Death in the West Wind Read online

  “How is your master?” the Apothecary enquired in hushed tones.

  “Taken it very bad, Sir. He has eaten nothing since yesterday when you brought him home.”

  “What about his son? Has he shown up yet?”

  “No, Sir, and that’s the hard part of it. If Richard were here to comfort the Master I don’t think he’d be in quite such a state. But added to his anguish is the worry over the boy. Oh, it’s a truly terrible situation, Sir, truly terrible.”

  “Do you think he is well enough to receive me?”

  “He’d probably appreciate the company, Mr. Rawlings. I’ll go and tell him.”

  But John’s lack of sleep on the previous night was beginning to catch up with him and it was almost a relief when the servant returned and said, “The Master begs pardon,

  Sir, but asks if you would mind coming back in the morning. He was just on the point of retiring when you called.”

  The Apothecary nodded agreement. “That’s perfectly all right, tell him. I’ll return. Now there is one thing you can help me with.”

  “And what’s that, Sir?”

  “Tobias Wills, Miss Juliana’s betrothed. Does he live far away?”

  “No, Sir, just a few paces up the street at number 41, The Strand.”

  “Do you know if he’s been told about his fiancee?”

  “He has. Apparently he overheard a rumour in Exeter and came back here quite mad with grief. The Master confirmed the truth and the poor fellow went rushing out of the house like a blinded bull. He’s not been seen since.”

  “I shall attempt a call.”

  “Good luck to you, Sir.”

  * * *

  Though Shell House was lovely it was old, having been built in the previous century. But Number 41 was very different, probably, or so John guessed, dating from the reign of William and Mary and no more than sixty years of age. From the outside it was stunning, with a pillared entrance and large gracious windows, including two dormers in the roof where the servants were housed. With its ordered gardens and delicate shape, the Apothecary considered it one of the most charming houses he had seen in a long time.

  Again, there were signs of mourning about the exterior. Black draped the lion’s head knocker and all the curtains had been drawn, though as it was already dark outside this was hardly surprising. Wishing that he had a more pleasant mission, John knocked at the door.

  As he stepped into the hall, having produced a card and explained the nature of his visit, the sounds of weeping were distinctly audible. From a room deep in the house’s heart a woman sobbed with a high-pitched sound, while from somewhere close by a man grieved rather more softly.

  “If Master Tobias cannot see me I will quite understand,” John murmured to the footman, the timbre of his voice respectful. A door flung open dramatically. “No, I’ll see you, Sir,” shouted Tobias, rocking on his feet, clearly drunk as a wheelbarrow. “I have words to say to you.”

  John bowed. “Thank you for dealing with a stranger in your hour of grief.”

  “Grief, grief!” bellowed the young man. “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.” And with that he swayed his way back into the small salon, John following in his wake.

  Tobias looked absolutely terrible, his face red and blotchy, his eyes puffed up, his clothes crumpled as if he had slept in them and soiled where he had spilled wine down his front. As soon as the door was closed behind them he started to attack agressively.

  “Did you know? Did you know when we met that she was already dead?”

  John thought rapidly. To tell the truth at this delicate stage would be tantamount to inciting a riot. He lied nobly. “No, Sir, I did not.”

  A look of drunken cunning crossed poor Tobias’s flushed features. “Then why were you looking for Richard?”

  “As I told you, because he was missing from school.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, why? Should there be anything else?”

  Tobias tapped the side of his nose. “Sit down. Have a drink. I’ve something to tell you.”

  The Apothecary took a seat opposite his host’s, watching as the sad and wretched drunkard poured out two glasses of port.

  “I was betrothed to Juliana,” Tobias stated belligerently. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes. You told me so the other day.”

  “I was going to marry her, faithless whore that she was.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked the Apothecary, feeling that frisson which always heralded the fact that some important information was about to be revealed.

  “That she was a whore?” John nodded. “Because she had met somebody else and let him make free with her. I was never free with her, do you know that? I respected her virtue.” Tobias wept again, loudly and blubberingly. John, fearing that the moment of truth was about to pass, leapt to his feet and administered the salts which he always carried in his pocket.

  The young man wiped his eyes with his hand. “I loved Juliana, Mr … What did you say your name was?”

  “Rawlings. John Rawlings.”

  “I loved her, John,” said Tobias, deciding that this was not the moment for the nicety of surnames.

  “I’m sure you did. But tell me about her lover. Who was he, do you know?”

  “Of course I know. It was that bastard foppish Fitz, that moneyed shite from Exeter.” Memories of the card found in Richard’s room came back, together with the fact that though the Apothecary had meant to call on the Fitz family, so far the opportunity had not presented itself.

  “And that’s not all,” Tobias continued thickly, “I also know who killed her.”

  John felt himself grow tense. “You do? Who was it, for God’s sake?”

  “Why, Richard of course. That’s why he’s gone to earth.”

  John stared at him, uncomfortably aware that the same suspicion had gone through his own mind. “But why should he kill his own sister?”

  “Because he was jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of whom, pray?”

  “Of Fitz, of course. Richard was in love with him. You see, John, that was the great irony. The two van Guylder children were both in love with the same man.”

