He had stayed with Mrs Mitchell until the Constable had come, this one a fisherman who had been loath to do his duty. Eventually the body had been taken off to the mortuary to await the findings of the Coroner and as John had watched the last of Augusta Schmitt being driven away in a small, sad cart — decently covered he was glad to observe — he had felt more than a pang of sorrow for the formidable German woman. He thought of their first meeting when she had regarded her fellow travellers with a fishy eye and uttered a string of complaints. Strangely, he had almost grown to like her.
His mind ran over her last words. What had been a game that they all played? Could she possibly have been referring to something long ago? Had she played some game with Helen and Richard before the girl’s sad demise? The Apothecary shook his head, realizing that the questions he had planned to ask Augusta about the origins of the brother and sister would now remain unasked.
‘You are sighing,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Yes, I am indeed. Sweethheart, do you realize that with the death of Augusta Schmitt the trail goes cold once more? I really thought I had a lead with her reference to Helen and Richard but now I shall never find out.’
‘Why not ask Matilda?’ Elizabeth said practically. ‘She is bound to know where her sister worked.’
The Apothecary put his hand over hers where it rested on the table.
‘That is an extremely good idea. But I daren’t say anything yet. The poor creature is too overwrought.’
‘Why don’t you call on her tomorrow and take some things from the apothecary’s shop with you? After all it would be a kindness if you did.’
‘Actually I had planned to do just that.’
‘If she would not think it an imposition I would like to come with you. If the poor wretched woman does not wish to see me I shall understand perfectly. On the other hand she might enjoy the company of a stranger.’
‘Who knows?’ John answered. ‘I simply cannot imagine being in her position. But it is kind of you to offer. You are a good woman, Elizabeth.’
She smiled. ‘I would hardly have applied that description to myself. I have led too wild a life and you know it.’
‘Perhaps motherhood has calmed you down.’
She laid a hand on her body. ‘I must say that this little creature has slowed me up, but as to calming me down I really cannot agree.’
‘Have it your way,’ said John, smiling back. ‘I have no wish for an argument.’
The Marchesa suddenly looked very serious. ‘John, do I give you a miserable life?’
He contemplated, thinking about the differing emotions that she brought about in him. ‘Not really,’ he said eventually.
She kissed his hand and said, ‘Tell me.’
‘If you want to know, I am not certain myself. I adored being married and yet I sometimes felt I was getting staid and a little dull. But when I became a widower I have never known such grief. Now I want to marry you but I know that that dream will remain unfulfilled; yet even if it were not, would we be suited in the long run? So sometimes I am happy and sometimes I am sad. And at the moment I am a mixture of both. Sad because of the terrible events of today, happy because I am here with you. Sad because I must soon go back to London, happy to see you thriving and well. And extremely happy when I think of the child that is to come. For if it is a girl and inherits your beauty, then she will be an outstanding person.’
‘And if it is a boy who takes after his father in both looks and personality, then we will have a fine son indeed.’
He leant across the table and kissed her, regardless of the other people in the dining parlour. ‘May I propose a toast to the future?’
She raised her glass. ‘Please do.’
‘To our son or daughter. May they know prosperity and good fortune.’
‘May they do so indeed.’
They retired to bed early, having walked a little after dinner. But John’s night was fraught with unpleasant dreams. In his imagination he stood once more on the cliff tops and, though he struggled to move found that he was immobilized and thus watched helplessly as an unknown figure fell down and down to the beach below. Then he was once more in the coach journeying to Devon, sitting opposite the Black Pyramid who had grown to the stature of a veritable giant, while a skeleton sat in the corner, a skeleton with a fishy eye that turned its head and grinned at him. The Apothecary woke, drenched in sweat, terrified that he had shouted and woken Elizabeth. But she slumbered beside him, peaceful as a baby.
John got up and crossed to the small window, looking out at the sight of Padstow by moonlight. Nothing stirred except for an occasional marauding cat. Yet he knew that not far away in the mortuary lay the body of a woman who, on a simple visit to the town, had met a cruel and untimely end.
Twenty
The coroner had released the body and pronounced that Augusta Schmitt had died an accidental death. Matilda had immediately arranged for the coffin to be transported back to Sidford on a cart so that her sister might be buried close by in the parish church. Elizabeth had offered the unfortunate woman a ride back to Devon but had been politely refused. Mrs Mitchell and the sensible Miss Davenport were enduring the rigours of travelling with the departed to make sure that the coffin arrived safely. John had most sincerely wished them a safe journey and had stepped into Elizabeth’s carriage feeling what it must be like to be a member of the privileged classes and always travel in comfort.
He had arrived back at the Marchesa’s house in a positive spasm of impatience to see Joe Jago again.
‘He’ll only have a few days left before he must return to London,’ he said by way of explanation as he immediately went to the stables to find himself a reasonably placid mount.
Elizabeth waved a hand. ‘Oh be off with you! Go and find your red-headed alter ego and give him a kiss from me.’
So, despite it being late afternoon, John set forth and found Joe Jago in the taproom of The Blackamore’s Head in company with the Exeter Constable, no less.
‘Hah,’ he said, arriving at their table in a whirl, ‘the two men I most wanted to see.’
They both looked up in surprise and Joe sprang to his feet. ‘Mr Rawlings, I hope I find you well. How was your visit to Padstow, Sir? Did you get the information you wanted?’
‘No, I did not. But thereby hangs a tale.’ And sitting down beside them John proceeded to tell them everything that had taken place since he had last been in Exeter. They listened in astounded silence until Joe finally said, ‘So you believe Miss Schmitt was pushed?’
‘There is no way of knowing. I spoke to the fishermen who picked her up from the beach but they saw no- one.’
The Constable spoke. ‘Forgive me if I sound a little slow, Sir. But why should anyone want to shove the lady off the cliff?’
‘Because of a possible link with something in the past,’ John answered. ‘She mentioned a Helen and a Richard to me. Those were the names of the people who lived at one time in Vinehurst Place in Sussex. The place we agreed I should visit.’
Toby Miller sat silently for a moment or two, considering what he had just been told, then he said, ‘But there is no firm connection between William Gorringe and the house you visited, Mr Rawlings, as we both hoped?’
‘None at all.’
‘I see.’
Joe Jago pulled thoughtfully at his ear lobe. ‘I have explained to Mr Miller that I am clerk to Sir John Fielding and that I am here to assist you, Mr Rawlings. But as far as I can see the case must now be closed. We have reached an impasse, as it were. The chances that Helen and Richard were connected in any way is extremely remote. Furthermore I must return to London in two days’ time. I am sorry that I have been unable to help you further.’
