mood upon him John removed his nightshirt, put on a pair of drawers, fastening them with a string around the waist, and pulled on a pair of breeches. Rapidly finding a shirt and leaving the neck open, he put on a cloak and silently made his way downstairs. Creeping through the sleeping house like a shadow he made his way to the kitchens and out by the door at the back, afraid to swing open the huge front door because of the noise.
Once outside John started to walk briskly, the autumn air striking him with a sharp chill that penetrated his thick cloak and made him shiver. Yet he relished the exercise, hoping that it would stimulate his brain into remembering the vital information that had come to him in his sleep. He tried to recall the conversations of the night before. He had spoken to Lady Sidmouth, of course, and to Elizabeth, naturally. He had had a conversation with Cuthbert Simms, had passed the time of day with several other people, including Grevil and Dorinda Sedgewick, who had giggled more wildly than ever at the sight of him. Then had come the time he had spent with the evil-tongued Miranda Tremayne, the glacial Paulina Gower, and finally the large and fishy-eyed Fraulein Schmitt. One of those people must have said something that had triggered off the nocturnal thought processes. But what was it?
Far below him the River Exe glinted like a silver mirage in the unrelenting moonlight. John stared down at it feeling as if he were the only human being alive, that he had been transported into a strange fairy land where he was the only creature breathing.
Mentally he ran through the various conversations he had had. All pretty ordinary except for the nasty Miranda who had inferred that Elizabeth was old enough to be his mother. He changed his thought patterns abruptly, still shocked by the girl’s innuendo. And then his mind turned to that last chat he had had with the formidable German woman. He recalled feeling sorry for her because of some incident in her past. He strained to recall exactly what it was she had said. And then it came to him. Surely she had told him of a Helen and Richard? Surely she had told him that Helen had died in tragic circumstances?
Where else had he heard this story? But the Apothecary knew the answer almost before he had asked himself the question. The girl who had been shot by her father had been called Helen and her brother, who had shut Vinehall Place up and moved to London after the terrible circumstance that had befallen them, was called Richard.
With a grim smile on his lips the Apothecary ceased walking and headed once more for the great house in which Elizabeth and her unborn child slumbered in peace.
‘You are quite positive, Sir, that the names were the same?’ asked Joe Jago, pensively sipping his ale.
‘Completely and utterly,’ answered John.
‘I see,’ said Sir John Fielding’s clerk, and relapsed into thoughtful silence.
They were sitting in The Blackamore’s Head in Exeter, having arranged to meet there at Lady Sidmouth’s rout, where Joe had distinguished himself in the dances and whirled about with a great deal of elan. Now, though, the clerk looked grim-faced as he considered the import of the Apothecary’s words.
‘They are not uncommon names, Sir. It could be a mere coincidence.’
‘It could indeed. But there is one sure way to find out.’
‘Question the German lady further.’
‘Not a task to which I look forward with relish,’ John answered with a sigh.
‘Would you care for me to do it?’ Jago enquired.
‘I would adore it but my belief is that she will take fright and start shouting at you.’
‘She cannot go on shouting forever,’ Joe commented reasonably.
‘No, but she can do it for a mighty long while by which time you will be thoroughly worn out. No, Joe, much as I hate the thought I think the task befalls me.’
‘Then I shall accompany you.’
But John’s words of protest died on his lips as the doors to the tavern were swung open with a mighty thud and the Black Pyramid made a huge entrance, followed by the somewhat seedy figure of Nathaniel Broome, who sidled in behind him almost in an apologetic manner.
‘Good gracious,’ John hissed at Joe. ‘It’s the Black Pyramid himself. The fighter I was telling you about.’
‘What’s he doing here?’ Jago muttered back.
‘Heaven knows. But I’ll soon find out.’
John rose, realizing as he did so that his head barely reached the black man’s shoulder. ‘My dear friend…’ he began.
But the sentence was never finished as the Pyramid swung round and made a gloriously ostentatious bow.
‘Why, if it isn’t Mr Rawlings,’ he said loudly, giving a brilliant display of flashing white teeth. He nudged his companion who gave a spluttering cough. ‘Nathaniel, you recall the gentleman surely?’
‘Oh yes, of course I do,’ answered the other, wiping at his eyes with a brightly coloured but somewhat grimy handkerchief. ‘Pleased to see you again, Sir.’
‘Allow me to buy you a drink, Mr Rawlings. And what about your friend?’
‘Joe Jago, at your service,’ said the clerk, rising to his feet and giving a short bow.
The Black Pyramid looked at him with narrowed eye. ‘I know your face from somewhere, Sir. No, don’t tell me. I’ll recall it sooner or later.’ He turned back to John. ‘Now, what are your orders, Mr Rawlings?’
Ten minutes later the four men were sitting round a table, each with a jug of ale before him, making idle conversation. But all the while John could glimpse the Black Pyramid eyeing Joe Jago in a speculative fashion. In the end he could no longer bear it. Wondering whether the former Jack Beef had guessed the truth, he asked, ‘Have you solved the riddle of my friend’s identity?’
‘Yes, I think I have,’ came the reply.
‘And?’
‘Well, Sir, it is either this gentleman or his brother that acts as clerk to Sir John Fielding and appears in court with him. Am I right?’
‘Perfectly,’ Joe answered promptly. ‘It is not my brother it is myself. I take it you have observed me from the Public Gallery?’
‘Of course. I have never been up before Sir John, though more by better luck than judgement.’ The Black Pyramid chuckled softly to himself, a sound which made the other members of the group smile. ‘I would have known you anywhere by your red hair which, as your wig slips often askew, is extremely recognizable.’
Joe snatched his wig from his head which he then scratched before saying, ‘Then you can probably guess what I am doing in Exeter, gentlemen.’
Nathaniel turned his small-eyed gaze on him. ‘No, I can’t. What is your business here?’
‘I have come to investigate the coach trip which ended in murder.’
There was a silence during which Nat Broome coughed loudly while the Pyramid continued to stare at Joe, his gaze virtually unblinking.
‘I see,’ he said eventually. ‘On behalf of whom may I ask?’
‘On behalf of myself,’ Joe replied levelly.
‘But surely Devon is beyond Sir John’s or your jurisdiction,’ said Nat, sliding his eyes round to look at Joe once more.
‘Of course it is,’ the clerk replied with a certain asperity. ‘But I am down here for my own interest. I have known Mr Rawlings for many years, you see, and when he mentioned the strange affair in conversation I could not resist the temptation to take some leave and come to Devon and search for clues. Quite unofficially you understand.’
The Black Pyramid gave Joe an extremely odd glance. ‘You did this just out of friendship?’ His incredulity was audible.
‘Most certainly,’ Jago replied crisply. ‘But anyway I needed an excuse to get out of London. The stinks are terrible, you know. Makes the whole air quite thick.’
The black man laughed, a warm seductive sound. ‘You try boxing there in an indoor arena. The smell of sweat is positively acrid.’
‘At least it’s fresh,’ John put in gloomily — and everyone chuckled.
‘I’ve come down for a fight at Lord Lechdale’s. That’s to be tomorrow and held indoors. In his Great Hall I believe.’
‘Well, I wish you luck, Sir.’
