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

truly I do. Was he aware of her affair and subsequent pursuit of her lover? Or is he merely an ignorant fool?”
    John shrugged and shook his head. “Who knows?”
    “Whatever the case, he has settled for keeping her into old age. Anyway, Mr. Rawlings, tomorrow you and Jago will ruffle her feathers. A woman like that needs to be called to order from time to time.”
    “Do you think she paid to have Aidan Fenchurch killed, Sir?”
    “Yes, I do,” said Sir John, sighing heavily. “The devil of it is going to be proving that she did so.”

Chapter Four

    H aving closed the shop for the night, John and his apprentice made their way home to discover that the post boy had brought a letter from Sir Gabriel with a postscript added by Emilia, assuring her husband of her improved health. The Apothecary read it through several times, the last reading being in bed before he blew out the candle and closed his eyes. But instead of falling asleep immediately he once more lived through the sequence of events precipitated by Aidan Fenchurch running into his shop hotly pursued by Mrs. Bussell.
    What, John wondered, had she wanted in particular that would have driven her to run after her quarry in such a way? What could have been so urgent that she must see him then and there? Or was she just a crazed indulged woman whose every whim must be granted as soon as she so much as thought of it. Probably the latter, he considered, and fell to conjecturing what Montague Bussell could possibly be like and whether he would be at home when John and Joe Jago called at Grosvenor Square in the morning.
    As it transpired, despite the earliness of the hour neither husband nor wife were in, a fact with which the representatives of the Public Office could not argue as no previous appointment had been made.
    “Who shall I say called, Sir?” asked a footman, looking at Joe as if he had crawled from beneath a damp stone.
    Sir John Fielding’s clerk and right hand man showed his steel. With a flourish of hard, somewhat dangerous-looking fingers, he produced a card from within his sensible worsted coat and thrust it beneath the arrogant servant’s nostrils.
    Startled, the man read it aloud. “Joseph R. Jago, clerk to Sir John Fielding, the Public Office, Bow Street.” He looked slightly taken aback. “And to what does this refer, Sir?”
    “Mind your business,” snapped Joe mightily. “I wish to see Mrs. Bussell and I shall return. My conversation with her is privy to the pair of us. Good day to you.” And he stamped down the stone steps to where John waited in the street below.
    “Upstart,” said the clerk, none too quietly.
    The Apothecary, who had grown accustomed to the ill manners of servants through years of calling on the sick, nodded sympathetically, then looked thoughtful. “D’ye know, he goes with his employer somehow.”
    “Is she of that ilk; rude and arrogant?”
    “Horribly so. But I’d wager a goodly sum that when we finally pin her down she’ll be in flirtatious mode, all grins, winks and teeth.”
    Joe shuddered. “Heaven forfend! I think I’d rather meet her aggressive.”
    “Are you sure about that?” said John, and burst into hilarious laughter, startling a passer-by.
    They had come in the coach used for Bow Street business and now had it at their disposal. “Do you want me to take you to the shop, Sir?” Joe asked as they climbed aboard.
    The Apothecary shook his head. “If it is no trouble to you, my friend, I would like to call at the mortuary. I have a feeling that I shall know more about Aidan Fenchurch’s death if I can see the extent of his injuries.”
    “He’s in a rough state, Sir. But then I have no need to warn you of that.”
    “I don’t relish the task but I know I won’t be allowed in without an official present so this will be my only chance to see him. What’s the ruling regarding the body, by the way?”
    “The coroner is due to release it to the family later today.”
    “Then we’d best