Death in the Valley of Shadows Read Free

head to the apprentice, then having looked closely up and down the street, scuttled off fast in a way most reminiscent of a crustacean heading for the sea.

    “It occurs to me,” said John, looking at his wife with both a professional and husbandly eye, “that you could well benefit from a few days in the country. You are very pale.” And also very enormous, he thought but did not add.
    Emilia Rawlings, not a tall girl and at the best of times quite small in physique, now resembled a grape ready for the wine harvest. The child that she was carrying had dropped low, so much so that the Apothecary’s wife had taken to waddling rather than walking, an unattractive mode of gait of which she was more than painfully aware, being naturally rather graceful.
    “I would love to get away but could your father cope with a woman in my condition?”
    “He’s seen it all before. My mother was pregnant with his child, remember.”
    “The one that died?”
    “Yes.” John could have added, ‘As did she,’ but held his peace, considering his wife’s condition and not believing for a moment in deliberately frightening women who were about to give birth.
    “Should we not write and ask his permission?”
    “I’ll do that tonight and send Irish Tom with the letter first thing tomorrow morning. He is immensely idle at the moment as you are not going out and about.”
    “He’s thoroughly enjoying himself, though.”
    “That is not what I pay for him,” the Apothecary answered primly, only to hear Emilia peal with laughter.
    “Don’t put that face on. Trying to be respectable simply doesn’t become you.”
    “But I am respectable, very respectable indeed. People trust me with their life stories. Which reminds me…” And John told her of the extraordinary incident in his shop earlier that day.
    Emilia listened, round-eyed. “You mean that this woman, this stalker, this shadow, continues to follow him about?”
    “Yes.”
    “How cheap. What does she look like? Is she handsome?”
    “I suppose she was once. But now she relies on a powerful personality, which would be perfectly fine if it were pleasant.”
    “And what about him? Is he worth all this attention?”
    John leant back in his chair and laughed. “Frankly, no. He is small of eye, large of gut, and with a suspicious, florid countenance that can look quite crabby, in every sense of the word.”
    “A fine couple indeed.”
    “As you say. Apparently they once mated in the bath.”
    “Difficult,” said Emilia, “given his physical attributes.”
    The Apothecary laughed again. “You might see him if you leave for Kensington the day after tomorrow.”
    “I think I will forgo the pleasure. As soon as Sir Gabriel invites me, I shall take my leave of London. Thank God it isn’t hot. Oh John, I don’t know how a woman could bear to be enceinte in the summer.”
    “How long will you stay away?”
    “Only a week. The baby is due in a fortnight remember.”
    “How could I forget? You have been marking off the days.”
    “Is it very boring of me?”
    “On the contrary, it is very, very exciting.”
    “Then I’ll hurry back. I don’t want you to miss anything.”
    “Of course,” said the Apothecary, but his mind was not with his words. Much as he loved Emilia and was looking forward to the birth of their first child, his thoughts were going down other paths. He saw again the stricken face of Aidan Fenchurch, the faded mirthlessness of Mrs. Bussell’s smile. Was she a potential killer? John wondered, contemplating those he had known who had committed that most heinous of crimes. Without doubt the answer came back with a crystal and unnerving clarity. Ariadne Bussell would be more than capable of taking the life of anyone who in her belief had thwarted her wishes.

    At daybreak Irish Tom, John Rawlings’s idiosyncratic coachman, left for Kensington, the home village of Sir Gabriel Kent, the Apothecary’s adoptive father. Within three hours he was back with an