Death and the Black Pyramid

Eighteen

‘You are sure it was her?’ said Joe Jago. stretching himself and still managing to look alert despite the fact that he was yawning.

John put out a hand and touched his arm. ‘Positive. Look, Joe, I know this is rather late in the day but will you come and spend the night at Elizabeth’s house? I really need to talk to you about this case and we can be private there. Besides it is time you caught up with her again.’

‘It will be a pleasure to do so, Mr Rawlings. But I have no clean linen with me. No shaving accoutrements.’

‘I can lend you anything you like. Joe, please come. I honestly feel as if I am walking through a maze.’

‘Very well, Sir. You have persuaded me. Now, as to Paulina Gower, could it not be mere coincidence that she has rented a room in the same house as the Black Pyramid?’

‘But you saw her. She had heard them coming and opened the door to greet them. Surely that is the act of an established friendship. What is going on, Joe?’

‘I have no idea, Sir. But as long as she did not get a good look at me I intend to play the role of an ardent admirer and theatregoer who has followed her down from London particularly to see her Lady Macbeth.’

John fingered his chin, a sure sign that he was thinking. ‘The light from the door was shining out but you and I stood in the shadows. I would not be surprised if she saw neither of us.’

‘Then as soon as I am back in Exeter I shall start hanging round the stage door.’

‘A very good plan. Did you notice how insistent Nat Broome was that we should not accompany them to the house?’

Joe nodded. ‘Yes, he was pretty firm about that.’

‘Then that means that he was afraid we would find out how friendly they are with Miss Gower.’

‘No, steady down, Sir. As I said, it could all be a coincidence.’

‘There are too many coincidences for my liking, Joe.’

And the Apothecary proceeded to run over the facts of his seeing Lucinda Silverwood and Jemima Lovell in Lewes, the names of Helen and Richard which had occurred in connection with Vinehurst Place and had then been repeated by Fraulein Schmitt, the fact that William Gorringe had thought he recognized the Black Pyramid.

‘They could all be explained away, Sir.’

‘I know that. Yet I feel that there is a thread here. Though what it is I have no idea at all.’

‘No more have I, Mr Rawlings. But let us hope that something comes up.’

A short while later they turned into the uphill drive that led to Elizabeth’s house and Joe, peering out of the coach’s window, let out a low whistle as the mansion, lit from outside by lamps, came into view.

‘By Jove, Sir, this is something of a palace. I had not expected anything quite like this.’

John laughed. ‘You wait till you see inside.’

The coach drew up at the front door which was opened by a liveried footman who bowed to them both.

‘This is Mr Jago,’ said John. ‘I have invited him to spend the night here.’

But he got no further. There was a cry from the staircase and Elizabeth, clad only in sleeping clothes and a night-rail, rushed towards Joe and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

‘My very dear friend,’ she said, ‘I could not greet you properly at the ball t’other night for fear of throwing light on a blind man’s holiday. But I cannot tell you how very pleased I am to see you again.’

Joe bowed low. ‘And in much happier circumstances, Madam.’

‘It seems an age ago now. But you look well, Joe. Come and sit down and tell me all that you have been doing.’

‘Precious little, my lady. I lead a dull old life in London.’

‘Now that I do not believe.’

As they had been talking she had led Joe into the mighty entrance hall and John smiled to himself to see his old friend’s jaw drop open as he took in the details of the painted ceiling with Britannia crowning all.

Elizabeth laughed. ‘You remind me of John when he first saw this place. I think he was quite awestruck.’

‘I was,’ the Apothecary answered. ‘With you as well,’ he added in an undertone.

She ignored that remark and went sailing ahead, her arm linked through Joe Jago’s, chattering and laughing. John stopped in his tracks, filled with a sudden joyfulness that he should have been blessed with such marvellous and giving friends. Friends who knew him well and would forgive him his many trespasses. Friends who would ask no questions but always be at his side when danger threatened. He laughed aloud and Elizabeth turned her head to look at him. She gave him her incredible smile.

