Death at the Wedding Feast Part 16

And remains were about all they were, John thought, vividly remembering the fact that after the shooting the late Earl had been nothing but a ma.s.s of torn flesh and eyeb.a.l.l.s. But further discussion was useless as from the staircase came a banging and crashing announcing the arrival of officials of some sort.

*We're from the coroner's office,' said the headman, who obviously knew Toby from years past. *Three to take to the mortuary. That's right, isn't it?'

*They're not coffined up,' answered the Constable.

Falmouth intervened. *Have a care there. I'll have you know that one of the bodies belongs to the late Earl of St Austell.'

The man looked unimpressed. *Would you rather he was removed by your undertaker then, Sir?'

*Of course I would. Does he have to go to the mortuary?'

*The law is the law, Sir. Earl or churl, it's all the same in the end.'

*I've had enough of this conversation,' said Falmouth. He turned to Tobias. *I am charging you as part of your sacred duty to see to it that my relative is treated with the respect he commanded in life. Do you hear me?'

*I certainly do, Sir,' answered Toby, and gave a little bow.

The new Earl stormed out of the cellar with John following behind him.

*Please don't be angry, your Grace,' he said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster. *The Constable was only doing his duty.'

*Duty be d.a.m.ned. The man's an officious oaf.'

John was about to add that Tobias Miller was also extremely good at his job but thought better of it. In fact he maintained a stolid silence as Falmouth strode into the garden, snorting like a dragon and muttering under his breath.

*Please calm down, your Grace,' he ventured finally. *Would you like me to fetch you a cordial?'

*No, but I'll have a brandy. And fetch one for yourself as well.'

Hardly able to come to terms with the two sides of the Earl's character, John went into the house and immediately encountered Lady Sidmouth.

*Falmouth's in one of his strops, I see,' she said. *I've been watching him out of the window.'

*He was down in the cellar, mourning beside the late Earl's body. He did not like being interrupted.'

*Obviously not!' she replied acidly. *Now, go and get him to sit down and I will send one of the servants to you. What is it he requires? Brandy, I suppose.'

*You're right. Where is Elizabeth, by the way?'

*She has gone upstairs to comfort the Countess a Miranda to you and me a and then to see Lady Imogen, who has done nothing but weep uncontrollably since her miscarriage. Must run in the family.'

*Obviously. And where has Lord George skulked off to?'

*Heaven knows. He's probably getting drunk in some Exeter tavern. He roared off from here in his coach and hasn't been seen since.'

*Oh well at least he's out of harm's way. Unless he's punching Freddy Warwick, of course,' John said with a smile, and got a rather watery response from Lady Sidmouth.

The woman must have an iron const.i.tution, he thought. To put up with the ghastly affair of the shooting at the wedding feast and then to cope with a household of uncontrolled people falling apart, must take an iron will. Without really thinking, the Apothecary put his arms round her.

She looked at him, a little startled. *What's all this then?'

*I just wanted to say what a truly remarkable woman I think you are.'

Lady Sidmouth set her jaw. *Oh come now, Mr Rawlings. I am only doing my duty as head of the house.'

*You're a fine woman, Madam. Now, did you know that some men have arrived from the coroner's office?'

*No. Why are they here?'

*To take the bodies to the mortuary where they are to be examined by a physician. The coroner will definitely hold an inquest because of the circ.u.mstances.'

*I see. So when will St Austell be released for burial?'

*I'm not sure. But not too long. I think the new Earl had better get on with making the funeral arrangements. Give him something to think about.'

*It will indeed. Mr Rawlings, please tell him so.'

John went back to the gardens, but it was to find that Falmouth had wandered off somewhere and he was alone. After hunting around he decided that he would be better pursuing investigations, so he returned to the great house to find that Elizabeth had come downstairs and was ready to leave. Bidding farewell to Lady Sidmouth they got into their coach. As soon as they were seated the Marchesa positively burst into speech.

*My dear John, what a house of wailing women! First Miranda. She is clad from head to toe in deepest black and even has a veil over her face. She lies on a bed with curtains drawn, sobbing into the pillow and refuses to speak to anyone. It is one of the best acts I have ever seen.'

*You think it is pretence?'

