Death at St. James's Palace by Deryn Lake

Author:Deryn Lake [Lake, Deryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Traditional British
ISBN: 9780749006464
Google: oydXAAAAYAAJ
Amazon: 1842835351
Barnesnoble: 1842835351
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2002-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

He found Samuel and his young companion comfortably ensconced in The Ewe, a decanter of brandy and two glasses set on a table which stood before a large log fire, beside which they had settled themselves. Drawing up another chair, the Apothecary joined them.

“Well, Sir,” he said forthrightly. “I have left your brother to his own devices. He was so intolerably rude that I refused to treat him further.”

“Quite right. He’s a wastrel and a mistake,” said the Duke gruffly.

“What do you mean by that, Sir?”

“He should never have been bom. My mother died when I was a babe in cradle and my father - not a man to go without his connubial comforts for any length of time - promptly impregnated a distant cousin of his. A stupid, brainless creature if ever there was one. Arnold and the rest of my siblings are all half brothers and sisters. Anyway, after my father had produced four more children, he died. I succeeded when I was twelve.”

“And may I ask how old you are now?”

“Three months off seventeen. I have left school and am studying the finer things with a tutor. I have too much to do with the estate to attend university.”

He had a very direct way of speaking, something that went well with his open countenance, topped with his mass of red hair, which he wore tied, clearly not bothering with a wig on informal occasions. His eyes a clear untroubled blue, very light, almost Arctic in shade, stared at the world without guile. He was as pleasant as his half brother had been disagreeable.

It was while he was studying the young man, wondering why he seemed vaguely familiar and also where he had heard his name before, that the answer came to John in the morning’s second moment of inspiration.

“The investiture,” he said loudly. “You were at the recent investiture. You were one of the pages-of-honour.”

The Duke of Guernsey looked startled. “Indeed I was. How did you know?”

“I was also present. Accompanying John Fielding who received a knighthood.” The Apothecary assumed his solemn expression. “What a terrible outcome, was it not?”

The young man’s light eyes did not falter. “It certainly was. I was standing on the right, quite close to the balcony, and looked down on the scene like a bird. All I could think was that he seemed to fall so slowly.”

“Yes, he did, you’re right,” John answered reflectively. His voice changed. “Tell me, Sir, how many of you pages were on duty that day?”

The Duke stared and the candid eyes started to cloud. “What an odd question. Why do you ask?”

“Because I must be losing my faculties, I think. For I could have sworn that I counted thirteen present. Yet good sense tells me there could have been only twelve.”

Guernsey lowered his eyes, the lids drooping slowly, rather as if he were shutting out the light. “There were twelve, Sir. You were mistaken in what you thought.”

He was lying, that was crystal clear. It was as plain as day that there had been thirteen boys present and the Duke knew it.

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