loveliest creatures he had ever cast his eyes on.
He, too, had taken a great deal of trouble with his appearance, wearing the suit of crimson satin covered with silver butterflies made for him by the tailor in Exeter. His waistcoat, cut quite short, was of silver, fitting him snugly over the waist, which still remained slim despite the passing years. Over this his dramatic coat had a high stand collar and this, together with a new wig dressed away from the face with long sidecurls, made the Apothecary look interesting and handsome, something that he felt he did not always achieve.
They paused a moment as they descended from the coach. It was a calm night and although it was dark — or perhaps because of it — the house looked beautiful and fairy-like, set in its own parkland, with terraces sweeping down to gardens which, in their turn, swept to lawns which went down to the sea. The moon was out, casting a silvery light over the whole surroundings. The scent of the very last flowers of the season could be vaguely sniffed upon the air and John paused a moment, imagining this place in high summer, when the overwhelming perfume of the grounds met the high salt smell of the ocean and bathed one in an atmosphere soothing yet stimulating.
Inside, the house was decorated superbly. Lady Sidmouth, in her eccentric way, had ordered the gardeners to bring in garlands of greenery which hung between the pillars in the entrance hall. Indeed she had decorated the house almost as if she were preparing for a pagan festival. John, looking at Milady, garbed from head to toe in a violent shade of pink, a great wavering headdress of purple plumes upon her heavily wigged head, thought her more than capable of it. She stood in a receiving line of people, on one side of her the fat little boy whom John now knew to be the son of the Earl of Sidmouth, on the other his aunt, the sixteen-year-old Felicity Sidmouth. Further down the line was their cousin, the beauteous Miranda Tremayne. As the Apothecary drew level with her she gave him a special, secretive smile.
John and Elizabeth passed on and into the ballroom, where they discovered the frantic and tiny figure of Cuthbert Simms, who tonight was playing the part of Master of Ceremonies. Several footmen weaved their way amongst the crowded room with trays on which stood glasses of champagne. John took one as did the Marchesa.
‘Ah, my dear Lady Elizabeth,’ boomed a voice behind them, and a local woman, tall and handsome — the kind who would look good on a horse — started to engage the Marchesa in conversation. John looked around him and then let out a muffled cry of surprise. Emerging from the set, which had just come to an end amidst loud applause, was Joe Jago, smartly wigged and even more smartly dressed. The Apothecary shook his head in wonderment. Grinning broadly, the clerk approached him.
‘God’s life, Joe. You were the last person I expected to find here.’
‘Ah well, Sir, I have a habit of popping up in strange places.’
‘You do indeed. How did you manage to get invited?’
Joe looked modest. ‘Lady Sidmouth asked me. I happened to see off a cut-purse who was attempting to rob her in Exeter. She was duly grateful and we have become quite friendly since.’
‘And you have achieved this in scarcely any time.’
‘We work fast in the Public Office, Mr Rawlings,’ answered the clerk, and winked a bright blue eye.
John looked round the room. ‘I wonder who else is here.’
‘Several people who came down on the fateful coach trip I imagine.’
‘Yes, so there are.’
The Apothecary waved and bowed to Martin Meadows, who was somewhat disastrously dressed in a topcoat of bright pea green which did not really become him, and to Fraulein Schmitt and her sister, the little round Matilda Mitchell, both dressed to kill in the fashion of five years previously.
‘How strange that they should have been asked,’ he whispered to Joe.
‘And they are not all,’ the clerk whispered back.
Paulina Gower, resplendent in a gown of dark blue with a lighter petticoat beneath, had just sailed into the ballroom and was presently looking round her to see who she could engage in conversation. She bore down on the Marchesa with a determined step.
‘How do you do, Madam. Forgive me introducing myself but I have glimpsed you at the theatre. I am Paulina Gower.’
Elizabeth gave her a friendly smile. ‘Of course. I saw you play Lady Macbeth. Quite one of the most chilling performances I have ever witnessed.’
The horse-like woman raised her quizzing glass. ‘Ah, Miss Gower. I am chawmed to meet you. I have not seen you act as yet but it is an experience that I much look forward to. How long are you staying in Exeter?’
‘I am booked to play the season, Ma’am. I shall be departing in March.’
‘Then I must get tickets immediately.’
‘How kind of you.’ Paulina Gower turned her head and saw John and her look of benevolence — very much adopted by actors and writers when their work was being praised — changed to a cold glare.
‘I did not expect to see you here, Sir,’ she said acidly.
‘You never know with me,’ John answered, grinning inanely. He bowed to her. ‘But it is always a pleasure to see you, Madam.’
She gave him a look and then swept on to speak to somebody else. John turned to Elizabeth. ‘Marchesa, would you care to dance?’
‘Indeed I would, Sir.’
A set was just ending and John led her out as Cuthbert Simms called out, ‘Partners if you please, ladies and gentlemen, for Green Stockings.’
He was sweating profusely and looked rather depressed, clad as he was in a striped green and white ensemble with a huge cravat that concealed a large part of his face. John bowed and Elizabeth curtsied as they walked past him to take their places.
The Apothecary, at his most professional, could not help but worry as Elizabeth whirled and jigged and clapped her hands. And afterwards when he led her away he said as much.
‘Sweetheart, was that dance too strenuous for you?’
‘Gracious no,’ she replied. ‘Remember that this is my second child and I refuse to cut out all my pleasures.’
But there were small beads of perspiration on her upper lip and John was pleased when a break was called in the dancing and she went to speak to a group of people that she knew. This left him free momentarily and he seized the opportunity to attract the attention of Cuthbert Simms. Bowing ornately, the little man forced a smile.
‘Ah, my dear Sir. How do I find you?’
‘Very well,’ John answered, ‘but somewhat tired. I am heartily sick of coach travel.’
‘And why is that may I ask?’
‘I have been doing a great deal of it. Since we last spoke I have been to Lewes, via London. And that done I returned to Devon.’
The dancing master wiped his sweating brow. ‘Oh, and what took you to Sussex may I ask?’
‘I was following a lead in that still unsolved murder. I heard that the victim had taken the London stage there using another name.’
Cuthbert’s cheeks went even pinker than they had been. ‘Really? How interesting. And did you find any clues?’
John put on his innocent face. ‘Not exactly. But can I tell you the most extraordinary thing?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, while I was there I saw that little dark girl who worked here making hats and headdresses. What was her name now?’
‘You don’t mean Jemima Lovell?’
‘That’s right,’ answered John, snapping his fingers. ‘That was what she was called. Anyway I witnessed her proceeding along in Lewes and chatting animatedly to another passenger from our particular coach.’
The dancing master’s face had turned from a roseate hue to one of immense pallor. ‘And who might that have been?’ he asked, his voice a rasp.
‘Mrs Lucinda Silverwood, would you believe. I had not realized that the two of them had formed such a close association. Why, they were walking intimately as if they had known one another most of their lives.’
Cuthbert made a highly visible effort to pull himself together. ‘They have clearly become friendly.’