*I'll swear it is. I mean, when one looks at the situation it was obvious she was marrying simply to get a t.i.tle a and the riches thrown in, of course. I don't think she had any feelings for St Austell at all. But now she is milking her widowhood for all she is worth. Silly little cat.'

*Oh come now, don't be unkind.'

*I'm sorry but it is what I believe. And as for Imogen a well, she defeats me.'

*In what way?'

*Well, as far as rumour has it her horrible old grandfather has been interfering with her since she was a child. But the way she is carrying on makes one think that the loss of her baby was a terrible blow to her.'

*Perhaps it was fathered by someone else.'

Elizabeth was silent. *I had not thought of that. You're probably right.' She squeezed the Apothecary's arm. *Has this been helpful to your investigations?'

*Very,' John answered. He thought for a moment then said, *Do you know I've a mind to call on Sir Clovelly Lovell. The poor old boy was terribly shaken by yesterday's events. I saw him leaving the feast looking pale as a wraith. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to speak to him.'

*He was not injured, surely?'

*No, I'm glad to say he was not. But still it must have upset him terribly. Do you mind if I take the coach?'

*Not at all. Give him my love.'

*I certainly will.'

An hour later he was sitting in Sir Clovelly Lovell's parlour where an anguished figure, looking drawn and haggard, was shaking his heavy jowls from side to side and reminding John vividly of a miserable dog as he did so. He was still clad in his night shirt and gown and had a turban on his head which was fractionally too small, so that it appeared like the fez worn by a performing monkey rather than the adornment of a sultan.

*Oh John,' he was saying. *I mean to say, my dear fellow. Pour me another gla.s.s of port if you'd be so good.' His gla.s.s refilled, he continued to speak. *What a ghastly moment. I thought my last hour had come.'

*Do you mean to say that you were aimed at?'

*Most certainly I was. And that was the d.a.m.ned odd thing. The smaller of the two pointed his pistol directly at me and the taller man whispered, "No, not that one."'

*What?'

*"Not that one." At least it was something on those lines, but I was too busy ducking beneath the table to make it out completely.'

*And you were sure they were men?'

*Positive. Remember I heard them speak.'

*Of course. So how are you feeling now, old friend?'

*Terrible. I called my physician this morning. He came and charged me a small fortune for telling me to lose weight. He said the whole experience had raised my heartbeat and that I was to take things somewhat easier. Then he told me to cut down on alcohol and food. d.a.m.n killjoy.'

John nodded sympathetically, then ventured, *Of course, when one is in a state of high alarm one should abstain from certain substances.'

Sir Clovelly's jowls positively trembled. *Really? Is that a fact? It's not just the wretched physician trying to frighten one?'

*No Sir, it is true alas.'

Sir Clovelly hastily swigged down his port then handed the gla.s.s to the Apothecary. *Here, you take this. And ration me to a gla.s.s an hour if you would be so good.'

*I will gladly do so, Sir.'

But all the time he was speaking John's mind was turning over what Sir Clovelly had told him. Could the a.s.sa.s.sins possibly have known the fat old fellow and realized that he was not on their list? It looked extremely like it. But then, he thought, they would had to have been local men. Unless the cold brain behind the killings had had them brought down from London. But in either event it seemed that their victims had not been chosen at random. That some kind of organized inventory had been at work.

He came back to attention as Sir Clovelly let out a great sigh. *You promise to come and see me again, dear boy. I think all this resting is going to become monotonous.'

*May I suggest, Sir, that a little gentle exercise might help you to overcome your condition. Perhaps a turn or two round the green or a quiet stroll by the river. I think they would do you the world of good.'

*Really? Then I shall start tomorrow. Indeed I will. So I think I'll just have a final drink to toast that. If you would be so good as to fill my gla.s.s, my dear.'

Having left Sir Clovelly's house John decided, on a whim, to make his way into the cathedral, a place which to his shame he had not visited before. Immediately as he entered through the mighty doors the feeling came over him of quiet, of tremendous peace. Just for a moment John felt his cares float away as he looked around him.