‘You are happy?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am truly very happy indeed.’

He and Joe sat up late — Joe smoking his long pipe and drinking port, his wig, which he had slapped back on his head at the sight of Elizabeth’s house, at a very rakish angle.

‘Well, I reckon we’ve said all about the case that we can possibly say, Sir.’

‘I still think I should go back to Lewes, Joe. There’s some link with this affair that none of us can see at the moment.’

‘Not before you’ve visited Fraulein Schmitt again.’

‘No, I think that she might hold the key. So shall we go down to Padstow and see if we can find her?’

‘I don’t see why not. But on the other hand perhaps we should leave the poor old dear in peace until her holiday is over.’

‘Very well, I’ll be guided by you, Joe. But don’t forget that Sir John has given you a fortnight’s leave and no more.’

‘That thought is uppermost in my mind. So how can we usefully employ ourselves tomorrow?’

‘I can call on the Black Pyramid and see how he is progressing.’

‘A good idea. You must do that. While I shall go accourting Mrs Gower.’

And so saying Joe downed his port before giving the most enormous yawn.

He was up and out and away at daybreak, leaving John to glimpse his departing figure, riding tall in the saddle, his back straight as a tree. As he watched the departing figure, the Apothecary felt that next to his father he loved Joe Jago more than any other man alive. Then he thought of Sir John Fielding and considered that he was the kind of person that one could not really love as a companion, being too grand and huge an individual, a monumental man in every sense of the word.

For some unknown reason John felt in the mood to hurry and washed and dressed himself rapidly before descending to breakfast. But even sitting before the meal he loved best the restlessness persisted and his eyes kept wandering to the window and the landscape outside. The golden weather continued, despite the fact that it was nearly October. The hills were shot with rose, but where the shadows fell they were purple, dark and mysterious, while the river far below wound like a curling blue ribbon, twisting in the autumn sunshine.

John got to his feet, itching to do something to break the deadlock that this investigation had reached. Indeed he had got as far as leaving the room and going out into the huge entrance hall when he heard feet upon the stairs and, turning, saw that it was Elizabeth, up and dressed and ready for the day. He crossed to the bottom step and watched her descend, loving the way she moved, her body growing larger but still elegant and supple for all that.

‘Good morning, my darling. Joe Jago has already gone I fear. He has left you a note — quite formally written — thanking you for your hospitality. I have read it because it was addressed to me as well.’

Elizabeth looked at him seriously. ‘John, why are you so uneasy?’

He put his arm round her waist as she arrived at his level. ‘Because I think this case is virtually dead. There have been several remarkable coincidences but none of them makes any sense to me. I cannot find the common thread that is running through the whole thing.’

‘Is there nothing you can do?’

‘I could go to Padstow and ask Fraulein Scmitt to whom she was referring the other night.’

‘You mean her mention of Helen and Richard?’

‘Yes. But Elizabeth, Joe has advised me not to go. To wait until the poor old dear gets back from her holiday.’

She was silent a moment, her black hair swept up in a pinner, her scar distinctly visible in the morning light, her head slightly bent in concentration. Then she looked at him.

‘Do you agree with him?’

‘Yes and no. But I feel that if I don’t do something I shall go mad.’

Elizabeth smiled. ‘Well, we can’t have that, can we? Last time you and I paid a visit to Cornwall I came back with this.’ She laid a hand on her rounding. ‘So let us see what I come back with this time.’

‘You mean you would journey with me?’

‘Of course. Padstow is not that big a place. Someone is bound to know where they are staying.’

‘Very well. When shall we leave?’

‘Now. Straightaway. I shall write to Lady Sidmouth and tell her I shall be gone for a few days. And you must write to Joe at his inn. Come along. There is no time to lose. We leave within the hour.’

And she was right. As ten o’clock chimed the last pieces of luggage were being loaded onto the coach and John was helping her into her seat beside him. He turned to her. ‘You are quite sure about this?’

