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 damned. 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 — Miranda to you and me — 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 constitution, 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 circumstances.’
‘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 title — 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 — 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 glass of port if you’d be so good.’ His glass 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 damned 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. Damn 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 glass to the Apothecary. ‘Here, you take this. And ration me to a glass 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
