Death at the Wedding Feast Part 24

Lady Sidmouth peered at him. *Oh, and what might that be?'

*This.'

And the Apothecary fished from his pocket a dried-out handkerchief which he handed to her. It was the one he had retrieved covered with tears and red dust and thrown into a basin of water, the one he had taken from Miranda. She looked at it.

*I am afraid I don't quite understand.'

*Miranda gave it me. Well, not exactly gave. I lent her one of my own and she pa.s.sed me this one in its place. I thought you might like to have it.'

*Why?'

*Because she was your ward and your cousin.'

*Miranda has thankfully gone to her grave and has slipped into my memory. I want nothing further to remind me of her.'

*I understand,' John answered.

*Do you?'

*Perfectly. Do you ever walk on the cliffs in the evening?'

She caught his eye, hers heavy lidded and secretive, his bright blue, and they regarded one another silently for a moment or two. *Sometimes,' she said eventually.

*Then you will know how dangerous it is to stroll on the tiny beach below.'

*I would never dream of going there,' she said. *You see there could be a rockfall at any time.'

*The slightest noise could trigger one off,' said John, still staring at her.

*Indeed it could.' She sighed and stood up. *And now, Mr Rawlings, you will have to forgive me. I really am very tired and I was on my way to bed when you called.'

She turned and threw the handkerchief on to the fire and John watched as the St Austell insignia went up in flames.

*Goodbye,' said Lady Sidmouth, but whether she was talking to him or to Miranda he was never afterwards sure.

*Goodnight, Madam,' he answered, and bowed his way out.

The last piece of the puzzle had just slipped into place. The Apothecary closed his eyes and let the carriage take him home.

Thirty.

He rose early the next morning and went to say farewell to his twin sons. Jasper and James smiled and made happy sounds as he walked into the nursery and it came home to him in all its bitterness how evil a crime it was for a grandson to strike down his own grandparent. For that which had given life to be struck down by the very life it had helped to create. At that moment the Apothecary felt that he was tasting a bitter gall and had to hold back tears, not only for himself but for all who had been so terribly affected by the deaths at the wedding feast.

His trunk had been taken to the carriage as day broke and now there was nothing left for him to do but say goodbye to Elizabeth. But she slept deeply, as heavily as if she had been drugged, and did not stir when he kissed her and murmured his parting words. A madness came upon him then and he walked away from her, down the stairs and out of the front door with never a backward glance. And it wasn't until he was on the flying coach fast bound for London that he realized he had treated her as badly as Maurice Beauvoir had his grandfather, the Earl of St Austell.

A mood of terrible introspection came upon him then, and did not leave him until he was dropped at the Gloucester Coffee House and felt the cobbles of the capital beneath his feet once more. There some of his confidence returned and he decided that somehow he would be able to persuade Elizabeth to give up their boys for at least part of the year. For despite all his adventures and all his pa.s.sion for investigating criminal misdeeds, John Rawlings was at heart a family man who liked nothing better than having his children around him in a comfortable dwelling.

His house at Number Two, Na.s.sau Street was quiet when he entered it and he called out, *Is anybody home?'

In answer he heard a door upstairs open, and looking up he saw a young lady descending at a dignified pace to greet him. He could not believe his eyes. The school had certainly done all that was required of it. His daughter Rose had an elegance and grace he would not have believed possible. Then her eyes widened and she spoilt the illusion by jumping the last few stairs and straight into his arms.

*Pappy, oh my dear Papa. You have come back at last.'

*Back to my own best girl.' He paused. *Why are you not at school?'

*I am on holiday, Sir, and Grandfather and I thought we would come to town to pursue cultural events.'

John's spirits were rising by the minute.

*And where is the redoubtable gentleman?'

*Here, my son, here.'

And with a s.n.a.t.c.h of powder and a whiff of scent that most famous of all the beaux in London came slowly into the hall from the library.

*Damme, but it's good to see you, John.'

*And d.a.m.n me, Sir, if it isn't good to be back.'

And with that the trio kissed one another and made their way into the garden.

Historical Note.

As my regular readers and visitors to my website a www.derynlake.com a will know, John Rawlings, Apothecary, really lived. He was born circa 1731, though his actual parentage has been difficult to trace. He was made Free of the Wors.h.i.+pful Society of Apothecaries on 13 March, 1755, giving his address as 2, Na.s.sau Street, Soho. This links him with H.D. Rawlings Ltd. who were based at the same address over a hundred years later. Rawlings were spruce and ginger beer manufacturers and in later years made soda and tonic waters. Their ancient soda syphons can still be found, these days usually in antique shops.

Sir John Fielding was another real life person. He was the half-brother of Henry Fielding, author and magistrate, who created the colourful character of Tom Jones and also set in motion what was later to become the Metropolitan Police Force, referred to in Henry and John's day as the Beak Runners, beak being the cant word for magistrate. Approximately one hundred years later they became known as the Bow Street Runners. And that is how it all began.

Recent t.i.tles by Deryn Lake from Severn House.

THE MILLS OF G.o.d.

The Apothecary John Rawlings Mysteries.

DEATH AND THE BLACK PYRAMID.

DEATH AT THE WEDDING FEAST.