Free Death and the Cornish Fiddler by Deryn Lake Page A

noisily and now he winked at the Apothecary and rolled his eyes. He obviously considered himself a character and wanted everyone else to do so as well. The other was very small, almost dainty, with tiny little hands and feet. They were, all things considered, a very ill matched duo. John bowed politely and made small talk but eventually extricated himself and headed off for The Angel, thinking deeply.
    His main thought was about the actual role of Constable. It was generally a detested occupation, compulsory and unpaid, so much so that several citizens appointed a deputy to do the job for them. This had resulted in the formation of a class of men, mostly illiterate and existing on the pittance paid them by their employers, who had become professional deputies. Some, indeed, held the office for many years, going from one employer to the next as the obligatory year came to an end. And it seemed to the Apothecary that Helstone’s Constable resented the job tremendously. Indeed it may well be true that children were lost during the Floral Dance. Considering the crowds who watched, it seemed more than likely. But for all that, John had found his attitude patronising and pretentious, at the very least he could have organised a search for the missing Isobel.
    John believed that she was probably hiding in the woods near Loe Pool and that she would come out when things got quiet and she grew hungry. The best idea was to enjoy the rest of the day. With this thought uppermost in his mind, he whistled his way into The Angel to discover a scene taking place in the dining parlour. Mrs Pill was in floods of tears and refusing to be comforted by anybody. One look was enough to send John up to his room to fetch his medical bag.
    He returned and studied the situation. Tim Painter had given up and was taking the opportunity to give Diana Warwick, who sat serene and lovely and a little bit remote, the eye. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Rose watched fascinated but did not attempt to interfere. This was being done by Mrs Legassick, who held the semi-swooning woman in a tight embrace. The female whom John had noticed earlier, namely she of the large frame and succulent eyes, was also comforting Mrs Pill. Indeed she looked up as the Apothecary entered the room, attempting to appear professional.
    “Shush, my dear. I think this gentleman is a doctor,” said Mrs Legassick.
    “I am an apothecary actually, Madam. Now, Mrs Pill, let me have a look at you.”
    He knelt beside the fainting woman, acutely aware that the large lady was watching him with a positively lecherous expression on her face.
    Fortunately Isobel’s mother was too far gone to put up much resistance and swallowed a measure of physic that the Apothecary guided towards her mouth.
    “There, that should calm her.”
    “One of your magic potions?” It was the big woman speaking. “But excuse me Sir, allow me to present myself. I am Anne Anstey. I am so interested in the apothecary’s art. My late husband was one of your brotherhood, you know.”
    “Charmed, Madam. My name is John Rawlings,” John answered briefly, peering intently into Mrs Pill’s face which was utterly drained of colour. Suddenly, and rather shockingly, her eyes flew open and stared into his.
    “She’s drowned,” she hissed in a thrilling sibilant. “My girl’s drowned and I know it.”
    The thought that the Apothecary had resolutely been pushing away ever since he had seen Loe Pool now came surging back.
    “Nonsense, my dear,” said Mrs Anstey, “she’ll be home soon. As soon as it gets dark. They don’t like being out after dusk, do little girls.”
    But John, thinking of the size of Loe Pool and guessing at its depth, thought of little Isobel and knew that whatever faults the child might have had, she did not deserve a fate like that.
    “Tell me,” he said gently, “exactly what happened today. Explain to me what you saw.”
    The physic was obviously starting to take effect because Mrs Pill was