‘I think you should go now before they find out. I realize that you have only just risen from your sickbed, Lady Imogen, but if I were in your shoes I would lie very low at Jessamy’s cottage for a day or two before moving on.’
She spoke. ‘But Lady Sidmouth is caring for me. What will she say?’
‘She is a woman of the world and will accept it. Society might be shocked but surely you made that choice long ago when you decided to go away with your lover.’
‘He’s right, Imogen. I wouldn’t put it past your brothers to kidnap you and take you back to Cornwall with them. I think you have a simple decision to make, my dear.’
‘Can you leave Devon and get another position?’ John asked him.
‘Aye. There’s a big estate in Dorset that is looking for a gamekeeper. I know ’cos my cousin wrote me about it. We could make our way there, Imogen.’
She hesitated, on the brink of changing her entire way of life. Then made her choice by laying one of her hands in Jessamy’s.
‘I’ll go with you, if I may.’
‘Well done,’ said John. ‘Now leave before something bad happens.’
Having said their farewells they set off down the cliff path and the Apothecary watched their departing backs. Then an idea occurred to him.
‘Do you two ever walk on that tiny beach below late at night?’ he called.
Jessamy turned. ‘Never, Sir. It be far too dangerous. There are very tricky tides down there and you could easily get cut off and drown.’
John gave them a parting salute and they both waved, then disappeared from his view as they went round a bend in the cliffs.
So who was behind the murders, he thought, as he walked slowly back to where his horse was tethered and climbed, with some difficulty, into the saddle.
He rode, reasonably fast for him, straight to Exeter, heading for the house of Tobias Miller. But the Constable was out. Very thirsty by now and extremely saddle sore, John made his way to the nearest tavern and ran into that rather strange boy, Herman Cushen, who had evidently made some money gambling for he was buying drinks for everyone present which, admittedly, were fairly few.
‘Ah ha, Mr Rawlings,’ he said loudly. ‘So we meet again. Have a drink, do.’
‘Well, thank you very much. I’ll have a pint of ale.’
It was duly poured and John sat down at a table opposite the unlovely youth.
‘I saw your mother in the cathedral the other day. She seemed very upset by the recent slaughter at the wedding feast. I felt quite sorry for her.’
Hermann waved an airy hand. ‘Oh, she takes things very hard, does my mother. I think she suffers from what you might call a nervous disposition.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that. An infusion of the leaves of the lime tree might be very helpful. Go to any apothecary and ask him to make you some up. It really should help her.’
Herman looked vague. ‘I’ll tell her,’ he answered with singular lack of interest. ‘Anyway, how have you been keeping? You were at the Earl of St Austell’s wedding, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, I was. The only way I escaped was by playing dead.’
The young man grinned, showing his gappy teeth. ‘That was very smart. How did the old women react to that?’
It occurred to John that the gossip must have spread throughout the length and breadth of the county.
‘They weren’t old women,’ he said. ‘They were in fact men dressed up.’
Herman looked thoroughly startled. ‘How do you know that?’
‘It was obvious. Besides, a friend of mine heard one of them speak. It was a man’s voice he heard.’
Herman went slightly green about the gills, a highly unbecoming look with his carrot-coloured hair. ‘Well, I am surprised. I truly am.’ He sank his ale down in one draught and then looked at the Apothecary appealingly.
‘Would you like another drink?’
‘Yes, I would rather. Your news has come as something of a shock. I was led to believe that two old women carried out the raid.’
‘No, they were definitely men, believe me.’
Herman relapsed into silence and John was left to consider how sore his behind was and how he was dreading the ride home.
‘So will you be staying in Exeter for a while?’ he asked the brooding young man sitting opposite him.
‘I really don’t know. It is all very much in the air at the moment. I might go back to London ahead of my parents. See something of the town.’
‘Of course. It must get boring, particularly if you don’t have many friends round here.’
‘Oh I have friends,’ Hermann said with a sly grin.
John, assuming that the boy frequented brothels, merely nodded and smiled.
Quarter of an hour later he took his leave, suddenly weary and tired, and he and his horse plodded back to Elizabeth’s great house just as dusk was falling and the brilliant sun was lowering itself against the darkening landscape. Yet all the way there something nagged at the back of his mind, some indefinable something that he could not bring to the surface. Try as he would he could not grasp the unseen thread nor make any sense of his jumbled thoughts. But when he finally entered the house, having walked round from the stables, he realized that Elizabeth had company and had to put any such meanderings out of his head.
Twenty-Four
John rushed upstairs to change into night clothes, and put on something rather dark and fetching before going into the salon to see who had arrived. And there, draped decorously on a chaise with Freddy Warwick sitting as close to her as was decent, was Miss Cordelia Clarke. Of the redoubtable Lady Bournemouth there was no sign. Crossing over to Miss Clarke, John kissed her hand and gave a formal bow to Freddy, who had risen to his feet and returned the compliment.
‘My dear,’ he said, going to Elizabeth and kissing her on the cheek.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, not crossly but curiously. ‘You’ve been out since first light. What have you been up to?’
‘Nothing much,’ John answered, not wishing to discuss the love life of Lady Imogen in front of anyone else. ‘I went into Exeter and bumped into someone I met on a coach. I just felt like riding,’ he added apologetically.
‘How unlike you,’ Elizabeth answered with just a hint of acidity. ‘Well, now that you’re here, Cordelia has something to tell you.’
‘Yes indeed,’ echoed Freddy, gazing at her adoringly.
Cordelia gave a little shiver as she embarked on her tale. ‘It happened on that terrible night of the wedding feast. Fortunately I was sitting next to Freddy…’ They exchanged tender glances. ‘… and he pulled me to the floor when he saw what was happening. We lay very still but kept our eyes open and thus I had a fine view of everything that happened at that level. I was terrified when a pair of feet came and stood right in front of me. I thought I was going to be killed.’
‘I would have protected you,’ said Freddy nobly.
‘Anyway, as I was watching, the crone’s garter came undone and slipped right off. When he had moved away I stretched my arm out and found it, then I hid it underneath me. And here it is.’
And with a triumphant move of her hand she reached into her reticule and produced the garter.
‘May I see it?’ asked John.
Cordelia handed him a decorative ribbon, definitely past its best and decidedly grubby but quite clearly a man’s. It had woven into it a slogan, namely ‘A toast to King George’. John passed it to Elizabeth.
‘Would you wear this?’
‘No, I would not. It is male attire.’
John took it back and stared at it. Whoever had owned the shabby thing had murdered — or assisted therein — three people. If it could help him hunt the killer down… But John knew that was impossible. It would be preposterous for him to even imagine going about such a task. Nonetheless, he turned to Cordelia and said, ‘May I keep this?’