Read Online Death on the Romney Marsh by Deryn Lake - Free Book Online Page B

‘Just as well. I’ll be interested to have a look at it. By the way, did you tell the physician your suspicions?’
    Elizabeth shook her head, locks of her silver hair rippling beneath her hat. ‘No, I am regarded as enough of an oddity as it is. I had no wish to draw even more attention to myself.’
    The Apothecary shifted his position, the hard wooden pew uncomfortable beneath him. ‘Certainly what you say is very strange. But who could be doing such a thing? How could anyone trace you to this remote corner?’
    â€˜Perhaps by pure chance. Perhaps there is somebody living in Winchelsea who knew Jasper, or …’ – her voice wavered – ‘the others.’
    â€˜It seems very unlikely.’
    â€˜You do not doubt my word, surely, Mr Rawlings? These things happened to me just as I described to you.’
    In her vehemence, Mrs Rose’s voice had risen in intensity and now reverberated round the walls of the old church, the sound coming back as an echo from the ancient tombs of the long-sleeping dead. And mingling with that hollow noise, John became acutely aware of another. His hackles rose as he realised that he and his companion were not alone in the church of St Thomas the Martyr. Surreptitious footsteps were making their way up the aisle away from them.
    He sprang to his feet, simultaneously whirling round to face the door which divided the aisle across. It was closing even as he looked at it. Instantly, John leaped over the back of the pew and plunged down the aisle towards the door, wrenching it open and staring all around him. There was no one in sight, but the Apothecary glimpsed movement in the main entrance. He raced the short distance from where he stood, thrusting his way through the great oak door. But again he was just too late. Whoever had gone out knew the place far better than he did and had instantly found a hiding place. There was nobody to be seen.
    â€˜Damnation!’ he swore.
    â€˜Who was it?’ asked Elizabeth, nervously coming up behind him.
    â€˜I don’t know. They’ve gone to earth;’
    â€˜Could they have overheard what we were saying?’
    â€˜It depends on how long they were there.’
    She drew herself up and got a grip on her emotions. ‘Ought we to try and find the fellow?’
    â€˜It could be a woman, you know. And the answer is no. By the time we’ve searched the grounds they could be halfway home. No, Mrs Rose, a far better idea is to return to your cottage and for me to look at that wine bottle of yours.’
    â€˜Then follow me, Mr Rawlings,’ she said with determination, and set off down the path.
    The serving girl whom her employer suspected of gossiping at least was a good worker. A cheerful fire had been lit in the hearth and the smells of cooking pervaded Petronilla’s Platt as John and his hostess walked through the front door. The Apothecary raised his brows in surprise and Elizabeth Rose, reading his look, laughed and said, ‘You are in the country now, Mr Rawlings. We dine at two o’clock here.’
    She was, the Apothecary thought, at her best when challenged. The frightened creature who had whispered to him in the church had vanished with the advent of the intruder. Now something of the spirit of Mrs Jasper Harcross, the death of whose husband John had actually witnessed on the stage of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, was coming to the fore. Even her beautiful face, ravaged by time though it might be, seemed brighter and more animated. In fact John was delighted when Mrs Rose said, ‘I do hope you will dine with me, my dear friend. There is still much that I want to say to you. I feel that I have rudely monopolised the conversation talking about myself and have asked nothing of you and your dear father.’
    â€˜I’d be delighted to accept,’ he answered, ‘and we can discuss all my news then. But first of all, to business. If you bring the bottle