Death at the Wedding Feast

Five

John rose early the next morning, even before daylight, so that he lingered for a moment by his window watching as the sky lightened to the colour of a seal’s pelt. It was going to be a raw day for his travels, he thought miserably, and called downstairs for some really hot water to wash and shave in. Half an hour later he was dressed and his clothes packed in a small trunk which he would be able to handle without help. Naturally he had wanted to take more garments and make a show, but practicality had triumphed over pretentiousness and the Apothecary had reluctantly packed only a few fashionable rigs.

When he descended the stairs for his favourite meal, John found to his astonishment that Jacquetta and Gideon were already seated at table and had started to eat. They both looked up in some surprise.

Gideon rose. ‘We knew you were going early but had no idea exactly when, Sir. Forgive me for not eating with the servants but Mrs Fortune and I have a great deal to discuss.’

‘Of course. I think you should waive that rule, Gideon. I am delighted to see you both up and about at this hour.’

It was five-thirty and John could not help but be pleased that the people in charge of his new business should be taking it so seriously. He turned to Jacquetta Fortune. ‘I hope these hours aren’t going to prove too much for you.’

She laughed. ‘Because I am thin, do you mean? Don’t worry, Mr Rawlings, I shall soon put on weight with portions like this served up to me every day.’

‘Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.’

And John cut himself a large helping of ham and devoured it hungrily.

He had asked Irish Tom to come round with the coach at six fifteen and so, between mouthfuls, explained to Gideon all about Fred and his deception, then how the real Robin Hazell had rushed in and the truth had been revealed.

‘So you have ended up with two boys, Sir?’ his apprentice exclaimed.

‘Yes, and I think they will both be useful. Now, Gideon, when Robin returns with his father and indentures are to be drawn up I want you to oversee everything up to the point where my signature is required. Explain to them that I will be back in four weeks but tell the boy that he can start work immediately. If he is agreeable then make the very best of him. I think he is level-headed and industrious. He should be extremely helpful to you during my absence. As for the other child I want you to watch him like a hawk. If his thieving habits return then turn him out and no questions asked. But if he does his duties well then reward him by raising his wages to a shilling a week.’

‘Surely that is a little overgenerous, Sir.’

‘A little, perhaps. But I believe the lad has potential and I want you to encourage that if possible.’

‘I shall do as you ask, Mr Rawlings.’

‘And I,’ chimed in Jacquetta, ‘shall launch your business with some attack, I promise you.’

‘Then,’ said John, hastily swallowing a pickled herring, ‘I shall go away content.’

It was his intention to get a flying coach to Devon. These were faster and more comfortable than the stage but cost a good deal more. However, money was not the point at issue, it was the fact of actually obtaining a place in one. The system was to get four passengers to share the cost, but if only three persons were interested then the fare would automatically rise. John’s fear that the places would already be taken was allayed by the fact that two postilions were standing by a rather highly polished vehicle drawn up by a sign which read, ‘The Exeter Fast Coach for the Safe and Reliable Conveyance of Passengers. Fare 5d a mile. Two stops for Dining. Horses changed regular.’ The cost was exorbitant but time was of the essence. Bidding farewell to Irish Tom, John booked himself a place and got inside.

Staring out of the window he thought back to the last time he had made this journey, that time travelling on the public stage, and all the terrible events which had followed. But he threw off the memories. He was going to Devon to await the birth of his second child and see Elizabeth through what would undoubtedly be a difficult experience for a woman of her age. John set his jaw, then was immediately diverted by the entrance of a pretty woman of about thirty-five. She smiled, bowed her head in acknowledgement and went to sit at the back. But a few moments later she gave up her seat when a bashful young man, hand-in-hand with an equally bashful girl, entered and enquired if this was the post chaise to Exeter. They were so obviously madly in love and probably newly married as the female had not a chaperone in sight, that to have kept them apart would have been cruel beyond belief.

‘Do take my seat,’ she said to the man, who bowed then banged his head on the coach’s ceiling. She moved over to John, with a great deal of clambering. ‘May I sit next to you, Sir?’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he answered politely.

As she sat down one of the postilions put his head through the window. ‘Well, we’ve a full complement, ladies and gents, so we’ll be off. Ready, Rob?’

‘Aye.’

It was a four-horse team pulling a fairly light weight, and so they made good time, especially as the coach was built to literally fly across the countryside, its high back wheels eating up the miles. A glance behind him told the Apothecary that the young couple were locked in a deep embrace, while the woman sitting beside him was reading a novel as best she could with the jolting and swaying. He closed his eyes and when he woke up it was to find that they had covered the thirty miles or so between the Gloucester Coffee House and Bagshot and were briefly stopping to change the horses.

