Read Death and the Cornish Fiddler for Free Online

upstairs and put her to bed.
    “Rose, do you want me to lock you in?”
    “No, I wouldn’t like that. Just sit beside me.”
    But something made him stay even when Rose’s breathing deepened until he, too, dozed off in the chair beside the bed. How long he remained like that he couldn’t say but he woke suddenly to find that all was dark, the candle which had been burning having guttered out while he slept. John froze in the darkness, aware of a sound over by the door. There could be no doubt of it. Someone was entering the room.
    He stood up silently, crossing the small space as quietly as he could, but a floorboard creaked beneath his weight. Realising that the other person would now be aware of his presence, he sprinted to the door and threw it open. There was nobody there but hurling himself up the corridor he spied a small figure clad in a nightgown. It would appear that Isobel had decided to torment his daughter once more.
    The next morning at breakfast John once again signalled to Elizabeth not to ask any questions, though he could see that she was longing to know exactly what was happening. He did say, however, that he was anxious to talk to Mrs Pill and her daughter.
    “I don’t believe they are down yet. The only people I have seen so far are the two ladies, Mrs Legassick and Mrs Bligh. They went out early to perambulate.”
    “Wait a minute. I can hear someone coming now.”
    They turned their heads to the door but the vision that entered was nobody that either the Apothecary or the Marchesa had seen before. However, this did not stop either of them staring roundeyed. For the woman was indeed a sight to behold.
    Dressed to the inch in the very latest fashion, her head covered by a superb hat, her jewels glittering in the morning light, she waved at them nonchalantly before drifting across the dining parlour to take a seat. John frankly could not take his eyes off her.
    He guessed her to be in her forties but she had that timeless quality of all great beauties. The setting of her face was stunning - or had once been so - though the Apothecary could see a certain hardness about her visage which made him wonder exactly what her antecedents were. Her hair, though vividly blonde, was beautifully arranged beneath her hat, and the rest of her features were perfect, everything from her great, luminous eyes to her sweet little mouth which was superbly placed. Feeling John’s gaze, she turned politely.
    “Good morning to you, Sir. A nice day, is it not?”
    He was thoroughly nonplussed. Rising from his chair he made his very best bow. “Indeed it is, Madam. May I present myself? My name is John Rawlings.” He bowed again.
    She returned the salute graciously, bowing from the waist. “And I am Diana Warwick. How do you do.” Her gaze swept down and took in Elizabeth. “And this is Mrs Rawlings?”
    “No, Madam. I am Elizabeth di Lorenzi, widow of the Marchese di Lorenzi of Venice.”
    “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Ma’am.”
    “As I am yours.”
    “This is my daughter, Rose Rawlings,” John added somewhat lamely, frankly daunted by the combined power of these two extraordinary women.
    Diana Warwick’s glance took in Rose as if she were preparing to sketch her. Eventually, she said, “You have very beautiful hair, child.”
    John’s daughter smiled dutifully. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
    It was at this juncture that Mrs Pill and Isobel entered the room, Tim, a lazy grin on his face, bringing up the rear. He cast his eyes round, saw Elizabeth, and gave a magnificent bow.
    The Apothecary fixed Isobel with a meaningful glance to which she responded by pulling a face. Furious, he was about to go over and have it out there and then, but Elizabeth laid a restraining hand on his arm.
    But more was happening. Diana Warwick had noticed the handsome man bowing to Elizabeth and was making little movements at her table in order to attract attention, which, after a few moments, she succeeded in doing. Tim