‘Not yet, I believe. Lady Sidmouth is either being very tactful or very clever. I know she has set in train her own enquiries but the fact that her estate manager has also disappeared is a powerful piece of evidence.’
‘Does she realize they have gone off together?’
‘Yes, and I think she secretly thinks good luck to them.’
‘Do you feel as I do that Lady Imogen was not behind the crime?’ John asked.
‘Funnily enough, her choice of husband has swayed me in her favour. You see, I know Jessamy Gill. He used to come into Exeter every so often and he is the salt of the earth, as the saying goes. If he thought she was mixed up in anything like a murder plot he would have turned his back on her for ever.’
‘And what about Geoffrey James?’
‘Him I am not so certain of. I’ll take your word that he’s mad with grief but I would need a little more convincing than that.’
‘I forgot to tell you that someone was in the garden last night, silently watching me.’
A gleam shone in Toby’s eyes. ‘Who was it? Do you know?’
‘No, I saw nobody, but I was just aware of his — or her — presence.’
‘Perhaps it was your imagination.’
‘Perhaps,’ answered John.
They formulated a plan that they would divide the suspects between them. John would take Miranda, the ex Viscount — now the new Earl, Lord George and Mrs Cushen. Constable Miller would take Geoffrey James, Lady Imogen and Felicity.
‘What if Imogen has already left for Dorset?’
‘Then I’ll follow her there, Sir. I am very thorough, you can believe me.’
‘And the owner of that soiled and grubby garter?’
‘He’ll have gone back to whichever rathole he emerged from long since.’
‘Perhaps not. Perhaps he was an Exeter man.’
‘In that case, his days are numbered.’
John had started the day so early that it was only eleven o’clock when he emerged from his conference with the Constable. Feeling that the net must be tightening around who actually masterminded the killings, he decided that time was of the essence and ordered the coachman to go first to the apothecary’s shop in the main thoroughfare then on to Sidmouth House. An hour later he bowed his way into Lady Sidmouth’s receiving room and asked if he might visit Miranda as he had several healing medicaments he wanted to give her.
‘She won’t see you, John. She allows no one near her.’
‘Then what does she do with herself all day?’
‘She lies on her bed of grief and weeps.’
‘Well that’s not going to do her a lot of good. I mean she’ll have to come out for the funeral.’
‘And she’ll have to journey to Cornwall for it. I mean sooner or later she will have to take up residence in her new home. Perhaps you will be able to persuade her.’
‘I can only try.’
But a gentle knocking on the door of Miranda’s bedroom only elicited a shout of, ‘Go away. Have you no pity?’
John disguised his voice, speaking falsetto and trying desperately to sound like a maid. ‘The apothecary has called with various medicines for you, Milady. They will strengthen you for your journey to Cornwall.’
There was an audible sigh and then Miranda said, ‘Oh very well.’
A second or two later a key turned in the lock and there she stood.
To say that she looked ghastly was an understatement; in fact she looked fit to die herself. Her skin had the fearful pallor of death, her eyes were like black stones set shockingly in a casing of marble, her blonde hair stuck on end and was unbrushed and uncared for. She wore a soiled and grubby nightdress. Beneath her eyes were streaks where tears had poured down her unwashed cheeks. They widened now as she took in who was standing before her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in an indignant tone.
‘I am an apothecary and I have brought you some of my simples,’ he said, his face ingenuous, his manner sweet.
‘Oh, very well, come in. Shall I call a maid for chaperone?’
He affected a slightly offended air. ‘There will be no need for that. I merely wish to administer my potions.’
‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend you. My grief is so great that I do not always know what I am saying.’
She turned away from him and disconsolately walked towards the bed on which she threw herself and indulged in a fresh bout of weeping. John hastily gave her his handkerchief, removing the other — completely sodden.
‘I would like a little light if you have no objection,’ he said, and before she could say a word crossed to the two large windows and pulled back the curtains.
The glare of daylight fell on Miranda’s ravaged features and John swiftly unpacked the parcel that the apothecary in High Street, Exeter, had prepared for him. There was autumn Gentian for debility, together with white Dittany for hysteria. To restore Miranda’s ailing appetite the apothecary had also added an infusion of Polypody sweetened with honey.
‘Well, here we are then,’ said John in a jolly tone.
Miranda looked up from the pillow and a deep sob raked her body. ‘What are they?’
‘Physicks to make you better. Try some, there’s a good girl. Remember that you will have to get up soon and journey to your new home. You won’t want the servants to see you looking worn out with weeping, will you?’
‘No,’ she said a little reluctantly.
‘Then drink these down please, Countess St Austell. I promise they will restore you to full health.’
Miranda perked up at that, saying in a wistful voice, ‘Yes, I am the Countess. Not even dear Montague’s terrible death can take that away from me.’
‘It most certainly can’t,’ John answered.
He looked at her, assuming his honest citizen face. ‘Tell me, Miranda, did you truly love your husband?’
A beatific smile lit her saddened features. ‘Oh, Mr Rawlings, I loved him with all my heart.’
Twenty-Five
Unable to visit Felicity who was out in the garden with Mr Perkins, the surgeon who had removed the bullet from her arm, John decided to go for a solitary stroll and see if he could sort out his thoughts. Almost without knowing it his feet were leading him away from the formal gardens and downhill to the bottom of the cliff where he could just see a small strip of sand appearing. He waited, perched on rather an uncomfortable rock until slowly the beach became visible, then he ventured downwards.
Removing his shoes and stockings and putting them into his pocket, he walked on the strand barefoot, feeling the sand rising between his toes and squirming his feet in the dampness beneath him. The beach was no more than a quarter of a mile long but was quite endearing, being a pretty shape, lying beneath one of those marvellous red cliffs that abound in Devon but which, John believed, could fall at any time giving no more notice than a distant rumble. With its rapidly running tides leaving interesting rock pools, and its white wavelets beating on the shore, John thought it delightful, suitable indeed for lovers to walk upon — until he recalled Jessamy’s warning that it wasn’t safe and one could easily get cut off.
Remembering this he turned to go, but as he did so his eye was caught by some netting high up on the cliff face, snagged on a promontory that was sticking out. Reaching up, he pulled it down and immediately a lump of the cliff fell at his feet and sent a cloud of powdery dust straight into his eyes. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out an extremely moist handkerchief and rubbed it over his face. But it did little good and the Apothecary, choking and with very poor vision, struggled along to the man-made path that led away and climbed a small distance up. Then he turned and looked down.
A floating cloud of red dust was still making its way along the shoreline and he could see that some more rocks had fallen. He thought then that it was just not the swift tides that made the beach a potential death trap. It was the red rock above. So attractive to look at, but a potential killer if it were to fall in any great amount.