He bowed his head to his fellow passenger. ‘I’m so sorry, I indulged in a little snooze. I hope my snoring did not keep you awake.’

She laughed. ‘It was a light, pleasant buzz. Allow me to be so forward as to introduce myself. I am Lettice James, a resident of Exeter where my husband is employed as a merchant.’

‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Ma’am. I am John Rawlings, an apothecary of Shug Lane, Piccadilly, London.’

‘And what are you doing travelling to Exeter, Mr Rawlings, if I may make so bold?’

John felt he could hardly say that he was travelling to see his mistress who was about to give birth to their child, so muttered something about visiting friends.

Mrs James nodded. ‘Anyone I might know? I am quite a socialite in my quiet way.’

The Apothecary felt truly uncomfortable and could think of no answer except the truth. ‘Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi — or the Marchesa if you prefer it.’

‘I don’t really. I prefer English titles. Lady Elizabeth, now let me see. She has not been seen at any social events for the last…’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘… five months or so. Tell me, is she unwell? Are you visiting her in a professional capacity?’

John hesitated, wondering what to reply. Eventually he said, ‘No, just as a friend.’

‘Then you will know the reason why she has been absent, surely.’

The Apothecary stared into her face and realized that she was not as attractive as he had first thought. There was a certain hardness about her eyebrows and her lips were thinner than they had initially appeared. He mentally put her down as Exeter’s queen of gossip.

‘I think she has been busy with her numerous business interests,’ he answered.

‘Business interests?’ said Mrs James, all aflutter at some juicy piece of new information.

‘Indeed. Her late husband, you know. He left her vast estates in Italy and many and varied companies. Export and import. Wine, lace — you know the sort of thing.’ He waved a hand vaguely.

‘Really?’ Lettice’s eyes were round with delight at learning some new facts. ‘I had not realized that the Lady Elizabeth is a business woman.’

‘Oh yes,’ answered John expansively, ‘she also travels a great deal. Did you not know that?’

Lettice lowered her eyes. ‘Well, yes. Of course. But Lady Elizabeth is very discreet. She does not boast of her dealings.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Has she been abroad recently?’

‘I believe so,’ John answered vaguely. ‘But I am not privy to all her movements.’

‘Well, do send her my very best wishes and my earnest hope that she will be gracing our little social gatherings once more.’

‘I will certainly pass on your kind thoughts. And now if you will excuse me I shall take a breath of air.’

He hurried out of the coach and went to the boghouse, conveniently situated beside the inn, only to find Lettice James waiting outside. She blushed and passed within while John returned to the conveyance, only to see the young couple still locked in an embrace. Thinking about the first flush of youth, John took his seat and with the return of the Exeter gossip they were off once more.

The route taken by the flying coach was not the usual one. In order to speed things up, the carriage passed through Bagshot, then on to Basingstoke and a great push through to Salisbury, where they stopped overnight and had a late dinner.

John found himself seated at a large trencher table with another two loads of passengers, recently arrived. Lettice, whom he had rather come to mistrust, was sitting some distance away. As for the young couple, they bolted their food and then retired upstairs, accompanied by a good deal of giggling. John could only hope that they did not have a creaking bed or those within earshot would have a disturbed night of it.

The next morning saw them leave Salisbury at seven o’clock. Lettice looked tired and yawned greatly, whispering to John that, just as he had thought, she had had a room next door to the honeymooners and as a result had had hardly a wink of sleep. The young people themselves, appearing much the worse for wear, climbed on to the back seat and instantly fell asleep. John, who had been forced to share a room with a nifty little tailor from Woodyeats, who slept silently as a cat which he rather resembled, felt in fine fettle. Fortunately for him the inquisitive Mrs James dozed off at once and so the Apothecary, with a great stirring of his heart which he always felt in the beautiful countryside through which he was now passing, was free to gaze through the large front window at the scenery.

They stopped once more at Dorchester, where they dined, and then pushed on through Honiton to Exeter where they arrived as the dusk of evening was just casting a shadow over the land. John, as courtesy demanded, saw Mrs James into a waiting hackney carriage, doffed his hat to the two youngsters who were plunging into The Half Moon with alacrity, and turned in the direction of the livery stables that he had used before.

Wary as he was of riding, he did not like the look of a vast chestnut stallion that was led out for him, clomping over the cobblestones and baring its teeth as soon as it saw him.

‘Have you got nothing a bit smaller?’ he asked nervously.

