weir across the river to power her mills. Whether this was a deliberately spiteful action no one knew but it had the effect of cutting off Exeter’s thriving harbour from the sea. Twenty years later trade with the port resumed only to be cut off once more, this time by Hugh de Courtenay, Earl of Devon, Isabella’s cousin. This meant that all goods had to be unloaded at Topsham — a town that John could remember clearly from the days of his honeymoon — and carried by road. The Earls, rubbing their hands in glee, collected heavy tolls to anyone using the highways,
For 250 years the city sent petitions to the King to have the port reopened, until finally in 1550 Edward VI, the boy King — Henry VIII’s son by Jane Seymour — finally granted permission. In 1563, Exeter traders employed a Welshman, John Trew of Glamorgan, to build a canal to bypass the weirs and rejoin the river in the centre of the city, where a great quay would be built. In 1677 it was extended and the entrance was moved to Topsham, and in 1701 the canal was deepened and widened to allow ocean-going sailing ships right of passage.
This was how Elizabeth had met her husband, the Italian trader, the Marchese di Lorenzi, who had sailed his ship to Exeter loaded with Murano glass. And she, the daughter of an English Earl, pampered and cosseted since birth, had run off with him and lived a wild and exciting life in Italy. Until tragedy had intervened and she had returned to England to bring up her son on her own.
But now, John thought, she had a lively pair of twin boys to cope with, and just for a second came near to understanding her possessiveness over them.
It seemed to him that as a merchant of Exeter Geoffrey might go down to the quay, and it was to there that John made his way. There was no sign of his quarry but for a few minutes he stopped in open-mouthed admiration of the great ships — sails furled, decks swarming with men — that lay at anchor there. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder and looking round saw the melancholy Mr James, drunk as a wheelbarrow, swaying on his feet, and looking a ripe shade of green.
‘Greetings,’ said Mr James, then shambled to the water’s edge and was horribly sick into the river.
John, observing him with a seasoned eye, waited till all the retching was done and then walked forward and dragged the wretched man back to where two barrels offered a temporary sitting place.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘tell me everything.’
‘I loved her, that was the trouble,’ said Geoffrey incoherently. ‘She was an awful wife, terrible in fact, but I couldn’t help myself. I just loved her.’
‘Why was she so bad?’ asked John.
‘Unfaithful. Always out. Gossip. Everything that one wouldn’t desire in a woman.’
He hiccuped violently and John instinctively leaned away.
Mr James continued, his speech somewhat clearer. ‘You see, she was fascinated by what she thought of as the “best people”. She had very humble origins, you know. Born to a labouring family. Her father heaved goods coming off the ships. But she was very pretty at one time and had a pleasing way with her. So pleasing that I married her. I loved her so much. Oh God’s wounds.’ His voice broke on a sob. ‘Anyway, she set about cultivating society people. She would do anything to get to know them. Anything at all.’ By now he was crying openly.
John watched in silence, certain he knew what was coming next.
‘That wretch the Earl of St Austell. She became his mistress. He would bed any doxy and I am certain he took her as part of a wager. And after that, he would torment her. Send for her once a year and openly laugh in her face before seducing her. He turned her into a flip-flap. My pretty little Lettice.’
‘Did you kill him? Were you one of the two shooters?’
Geoffrey looked at him in astonishment. ‘No, I did not. I went out drinking that day — the day of the wedding. No, Sir, you can look elsewhere for your murderer.’
John nodded quietly, anxious not to stop the flow. ‘I understand. Tell me, did Lettice share any of the Earl’s secrets do you know?’
‘I can’t imagine it.’ He was sobering up and looked at the Apothecary quite acutely. ‘Why, may I ask?’
‘I am just wondering if that was the reason for her murder?’
‘I should think there must be at least fifty of Exeter’s citizens who had a motive for killing my poor wife. She gossiped about everyone and everything. Except herself. But in a way she was quite proud of the fact that she was St Austell’s whore. Made her feel that she had risen up in the world.’ He sighed deeply.
‘And she told you all this?’
‘I charged her with the fact she was his mistress. And do you know what she replied?’
‘No.’
‘That I was a fumbler and no use to woman or beast.’
John said nothing, thinking of all the tragedies of life, of all the million and one hurts and cruelties that people inflict on other human beings. How nothing ever seems to go straightly from A to B. That living was punctuated by a zillion and one relentless wounds, starting, perhaps, with a child falling down and ending with the death of someone near and dear. What a treacherous path indeed.
Geoffrey stared at him soberly. ‘The trouble was that she fell out of love with me. That is probably what drove her to do what she did.’
John shook his head. Even at this most dire of times, Mr James was still making excuses for Lettice. He forced a cheerful smile on to his face. ‘It is a sad loss for you, Geoffrey. I may call you that? But let me hear no more nonsense about ending your life. Living is a challenge to each and every one of us, and it is up to you to do it, for better or worse.’
‘The house is so empty without Lettice.’
‘Nonsense. You said she was always out and about. The best thing you can do is get on with your business and make it better. Work is the greatest cure-all for everything.’
Mr James straightened his shoulders, clearly sobering up. ‘You’re right, of course.’
‘And the other thing you might do to improve things…’
‘Yes?’
‘Is sack Gertrude.’ And the Apothecary raised one of his mobile eyebrows and grinned.
When he got home it was to find a letter from Jacquetta Fortune awaiting him. It was neatly written in a long flowing hand and was so descriptive that John chuckled as he read it. Apparently Gideon was running the shop as if he were an apothecary of many years standing, while the apprentice, Robin Hazell, was turning out to be a boy of quick understanding and obvious merit. His great friend and admirer, Fred the Factotum, was proving adept with his letters and had added a post scriptum to Jacquetta’s script:
I WRIT THIS WITH MINE OWN HAND.
FRED.
Slyly John slid his eyes up from where he sat opposite Elizabeth, calmly reading a newspaper with a minute pair of spectacles perched upon her nose, comparing the colour of her hair with that of Mrs Fortune. They were as unalike as any two women could be yet, he had to admit it, though he loved Elizabeth with all his heart he still had a penchant for Jacquetta, with her competent manner and her glowing locks.
‘Interesting letter?’ said Elizabeth, looking at him over her glasses.