Free Death in the Valley of Shadows by Deryn Lake Page A

house these days.”
    “Indeed, Ma’am,” said Joe. “However Sir John Fielding and his fellows are doing their best to stem the tide of violence.”
    “Unfortunately, a Runner is never there when you want one,” answered the old chap. “Why, d’ye know, I was sitting in my own house t’other night when I heard a cry of ‘Stop thief!’ A highwayman, would you believe, had attacked a post-chaise in Piccadilly and it was not yet eleven o’clock at night. Anyway, chase was given, but the wretch rode over the watchman, almost killing him, and escaped.”
    “Did you report the matter to the Public Office?”
    “No, Sir, I did not. I saw but little, having hurried to my street door rather too late.”
    “Insufficient to describe the robber?”
    “Alas, yes. Where will it all end?”
    “On the gallows,” said Joe determinedly. “Such audacity as to rob in the very heart of town will bring him down eventually.”
    The conversation was reaching the end of its course and John was just wondering how they could move away without causing offence when a sudden hush fell over the room. The two sisters and Cousin Millicent had finally come in. It would appear that the great queue of mourners had at last departed and only those who had been invited to stay on remained.
    Millicent held up her hand for silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, as the governess of the girls as well as their cousin, they have asked me to thank you all for coming to pay respects to poor dear Aidan. We have a gift of mourning gloves which we hope you will accept. Of course nothing can fit everybody - that is, we are all different in hand sizes are we not, if you follow my meaning. But for those of you who are exceptionally big or small -1 refer to your hands, of course, not your build…” She giggled nervously,”…we shall order special pairs to be made. After all, Shakespeare’s father was a glover, was he not,” she added completely inconsequentially. Somebody laughed, which seemed to make Millicent more anxious than ever. “Now, more claret and cake will be served, except for those who are drinking ale and eating biscuits, that is. Oh dear me, I do hope I have made myself clear.”
    “Very,” said Joe Jago, and bowed deeply. “A good speech, Madam.”
    Millicent went scarlet, then white, and sat down hurriedly in a comer. Meanwhile, Mrs. Rayner and Miss Fenchurch began to move round amongst their guests.
    “I am so glad you came, Mr. Rawlings,” said Jocasta, arriving before him. She turned her eyes on Joe Jago. “How do you do, Sir.”
    He kissed her hand very gallantly. “Jago, Madam. I am here representing Sir John Fielding.”
    She grew very pale. “Of course, I keep forgetting. The Public Office believes that killers were hired to do my poor father to death.”
    “There is much that would indicate so,” Joe answered, adding swiftly, “Of course, we have no evidence as to who could be behind such a terrible act.”
    “It could only be a business rival,” Jocasta stated firmly.
    “Dare I ask,” John said quietly, “if Mr. Fenchurch’s affections were ever engaged elsewhere after your mother’s death?”
    She gave him a level look. “He courted a Mrs. Trewellan for a while, but she turned him down I believe. Papa and her son did not see eye to eye.”
    “And that was all? There were no further alliances?”
    Jocasta looked suddenly fraught. “Why do you ask? Do you believe a woman could be behind this terrible business?”
    “It is possible,” John answered diffidently.
    “But who? Unless…”
    “Unless what?”
    “I know I shouldn’t gossip,” she said, taking a glass of claret from a passing tray, “but I always thought that that obnoxious Mrs. Bussell gave Father the eye.”
    “Really?” said John, noticing that Joe had most discreetly removed himself so that she and the Apothecary could be absolutely private.
    “Yes, but you wouldn’t know her, of course. She became a friend of the family shortly after my