  “Oh, God!” said the Apothecary with feeling. “And what about Fitz? Did he know all this?”

  Tobias burst into most unpleasant laughter. “Know? Of course he knew? You see, my dear fellow, equally he was in love with both of them.”

  8

  The spell of hot weather was over. As John Rawlings got out of bed and dressed in the dawning he could feel that the chilly wind of the previous evening was still blowing round The Salutation and in through the cracks of the window that overlooked the river. Turning to look at Emilia, lying fast asleep in their old-fashioned four-poster bed, complete with tester, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to crawl in beside her and warm himself up in the nicest way possible.

  He had never, he thought as he struggled into his shirt, considered that a honeymoon would involve so little sleep — and for all the wrong reasons. The night before last there had been none at all, while the night just gone had amounted to a mere few hours rest before being forced to rise in the cold and head down to the river to search the Constantia. He could, of course, have got out of the job, passed it over to Joe and the two Brave Fellows, but as it had been his idea in the first place, the Apothecary had felt determined to carry it through. However, there was one consolation. As he went downstairs for a hurried breakfast he found that the post boy had brought a letter from Sir Gabriel.

  * * *

  My Son,

  I am Advised by Mr. J. Fielding, at whose House I stopped to Dine t’other Day, that you are once More Engaged upon the pursuit of a Murderous Wretch. My dear Child, is there no End to the Fates that Befall You? I Hope with good Heart that You find Time for Enjoyment as well As Effort. Should a Moment be Found, pray Call upon my Old Friend Sir Clovelly Lovell in Exeter. I am Writing to him in this Same Post. Pray give my Kind Regards to Mrs. Rawlings
and Trust I find Her Well. I remain, Sir, your Affectionate Father and Friend,

  G. Kent.

  * * *

  There was a postscript giving Sir Clovelly’s address, which, John noted with interest, was also in The Close, a mere few doors away from the Fitzes.

  “Clovelly Lovell,” said John aloud over his ham, “it has to be a joke. Nobody could call their child that.”

  And he was still smiling about it as he walked down the street to the quay.

  It was very dark, only the faintest glow in the sky showing that indeed dawn was coming up, but the river itself was as ink black as if it were midnight. It was at full swell, gurgling and eddying in the darkness, rushing to find the Clyst so that they could journey down to the sea together. On its back the great merchantmen rode gallantly at anchor, their masts creaking in the forceful breeze.

  During the night the Constantia had been brought in to the quay side and as John approached he saw that Joe and the two Runners were already there ahead of him and negotiating with the quay master to have a boarding ladder set up. Mr. Northmore, who clearly did not want to make things easy for them, was taking his time about agreeing. The dawn light burnished the clerk’s fiery head as he discussed the matter and John could see by the way his body moved that he was starting to run out of patience. Leaving them to get on with it, confident that Joe would win, the Apothecary walked down the quay, staring at the ship that had been brought alongside by the simple means of pulling in her mooring rope and making it fast. Then he saw in the dimness that the Constantia’s own ladder was in place, hooked over the rail and hanging over the side, merely waiting for someone to secure it to the quay.

  “The ladder’s already down,” he called to the arguing couple.

  “Well, there’s an end to the deliberations,” said Joe snappishly, “if you, Sir, could provide a man to hold it while we go aboard.”

  The quay master, who clearly liked to look magnanimous on occasion, said, “We’ll fasten it in place, Mr. Jago. We cannot have Mr. Fielding in London thinking that we Devonians stand in the way of law and order.”

  “Quite,” Joe answered pointedly.

  A few moments later it was done. A burly dock labourer had pulled the lower end of the ladder towards him with a hook and secured it to a pair of stout rings with rope.

  “After you, Sir,” said Joe Jago and gave an affectionate little bow as John climbed aboard.

  It was uncanny, setting foot on that death ship once more. The dawning cast shadows and pools of darkness over the deck, making shapes which the Apothecary found most disturbing.

  “This is not a good light for searching,” he said to Joe who was clambering up right behind

  “We’ll wait a quarter of an hour or so. Meanwhile, can you show me where you found the body.”

  They went to the prow where the figurehead stared out sightlessly over the river. “Here. The girl was draped over it, her hair hanging down just like the mermaid’s. It was a terrifying sight.”

  “It must have been, Sir. Now lads,” Joe called to the two Flying Runners, “come over here if you would.”

  The Apothecary had never met the Brave Fellows, though he recognised both of them as the men who had come to Vaux Hall Gardens when a murder had been committed in the Dark Walk several years earlier. On that occasion he had briefly been suspected of the crime and had felt extremely nervous, a state made no easier by the couple of Runners, who by their very professionalism had instantly revealed themselves as being something very special. Now he was to meet them, looking much the same as they had then, hardly a day older.

  The Runner whom he had remembered as lively and loud stepped forward and bowed to John.

  “Runner Dick Ham,” said Joe Jago. The Apothecary bowed back. “We met at Vaux Hall many years ago but you wouldn’t remember me.”