‘Absolutely positive.’ She took his hand and he felt her excitement like a tangible force running into his fingers. ‘It will be a mighty adventure. It is time I got out and about and saw something of the world again.’

‘And the child?’

She looked at him serenely. ‘The child will be well, never fear.’

They travelled up through Crediton, heading over the edge of Dartmoor until by mid afternoon they had reached the town of Bude. Here Elizabeth insisted that they stop for the night as she had no wish to exhaust the horses. They found an inn which was simple but adequate and Elizabeth clapped her hands as she saw the downstairs parlour with its beams, its inglenook in which burned a fire of both coal and logs, and its big oak refectory table on which gleamed various copper pots.

They dined on lentil soup, a capon and a neat’s tongue and afterwards they strolled out along the quaintly cobbled streets and smelt the salt of the sea. Then they went to bed and slept like two children, side by side, hardly moving. John, happy to be doing something, anything, to get nearer the solution; Elizabeth content to see him so.

The next morning they set off and arrived at Padstow in the afternoon. But first they drove along the coast track and at John’s insistence stopped the coach that he might see the vastness of the ocean. He and the Marchesa stood on the cliff top and said nothing, awestruck by the majesty of the sight before them.

Below, far below, wave upon wave rolled in to shore in a ceaseless flow of tumbling water, each white peak breaking relentlessly upon the yellow sand. The ocean was alive with movement, swelling in great blue humps, rising in cream-topped ripples, glinting aquamarine as it crashed down onto the strand. It was a sight that impinged itself onto the Apothecary’s pupils so that in the weeks after he could recall it as if it were before him still.

Slowly he turned to look at Elizabeth but she was gazing out to sea, her eyes clear, her features strong, her shoulders carried proudly, a strand of her hair whipping out on the gusting wind. At that moment he felt immensely grateful that she was carrying his child and he took her hand and held it as if they were the only two humans left alive in all that vast and thundering landscape.

They walked back to the coach in silence, subdued by the mighty splendour they had just witnessed and they exchanged few words until they reached the town of Padstow where they booked themselves in at The White Hart, a coaching inn misted with time.

John turned to Elizabeth. ‘The hunt is on for Fraulein Schmitt. Will you come with me or would you rather rest?’

She gave him an amused smile. ‘My darling, you go out before it gets dark. I shall wait for you here. I am not as young as I used to be and I find I get tired more quickly.’

He seized the wayward lock of hair. ‘You will always be young to me.’

‘That is because we are soul mates.’

‘Then why don’t you marry me? Give the child my name?’

‘Because it would not be fair on you,’ she replied simply, and after that would say no more, so that John was forced to kiss her and set out alone into the cobbled streets of that ancient Cornish town.

An enquiry at the haberdashers — from where he bought for Elizabeth a beautiful lace cap trimmed with violet ribbons — brought him the information he needed. A Miss Davenport had visitors, both of whom had been brought into the shop and greatly admired the goods, and neither of the ladies was English.

‘Did one of them have rather a loud voice?’ asked John, fishing in his pocket for some money.

‘Oh very much so, Sir. Why, do you know her?’

‘Indeed I do. I shall call on them forthwith. Now can you tell me where Miss Davenport’s house is situated?’

‘Yes, Sir. It is on the incline above the harbour. It stands alone and looks out towards the estuary. You can’t miss it. It has a balcony on the first floor.’

It was a pleasant walk down to the estuary, with the smell of salt in his nostrils and the high, mad cry of gulls, wheeling in the sky over his head.

A knock at Miss Davenport’s door brought no reply at all, not even from a servant, and John, somewhat disappointed, walked down to the harbour and sat on the wall, where he stared out to the estuary of the mighty river Camel conjoining with the sea. Yet despite the tranquility of the scene, the calmness of the afternoon, John had a feeling he had had many times before. That something, somewhere was wrong. That events were about to take an amazing — and possibly alarming — turn.