Dominating the whole thing was the great East Window, parts of it medieval, a vivid flash of colour on a sombre afternoon. As John approached it a hidden organist burst forth with a voluntary, the sounds of which tore the Apothecary's heart from his body. At least that is how it felt. In a weakened state he sat down in a pew and studied the various saints portrayed in stained gla.s.s, including St Sidwell, whose waif-like looks and tumble of fair hair particularly appealed to him. With the music of the voluntary filling the entire building he got up again and wandered round, noticing the number of strange heads surrounded by foliage that were carved everywhere. He had always supposed them to be pagan, a fertility symbol most probably, but they had crept into Christian architecture and were extremely well represented in Exeter cathedral, to say the very least.

He walked down a side aisle, looking at the various tombs, realizing as he did so that the whole building was ancient in the extreme, that it dated back to Norman times and earlier. With a strange feeling of calmness he turned back to glance at the glorious East Window once more a and then he spotted a familiar figure. On her knees, crouched in a pew, eyes closed and lips mumbling silently, was Mrs Cushen. It was an opportunity too good to be missed. John silently slid into the pew behind her.

She must have sensed his presence because her head suddenly shot up and she glanced over her shoulder. For a second he had a feeling that he was looking on something raw with pain, then Mrs Cushen collected herself and grimaced at him.

*Oh gracious how you startled me. Fancy seeing you here, Mr Rawlings.'

John a.s.sumed his honest face. *I came in to seek a little solace after yesterday's terrible happenings.'

*I too. Oh what a dreadful experience it was. My poor husband is lying in bed, suffering from shock. The whole affair has quite unhinged him.'

*I'm not surprised.'

*And I believe that the Countess has taken it very badly. Oh, it is such a sad thing.'

The familiar sentences rung round John's ears, but looking deep into Mrs Cushen's face he could see the poor woman actually was in deep distress. He wondered why. Had one of the victims meant more to her than he had previously thought?

He said, *This is hardly a suitable environment for conversation. May I escort you to a teashop where we can talk more freely?'

She opened her eyes very wide and the Apothecary sensed her panic. *No, no thank you. I really would prefer to remain here for a while. I am praying for those who lost their lives, you see.'

*Of course. I do beg your pardon for disturbing you. Forgive me.'

*Naturally. Farewell, Mr Rawlings.'

And she bent her head, closed her eyes, and raised two hands in front of her. John rose and with one final look at the East Window a from which, or so it seemed to him, Saint Sidwell flashed him a grin a he left the building and for a moment or two stood uncertainly. Then, overcome with the need to use the facilities, he hurried into The Blackamore's Head where, holding forth loudly and as drunk as a fiddler's wh.o.r.e, was Lord George Beauvoir. John hurried outside to the bog house, and when he returned it was to see George come crashing down towards the floor.

*Is he drunk?' he asked a fellow standing at the bar, watching the proceedings with interest.

*Drunk?' chortled the other. *Why, you could hang him on a line for a week and he'd never know the difference. Why, do you know him?'

*Never seen him before in my life,' lied John cheerfully, and whilst ordering his pint of ale observed George being picked up by the shoulders and feet and hurled into the street outside.

Having downed his drink, the Apothecary set forth to call on Toby Miller who lived a short distance away. But he never got there because he had only walked a step or two when he saw the Constable coming towards him.

*Constable Miller,' he called.

*Good afternoon, Mr Rawlings. I was just on my way to call on Mr James and offer him my condolences. Would you care to join me?'

*Very much indeed.'

They made their way down to the river where some delightful small villas had been built overlooking the great waterway. John thought it a fine place for a gossip and a farter to dwell, but was disappointed when they turned into a small alleyway which backed on to the pretty houses.

Toby looked in his notebook. *This is it. Number Three, River Row.'

He knocked on the door which was answered by a scowling hag. *Yes?'

*I've come to see Mr James, if it is convenient.'

*Well it ain't,' she answered, and was about to slam the door in their faces when a faint voice called from within, *Who is it, Gertrude?'

*Who are you?' she demanded, displaying a rotten brown tooth that hung quivering on her upper set.

*Constable Miller and Apothecary Rawlings,' replied Toby formally.

*I heard that,' called the distant voice. *Show them in, Gertie.'

Reluctantly she opened the door a couple of inches. *He's in,' she said, and fixed them with a beady, beastly eye as they made their way up a dark and dusty staircase.