  “On the contrary, Sir,” answered Dick in a big, booming voice. “I make it a rule never to forget a face. We escorted you to Bow Street if memory serves.”

  John gulped. “Indeed you did.”

  The small, black-haired Runner bowed in his turn. “Nicholas Raven, Sir. We meet again in happier circumstances.”

  How very well his name became him, the Apothecary thought, as he returned the greeting. The man had a hard avine stare which was enough to unnerve the innocent, let alone the guilty. Remembering how frightened of Raven he had once been, John wondered if he was going to like him. Joe was speaking. “The murdered girl was draped over the figurehead. That’s where Mr. Rawlings found her. She had been badly beaten, indeed whipped, and it is the Apothecary’s opinion that the injuries she sustained brought about her death.”

  “Why was she put on the figurehead?” Raven asked.

  John replied. “Clearly we will never know. But in my view it was some kind of joke, the spreading of the hair over that of the mermaid was, I suppose, meant to be an artistic touch.”

  “So we are dealing with a perverted mind.”

  It was a statement not a question and John nodded. “Either that, or we are meant to think so.”

  Runner Ham spoke up. “Was the girl beaten by one person, or were several involved? Or don’t you know?”

  “Obviously I can’t be certain but the blows seemed to me to come from different directions. I would say that at least two people had a hand in her death. Maybe more.”

  “Rum do,” said Joe, summing up all their feelings.

  It had grown lighter as they spoke and now the sun broke over the eastern horizon, casting a hellish light over the ship that had witnessed so many odd occurences.

  “The search can begin,” stated the clerk. “Runners, if you will hunt the deck, Mr. Rawlings and I will take the hold and the cabins.”

  They descended a ladder leading from a hatch, going down into a ghostly world of small passageways and dark wood. John stood a moment, sniffing the air.

  “What is it, Sir?”

  “I don’t know. Can you detect an odd odour?”

  Joe stood silently, inhaling. “I can smell something very faintly, but there’s another stink drowning it out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a reek of bad eggs. A gun has been fired down here and recently at that.”

  “What?” John bellowed in disbelief. “What more can happen on this hell hole of a ship?”

  “No time for talk, get searching,” Joe ordered urgently.

  They raced down the passageway, throwing open the doors of cramped and uncomfortable cabins, seeing yet again in startling detail the fact that this ship had been abandoned at a moment’s notice, that clothes and personal items were scattered just as if the owner had merely walked out of the room. Finally they came to the captain’s cabin, the larger door indicating that here were quarters of a more generous size. Joe thrust it open, then stood in the entrance, frozen in disbelief. Just behind him, the Apothecary peered over his shoulder through the swirling clouds of blue smoke.

  Richard van Guylder was in the cabin, sitting at the captain’s table, his back to the door so that he was unable to see the newcomers. But then, of course, Richard would never be able to see anybody ever again. Clutched in his lifeless fingers was a flintlock pistol and scattered over the walls, the ceiling, in fact everywhere that the horrified gaze of the two men came to rest, were Richard’s brains and at least half of his head, to say nothing of the blood that had spurted with them. On that ship of ill omen, Juliana’s brother had met an end equally as terrible as hers.realising that something was horribly wrong. “I take it there’s another body down there,” said Raven.

  “It’s the dead girl’s brother and it appears that he’s blown his brains out.”

  “Remorse?” asked Dick Ham.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That if he had killed his sister for some reason, the guilt became too much for him.”

  “But what reason could there possibly be?” asked Joe.

  “I’m afraid there might indeed be one,” John answered with a sigh. “A rea
son called Gerald Fitz, a blade of Exeter with whom both the van Guylder children were in love.”

  Joe groaned. “I hate these convoluted love affairs, they never bode any good.”

  Raven said, quite reasonably, “We might know more when we’ve read what he had to say.”

  “Indeed we might,” answered Joe, and all four of them descended below deck to examine the scene more closely.

  Whatever his reservations about Nicholas Raven, John could not help but admire the man. With admirable calm the Runner approached the body, which had fallen back in the chair, its head, or what was left of it, lolling, and removed the note from beneath the fingers of the outstretched left hand. Then he had carefully dabbed it with his handkerchief to remove the blood, still sticky and wet, and handed it to Joe Jago.

  “I cannot bear the burden of guilt any longer,” the clerk read aloud. “Juliana, forgive me.”

  “Is that all it says?” asked John.

  “Yes. It’s simply signed Richard.”

  “Well, that’s it then,” said Dick Ham. “You’ve found your murderer.”

  Almost as a reflex action, before he had had time to think, John answered, “No, that can’t be right.”

  “Why not, Sir?”

  “Because the girl was raped before she was killed and if we are to believe what we are told then Richard would most certainly not be interested, leave alone the fact that he was quite a decent creature and I’m sure would not countenance incest.”

  “Then are we looking for an accomplice?” asked Joe.

  John shook his head. “I have a feeling, though why I simply can’t put into words, that it is all far, far more complex than that.”

  “I think,” answered the clerk, “that all four of us should go ashore for a brandy. Then, Mr. Rawlings, I will have to ask you to examine the body before it is removed.”