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

mother died and was always hurling herself at him, like a great marmalade cannonball.”
    The description was so accurate that John’s crooked grin appeared briefly, then vanished. For this was the moment of decision. The most intelligent and well-disposed member of the family was telling him her observations. To dissemble with her would be a disservice indeed.
    “Mrs. Rayner, do you remember me telling you that your father came into my shop in Shug Lane and told me he thought me an honest citizen?”
    “Of course I do.”
    “On that occasion he was being pursued by Mrs. Bussell and actually asked me to conceal his presence. I did so, hiding him in my compounding room at the back. Please don’t be shocked because a man is only a man when all is said and done…”
    Why, he thought, had she suddenly gone rigid? What was it that made her momentarily appear elsewhere?
    Jocasta collected herself. “Go on.”
    “He admitted to me that he had briefly had an affair with her, when he was lonely and bereft, missing your mother desperately. He also told me that he ended the relationship, when Mrs. Trewellan came on the scene. It was then that Mrs. Bussell took to following him about, full of hatred and spite, making his life a misery.”
    John hesitated, not wanting to make further trouble, but Jocasta was there before him. “Do you mean that she could be responsible…?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody does. But it is a path of enquiry that Sir John Fielding is most anxious to pursue.”
    “What is John Fielding pursuing?” asked Millicent in her odd little voice, having left her comer and silently joined them.
    “Nothing, dearest.”
    “Did I hear Mrs. Bussell’s name? Such a jolly woman, is she not? Always laughing and joking and so very clever with her brushes. Of course, I paint a little but nothing in her field of endeavour.”
    John looked round the room. “She is not here I see.”
    “Oh you know her!” said Millicent, clapping her hands. “Is she not a wit?”
    The agony of answering such a question was spared for it was at this moment that Evalina, having no doubt decided that people were relaxing too much, let out a spectacular howl and swooned, knocking a tray of wine from a passing servant’s hand. There was general uproar as glasses shattered, showering to the floor in tinkling pieces, and a deaf old gentleman yelped as his hand was cut and gouted blood. John and Joe exchanged a glance, then acted as professionally as they possibly could. The clerk administered salts and attempted to heave the fainting woman into a chair, no mean feat, while the Apothecary bound the old man’s wound with his handkerchief.
    Millicent and Jocasta appeared, looking anxious.
    “Oh Evalina,” her sister said impatiently. “How I wish that you would get a grip on yourself. Do the words respect for our visitors mean nothing to you?”
    “There, there, Evie,” fluttered the cousin, patting Evalina’s large white hands. “Come on, dear. It’s the strain, you know,” she said to the group who had gathered round, staring at the prostrate form with a certain degree of malicious enjoyment. “She’s taken her father’s death very hard, haven’t you, pet?”
    “We all have,” snapped Jocasta.
    “Unfeeling, unfeeling,” moaned Evalina, then rolled her eyes up once more.
    “I wouldn’t advise taking her to bed,” said the Apothecary very loudly. He turned to a hovering footman. “Could you get me some ice and water in a pail. That should do the trick.”
    One of Evalina’s lids twitched slightly.
    “Yes, in severe cases of the swoon my old master always held the patient’s head in a bucket of freezing water. Failing that, he threw it over them. Rough treatment admittedly, but most effective.”
    “Drag her to one side of the room. I do not want the Turkey rug ruined,” said Jocasta, clearly delighted by the whole idea.
    Evalina groaned and sat up, clutching her brow. “Oh the heat, it is too