Free Death in the West Wind by Deryn Lake Page A

home empty-handed?”
    “I’ll be far from content but I think I have little choice. I don’t want my wife to lose all patience with me even before the honeymoon is over.”
    “No, Sir, that would never do,” the coachman answered seriously as they trundled their way towards Blackboy Road and the house with The Sign of the Gartered Leg.

    *   *   *

    In the event, they never got there. Whether he had been in for a visit or whether it was just by the merest chance John was not sure, but as they turned into the street where gentlemen took their pleasure, he saw Jan van Guylder striding towards their carriage, his eyes glazed and tears pouring down his cheeks. The Apothecary was on his feet in an instant, lowering the window and sticking his head out.
    “Mr. van Guylder. Over here. It’s John Rawlings. I must have a word with you.”
    Tom pulled the horses in and the carriage came to a stop. Jan, however, shook his head, applying his handkerchief to his eyes and making a motion with his arm which suggested pushing away. John ignored him and jumped down, fishing in his pocket for the smelling salts which he always carried.
    “No, please no,” said the Dutchman from the depths of his hands, which he had placed over his face, apparently to conceal his public shame.
    “Get a grip on yourself,” John said, as soothingly as he could. “There is much to get through today. Come, sit in the carriage with me.”
    Van Guylder turned a tortured face in his direction. “What do you mean? Do you have news of my sinful daughter who has strayed from her home yet again?”
    “Yes, I have news of her,” the Apothecary answered. “My friend, you must prepare yourself for a shock. I beg you to step into my coach where we will be guaranteed privacy.”
    The Dutchman’s eyes bolted in his head and he appeared on the point of collapse.
    “She’s dead, isn’t she? Nothing else could make you look so grim.”
    “I will not speak until we are hidden from the world,” John stated resolutely, and taking van Guylder by the arm he dragged him, protesting but fortunately too weak to put up much resistance, into the conveyance.
    Once inside the Dutchman lost all control. “What has happened?” he sobbed, his voice thick with emotion. “Is Juliana really dead? Has she paid for her sins with her life?” Despite the man’s obvious distress, John felt immensely irritated. “You sound like an Old Testament thunderer, Sir. Let he who be without sin cast the first stone, is more my philosophy. Yes, your tragic daughter is dead but through no fault of her own, of that I feel certain. It is others who have sinned against her by taking her young life.”
    Van Guylder stopped weeping and gazed at the Apothecary transfixed. “Are you saying that she was murdered?”
    “It grieves me to agree that I am.”
    “By whom for God’s sake?”
    “That,” John answered savagely, “is what I intend to find out.”
    There was an awful pause during which the Dutchman turned ash white and retched violently. John, fearing for his upholstery, opened the window and shoved van Guylder’s head out but fortunately it was merely a spasm and the cobbles below remained unscathed. Jan drew his head back in and looked at the younger man.
    “I know who killed her,” he said.
    It was John’s turn to gape. “What?”
    “She had a lover, here in Exeter. She tried to hide it from me but all the signs were there. I became certain that she was with child and I think she came to town to tell him of it. He killed her to silence her, that is what happened.”
    “Who is he? Do you know him?”
    Van Guylder sobbed and shook his head. “No, she never told me. But Richard, does, I am certain of that.”
    The fact that something truly sinister might be lying behind the young man’s non-appearance at school struck the Apothecary forcibly. He hesitated, then decided that it was better to come out with everything than burden the Dutchman with future