Free Death at the Wedding Feast by Deryn Lake Page B

rare creature she was.
    â€˜Do you remember the first time we met?’ he asked.
    â€˜Very clearly. I can recall fighting you in the fog.’
    â€˜I was thinking more of when we came back to this house.’
    In the mirror he saw her smile up at him and then turn to look at him. ‘I can remember that. I said I longed to kiss you. And that is what I want now. If it is no trouble, Mr Rawlings.’
    â€˜Never a difficulty as far as you are concerned, Madam.’
    And he bent his head to her upturned face and kissed her full on the lips while one hand reached down inside the open robe she was wearing to caress her lovely neck and shoulders.
    They went to bed but did not make love, for John knew how bad for her this would be. But for all that they gently played and embraced until Elizabeth finally fell asleep. Then the Apothecary rose quietly and tiptoed along the corridor until he reached his own room. His trunk had arrived long since and some clothes had been sent up to him at Lady Sidmouth’s so that he had been able to abandon the ghastly green and was now soberly attired in Venetian blue. Looking in the clothes press he determined to go to Exeter on the morrow and see a tailor. And also to renew his acquaintance with Sir Clovelly Lovell and try to glean some more information on that soon-to-be-married fellow, the elderly Earl of St Austell.

Eight
    â€˜The trouble with old St Austell,’ said Sir Clovelly Lovell, thoughtfully nibbling with sharp little teeth upon a sweetmeat, ‘is that he won’t act his age. Still thinks he’s a helluva fellow. Can’t – or will not – accept the fact that he’s seventy-two.’
    â€˜Good gracious!’ exclaimed John, who was sitting opposite him, toying with a glass of sherry. ‘I hadn’t realized that he was quite that old.’
    â€˜In his younger days he was the very devil of a rake. And with respect to Mr Hogarth, St Austell’s progress was from woman to woman. Just couldn’t get enough of ’em. Different one every night – that is, when he wasn’t on the ran-tan.’
    â€˜He was a heavy drinker?’ asked John.
    â€˜He was everything you can imagine,’ said Sir Clovelly with weight, and allowed his words to sink in.
    The Apothecary was frankly bemused. His mental picture of Lord St Austell had been one of an old man in love with a girl a quarter of his age, probably a frail old being whose last declining years were going to be spent happily while she ran around him. But a different portrait was emerging, that of a raging-bull young man – large limbed and ready with his fists – who would grow into something quite cruel in his declining years.
    â€˜What does he look like?’
    â€˜A giant of a fellow, though somewhat stooped these days I fear. He had a shock of long hair, now white, on the top of which he would slap a wig which never sat right on his head. His eyes are a brilliant blue. The sort of eyes which one could imagine as belonging to the Devil – or am I being fanciful? He has strong features, with a great roman nose in the middle of his face, and a large mouth full of gnashing white teeth. These are now false, alas, and somewhat more subdued than once they were. I remember him biting some young man in a tavern brawl and the poor chap was scarred for life.’
    â€˜He sounds a thoroughly nasty piece of work.’
    â€˜He has mellowed as we all do with the onset of age. Uses a stick to support himself and has grown somewhat hard of hearing. But he’s still got a violent temper so I hope his poor bride does not step out of line.’
    If ever there was a young woman more likely to misbehave than Miranda Tremayne, John would like to see her. A cold shudder clutched his spine and he shivered involuntarily.
    It was noon and a raw March day, with a chill wind blowing from the river and echoing down the streets of Exeter. Against its cold Sir Clovelly