Death in the West Wind (5 page)

The man who had first spoken to John now issued orders. “Let’s turn the capstan, lads. You, Sir, you search the ship. Jeb, who’s been steering her, can help.”

It was the silence, John decided, that was so eerie. Walking through the cabins there was indeed every sign of recent occupation, and in the dining area places were set for a meal. The teapot which stood nearby was by now almost cold, yet by touching it the Apothecary could feel that it had only lost heat a short while ago. Cups were out, as was a jug of milk and a loaf of bread, and there was even some cheese, rather hard but edible. Yet no voice spoke, nobody called out, the only sound the lapping of the waves and the seductive west wind playing in the great canvas sails. With his spine crawling with fear, John was glad to get back on deck.

In the distance he could see Jeb searching the stern, on his hands and knees in order not to miss anything, while the other three men were heaving round the capstan with much rattling of heavy chain. John went to the prow, complete with its mermaid figurehead, to hunt there. Then suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, his heart beating fast. For the carving of the mergirl was so fine that it seemed to him, just for a moment, that it had a veil of spun gold hair hanging down. blowing in the capricious breeze. Then his brain caught up with his eyes and he realised that no figurehead, however intricately exectuted, could possibly give such an illusion. That there was in fact somebody there.

“Who’s that?” he called out, not loudly but fearfully.

Nobody answered and John took a step forward. The curtain of hair was streaming outwards like silver gilt, like silk, like that of someone he had seen only too recently.

“Juliana?” he said, his voice only just above a whisper.

She did not move to reply to him and every alarm bell in Christendom sounded in the Apothecary’s brain. Running forward he saw that she lay, face downwards, draped over the figurehead, her arms hanging down on either side of it, the movement of the ship giving them a life they did not possess as they swayed gently, the hands totally relaxed.

“God almighty,” said John, and raising Juliana by the shoulders, stared into her face. She looked asleep, despite the terrible bruising and cuts she had sustained and the blood that had dried round her mouth, yet this was a sleep that surely was the deepest of them all. Gently, the Apothecary put his head to her heart — but there was only silence.

Very carefully, he laid the shift-clad corpse back as he had found it, swiftly kissing Juliana’s brow before turning her face down. Then he walked round to where the fishermen had just succeeded in dropping anchor.

“I am sorry to tell you that there is someone aboard,” he said grimly.

They stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just that. There’s a girl lying on the figurehead.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“Nothing,” John answered sternly.

They gaped at him, open-mouthed, clearly not comprehending a word he was saying. “Who is she?” one of them asked eventually.
 

“Her name is Juliana van Guylder,” the Apothecary replied slowly, “and I regret to have to inform you that she is quite, quite dead.”

3

R
ather than return down the perilously swaying rope, John decided to dive from the schooner’s rail, a daunting prospect in itself but quite certainly the lesser of the two evils. In this way he swam ashore to find Emilia, now accompanied by Irish Tom, waiting for him with obvious anticipation.

“John, is that ship deserted?” his bride asked eagerly. “I watched you go aboard through the telescope but there seemed no sign of life. Was there anybody there?”

He did not answer directly but instead asked another question. “How much could you see?”

“I had it on maximum magnification but some of the outlines were blurred.”

“Was the figurehead clear to you?”

“No. I could see it of course, but not in detail.”

“That’s as well, then.”

“Why do you say that?”

The Apothecary took his wife’s hands in his. “Do you remember remarking that I was a stormy petrel, that trouble followed me around?”

Emilia looked perturbed. “Yes. Why?”

“It’s happened. The ship was deserted all right, eerily so, for there was every sign of recent habitation. But draped over the figurehead was a body. And, my darling, I am sorry to say that it was the body of someone we have met.”

She looked stricken. “Oh God help us! Who?”

“The wretched Juliana van Guylder.”

Emilia went very pale. “And to think I did not take to her. I feel guilty.”

Irish Tom spoke for the first time. “This is a tragic set of circumstances, Sir. What can I do to help?”

“Take Mrs. Rawlings and our things back to the village. I’ve promised to run on ahead and alert the constable. I should also find a physician. He’ll need to look at the body before it is brought ashore.”

“Let Tom find the doctor. I am perfectly capable of walking back on my own.”

“I’ve a better idea.” John ran his eye over the coachman’s Brian Boramha physique. “Let Tom stay here and keep an eye on the schooner. The fishermen are off to quaff ale before they do anything further and we don’t want anybody to go aboard and tamper.”

The Irishman looked very cheered. “I should enjoy that, Sorrh. There’s nothing I like better than a good mill.” His accent was suddenly very pronounced.

“Well, let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” John answered, then turned as Emilia tugged at his arm.

“My dear, how did Juliana die?”

“I did not examine her body but her face had sustained a terrific beating. It seems to me that she had been most savagely attacked.”

“Enough to kill her?”

“I would imagine so, yes.”

“How horrible. I hope the village constable is up to dealing with such a crime.”

“He won’t be of course, unless he is very exceptional. I think perhaps a letter to Mr. Fielding might be in order.”

“But he is in London.”

“Ah, don’t forget his two Brave Fellows, ready to set out to any part of the kingdom at one quarter of an hour’s notice.”

“But they wouldn’t come to Devon,” said Emilia, amazed.

“Would they not! Since Mr. Fielding inaugurated his Flying Runners four years ago in ’55, they have so far visited places as far afield as Windsor, Maidstone, Bristol, Barnet, Faversham, Newark, Maidenhead, Henley, Guildford, Tunbridge Wells and Oswestry, to say nothing of a three day pursuit in Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire.