‘Sorry, Sir, but this be the last beast left. Night’s falling and all the horses are hired. Strawberry’s all right as long as you let him know who’s master.’

‘Oh God,’ the Apothecary muttered, and gamely put his foot in the stirrup which, even with the mounting block, was a very long way up. Finally, with much heaving of his backside from the stable lads, he was seated. At which the horse took off, furiously going out of the yard, and down the street as if all the devils from hell were after it.

‘Whoa,’ shouted John and pulled hard on the creature’s reins, at which it slowed its pace a little — but not a lot.

So it was with great speed that John left the city behind and started to traverse the countryside outside. With every step the animal took he felt that he would be thrown.

‘Stop that! Behave yourself! Slow down, you fiend,’ he shouted at various intervals. But Strawberry took no notice whatsoever and continued to plunge onwards as if its life depended on it. The Apothecary had a vision of himself shooting over the animal’s head and landing in a ditch, and even while he was trying to control the horse his hat flew away and he was left with his cinnamon curls flying into a tangled whirl like those of a rain-soaked scarecrow. And finally that which he had been dreading throughout the whole terrible ordeal happened. A fox, startled by the sound of approach, bolted from its lair right at Strawberry’s feet. The stallion came to a dead stop and John whizzed over its head and on to the ground below, where he landed in a boggy piece of earth. Looking up dazedly he saw that Strawberry had turned and was bolting back to Exeter like a racehorse.

‘Damn your eyes!’ he shouted at its retreating rear end. The horse whinnied and tossed its head to show how much it cared and continued on its journey at breakneck speed.

Slowly and gingerly the Apothecary got to his feet, relieved to find that nothing was broken. Looking round him he discovered that he had reached the bottom of the hill on the top of which stood Elizabeth’s house. Walking carefully and somewhat painfully with no light to guide him except that of a new moon, John made his way upwards. He fell over six times during the journey, once landing in what he could only think was a dried-out cow pat. By this time he had acquired a hole in the knee of his breeches and his stockings were filthy and torn. And all the while the lights in Elizabeth’s home taunted him, never seeming to draw nearer however hard he tried to reach them. At long last he reached the main gates and rang the bell on the lodgekeeper’s cottage.

He stood, panting in the darkness, while he heard two big bolts being drawn back and the eventual creak as the door opened. The lodgekeeper stood there, lantern raised on high. John stood rooted to the spot as he stared down the barrel of a blunderbuss.

‘Don’t shoot, Harrison, for the love of God. It’s me, John Rawlings.’

‘Get away you varmint. You tatterdemalion. Be off with you.’

‘Harrison, please. It really is me. I was thrown by my horse and I’ve had to walk here.’

The lantern was thrust right into his face so that John was forced to screw up his eyes, squinting at the brightness.

‘Stap me, if it ain’t you. I’d never have recognized you, Sir. You look like a tramp.’

‘Thank you,’ John answered with what little patience he could muster.

‘You’d best come in, Sir, and have a bit of a wash before you goes to the big house. Mind you, Lady Elizabeth ain’t there.’

‘She’s not? Where is she then? Do you know?’

‘She went off in the carriage to see Lady Sidmouth and she hasn’t returned, Sir.’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Three days, Sir.’

‘Oh, hare and hounds, I haven’t missed another one,’ John said to himself.

‘We don’t know, Sir. We ain’t had no word.’

‘I’d better go there straight away.’

‘Wash yourself first, Sir. They’ll not let you in else.’

John looked at his reflection in a small mirror and allowed himself a shriek of horror at the sight he presented. Then he set to in an old tin bowl and kettle full of hot water, stripping off until he had managed somehow to remove the top layer of dirt. He surveyed his clothes as he put them back on. There was no help for it. He would have to go to the big house and change into something that he had left behind on his previous visit, his trunk being left in Exeter to be brought the next day by a man with a cart.

Plodding up the drive with Harrison lighting his way, John suddenly felt exhausted. Every step he took hurt and by the time he reached the grandeur of Withycombe House, the Marchesa’s great and stately dwelling, he felt fit to faint. The head footman took one look at him and immediately ordered him to bed.

‘But Lady Elizabeth…’

‘Sir,’ said the footman firmly, ‘’twill make no difference if you go tonight or not. Anxious as we all are for Milady’s welfare there is nothing you can do about it at this hour of the night. Now go to bed, Sir, and you will arise fresh and well in the morning.’

‘Will you wake me at six?’

‘You will be woken at seven, Sir, if you’ve no violent objection — and there’s an end to it.’

Too tired to argue, John slowly climbed the great staircase and made his way to the guest suite, glad that someone else had made the decision for him.