one person left on the list of people he had promised to see, and that was Mrs Cushen. When he had last met Tobias Miller the Constable had informed him of her address — or rather that of the distant relation whom she had come to Exeter to comfort — and the Apothecary was just wondering whether his hindquarters could put up with another day in the saddle, when Elizabeth walked in.
She was fresh from her morning ride, her skin glowing, her eyes clear, smelling of the sweet countryside. John knew with a lurch of his heart that whatever happened in the future he would never forget this moment of seeing her like a goddess of spring, of loving her, of knowing that unless the situation changed he must one day inevitably part from her.
She smiled at him. ‘You are looking wistful. Why?’
‘I was just wondering if my behind could take another ride to Exeter.’
‘You want to borrow the coach again? Well, you can. I intend to stay at home today and mull over all the things you have told me and come to some sort of conclusion. Because there is a thread there and I am determined to find it.’
‘Sweetheart, I could not manage without you.’
‘I think you could do so perfectly well. Remember that you are now running a successful company as well as having your own shop. I think you are a highly competent young man.’
‘Mrs Fortune is in charge of the business. She is the one you should call competent.’
‘And is she beautiful as well as clever?’
‘Not beautiful exactly but certainly very attractive.’
‘Ah ha,’ answered the Marchesa, and would say no more.
An hour later the coach set off for Exeter and proceeded at a fine pace towards the city. Somewhat to the Apothecary’s surprise it stopped at a small house immediately opposite the great cathedral and the coachman called down, ‘This is the place, Sir.’
Thinking that the lady would not have far to go to pray, John climbed out and knocked at the door, then waited. There was no reply and he was just about to turn away when he heard the shuffle of feet and the bolts being drawn back. The door opened an inch or two and there stood Mr Cushen, looking bleary and still in his night attire.
‘Oh forgive me, Sir,’ the Apothecary said pleasantly. ‘I just came to call to see how you were. But I can tell this is an inconvenient time so I shall leave you in peace.’
The door opened wider and Mr Cushen answered, ‘Oh no, come in, I beg you. You are an apothecary are you not? My wife has fallen into an hysterical fit and I have been awake all night trying to calm her. Please see if you can do anything. Anything at all.’
John turned to the coachman and said, ‘If you don’t mind hurrying to the herbalist’s shop on High Street and getting him to give you an infusion of Black Horehound. Then when you come back, knock at the front door and I will answer.’
The carriage rattled away and John followed Mr Cushen up the stairs and into a dark and rather smelly bedroom where Mrs Cushen lay twisting and moaning on a narrow bed.
‘My dear Madam,’ said John, crouching down beside her. ‘What is the matter? How can I help you?’
‘You can find Herman for me,’ she said, then suddenly started to cry, throwing herself at John and weeping all over his shirt.
‘Millicent, hush dear,’ said Mr Cushen from the doorway, a strange urgency in his tone.
John glanced at him and saw how white the poor man was. Indeed he looked the very image of a being in an agony of spirit.
‘Why, where has he gone?’ he asked.
‘Oh, he’s drinking in some low tavern with his equally low associates. But he has been away several days now.’
A tremendous flash of inspiration came to the Apothecary as he recalled the red hair he had gathered in Wildtor Grange. He produced from his pocket the awful shabby garter that Cordelia had picked up at the wedding feast and which Toby Miller had decided it would be better if John kept.
‘I came to return him this,’ he said, opening his palm to display it.
The parents stared at it, then Mr Cushen said, ‘Yes, that’s his. He lost it somewhere or other. Where did you find it?’
As quick as a lightning flash the whole picture came into focus. Herman’s sudden wealth in the inn the other day, his fondness for the Exeter low-life. Surely one of them had been hired by the person behind the killings and had asked Herman to help him execute the plan. Into John’s pictorial memory he flashed a picture of the two old women who had come in to kill the company and, sure enough, the shorter of the two had been the same build as young Mr Cushen.
‘It was found at the wedding feast,’ he said in a calm voice. ‘It was dropped by one of the murderers.’
His father looked at John blearily. ‘No, he…’
‘The truth will always come out,’ said the Apothecary, cutting across him, not unkindly. ‘And I think you half- guessed it already. Didn’t you?’
‘What will happen to him?’ whispered his mother.
‘I don’t know,’ answered John.
But he did. Herman would be tried by judge and jury and the sentence of death would be passed on him. And that would be the end of his wretched life. But behind him would be left two people who would grieve for the rest of their days on earth and who did not deserve to endure such a terrible punishment.
There was a knocking at the door and the coachman returned with the physick. John administered both poor wretches with a strong measure and finally left the house when they began to calm down. Then he went into the cathedral and offered up a prayer for the salvation of Herman’s soul and for some sort of peace to be granted to his parents. Then he went in search of the Constable.
Tobias Miller was at home, sitting at his desk, going through a sheaf of papers. He removed his pair of little glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, and listened quietly while John recounted the scene at the house where the hysterical Mrs Cushen was residing. The he sprang to his feet.
‘So that’s who the killer is. Well, we’ll find him. He’s bound to be in one of the alehouses drinking his brains into a pulp.’
He rapidly made a list of all the inns of Exeter and divided it in half.
‘Here you are, Sir. You can start at The Dragon by the East Gate and work your way through.’
‘What shall I do if I see him?’
‘Nothing. Engage him in conversation, keep him talking. If I don’t find him first I’ll follow in your footsteps. In any event we meet in The Blackamore’s Head in an hour’s time. Better still, bring him with you if you possibly can. He strikes me as a rather solitary young man from what you’ve said. I think he’ll be glad of a companion to drink with.’
The Dragon revealed nobody and so turned out the rest of John’s perambulations through the drinking houses of town. Eventually he turned up at The Blackamore’s Head, slightly weary, and glad to see that the Constable had got there before him.
‘Did you find him?’ John asked.
‘Yes, I found him alright.’
‘What happened?’
‘I arrested him on the spot and he threw a punch at me that caught me completely unawares and felled me to the ground. Then he and his companion — a long, lanky fellow who was probably the other old lady that you saw — took off at a rate of knots. I ran after them, I raised a hue and cry, other people joined in, but the villains were too fast for any of us. They completely vanished in one of the many alleyways. I have failed in my duty, Mr Rawlings, and to prove it I’ve got an eye that will shine like a shitten barn door tomorrow.’
John leaned forward and saw that the Constable’s eye was indeed turning a dramatic shade of black. ‘Come on. We’ll go to the apothecary in High Street. He can put some leaves on that that will greatly reduce the swelling.’
‘But what about our two runaways?’
‘Leave them for the time being. We can put up posters and somebody will turn them in, you may depend on it.’