My dear girl, if I write at once they could be here in six days.”

“I shall never,” said Tom stolidly, “get over the pace at which life moves today.”

“It is indeed,” John answered, “a very sobering thought.”

The constable, as it turned out, was far more alert than most of his fellow officers of the law. A detested job, unpaid and compulsory, the duty of acting as constable lasted for a year and was so disliked by many citizens that some paid deputies to substitute for them. This had led to the formation of a class of professional deputies, some of whom had held office for a considerable time. As the money paid to them was poor, deputies were usually ignorant, dishonest and extremely inefficient into the bargain. The little village of Sidmouth, however, obviously scorned such individuals and had for its law man a young farmer by the name of William Haycraft. John found him working in his fields and almost felt loath to disturb such honest labour.

“Mr. Haycraft,” he called out, hurrying up to the five bar gate.

“Do I know you, Sir?”

John shook his head. “No, I’ve come about an incident which involves the constable.” William visibly sighed. “Then you’d best come in and tell me about it.”

Inside the small, cool farmhouse, John sat with a tankard of home-brewed cider and related the entire story, leaving out no detail, even telling the constable of his evening spent in the company of the van Guylder family.

“So it’s the daughter of the house who you recognised as the dead woman?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought her death not natural?”

“I did not examine the body. It was neither the time nor the place to do so. But judging by the cuts and bruises on the girl’s face I can only assume that she received a beating at somebody’s hands.”

“You talk, Sir,” said William, “as if you would be quite capable of scrutinising a corpse. Are you by any chance a doctor?”

“No, but a member of a closely related profession. I am John Rawlings, an apothecary with a shop in Shug Lane, Piccadilly.”

“And what might you be doing in this part of the world, may I ask?”

“I am on holiday here with my new wife, part of that idyllic four weeks known as a honeymoon.”

“Well, bless you, Sir. Congratulations. And now you have stumbled into this. I hope it hasn’t spoiled things for you.”

“Not at all. In fact Emilia, my bride, half wondered if something might happen.”

“How’s that then?”

It was not easy to say that in the past he had often worked with John Fielding, the celebrated blind magistrate, without sounding full of himself, so the Apothecary kept the explanation as simple and short as he could. But in that he was wrong. William Haycraft positively came to life before his ] eyes, almost sniffing the air in dog-like fashion.

“Why, even in this remote part we’ve heard of him, Sir. In fact I seek out knowledge of the man. For he be inspirational indeed. To do what he does without use of his eyes is remarkable. As a matter of interest, though most detest the role of constable I quite enjoy it, thinking about the Blind Beak in London and how he deals with wrongdoers.”

“Then, with your permission, may I send for two of his men to assist you?”

Clearly William had never heard of the pair of Brave Fellows and his honest eyes widened as the Apothecary explained their function.

“And you would have enough influence tQ bring them here?” he said eventually.

“It’s not a question of influence. Anyone can call for them. They are there to serve.”

“Then I’d be obliged if you would write straightaway, Sir. I can take the letter into

Topsham myself this evening. It will get to Exeter and the London Mail quicker that way.” He stood up, a true Devonian with broad weathered features, bright eyes and large capable hands.

“Well, I see that I’ll get no more work done today.” He sighed again. However keen he might be to follow in the footsteps of the Blind Beak, it was clearly still an irritant when precious labouring hours were lost. “I must get down to the beach and investigate this deserted ship for myself.” He turned to John. “In all the confusion, you didn’t happen to note its name and port of origin, did you, Sir?”

The Apothecary nodded. “I did as a matter of fact. She is the
Constantia
from Christiania, which is, I believe, in the Baltic.”

“So it’s a foreign crew that’s gone missing.”

“Is that significant?”

“Could be. There’s a lot that goes on in these parts. Smuggling and the like. Why, there was piracy at Topsham a mere hundred years ago. Could be that someone abducted the lot of them for ransom.”

“But why should a Topsham girl be found dead on a Baltic ship?”

William plucked his ear lobe, a sign that he was thinking. “That is a very good question. Did she come aboard to meet one of the crew? Or was she with some sort of raiding party?”

“That’s what we have got to find out.”

“Indeed we must. Now let’s to the beach.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“I want you to examine the body, Sir.”

“But what about the local doctor, surely he should be the one to do so?”

The constable turned a look of amused affection in John’s direction. “Bless you, Sir, we don’t have one of those. Dr. Hunter rides over from Topsham in his gig weekly. The rest of the time Old Saul sees to people.”

“Old Saul?”nearest to the beach, had obviously consumed too much ale and spoken freely about their extraordinary find. For when John and William Hay craft returned to the water’s edge a crowd of sightseers had gathered, all of whom resented the fact that a stranger was keeping guard on the vessel. Indeed, abuse was being hurled, to which Irish Tom was responding without inhibition.

“Enough,” shouted the constable in an enormous voice, and silence actually fell. John considered that William Haycraft must be one of the most effective people to hold this much despised post, and his admiration for the man, already quite high, rose in bounds.

“Get about your business,” William continued. “There’s nothing to see here and I’ll charge you with loitering if you don’t move on.” He turned to Irish Tom. “And what might you be doing?”

“He’s my coachman,” the Apothecary put in hastily, “and I asked him to make sure nobody boarded the
Constantia
.”

“”Twas a job keeping them away, Sir. They’d have been out there like flies if I hadn’t been forceful. But now you’re here, can I go?”

“I’d be grateful if you’d find Mrs. Rawlings and tell her I won’t be long. Explain that the constable has asked me to go back aboard as there is no physician to accompany him.”