near the heath at night, so who’s to say.”
“Who indeed,” the Apothecary answered thoughtfully. He changed the subject. “Tell me more about the Angels.”
“They’re very similar to the London Mohocks, as I said. They go round at night terrorising watchmen and women; flattening noses, cutting legs as they make their victims dance. They force females to stand on their heads against a wall, then as their clothes fall back play lewd games with them that cannot be described in front of a lady. They are reputedly the sons of aristocrats and gentry folk.”
“As were the London gang, now dispersed thank God.”
“The Exeter mob was silent for a while, about ten years in fact. But lately some choice spirits have revived the pack and they’re back to all their old tricks.”
“Can the constables do nothing?”
“No, and the nightwatchmen are too old to be effective. In other words the lads run riot as and when they feel like it. There’s been talk of citizens forming a group to protect themselves though nothing has ever come of it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because, in my view, the rumour is true, Sir. The fathers of the Angels are mostly well placed and have powerful means at their disposal to protect their sons.”
Beside him, John’s bride gave a deep yawn and he involuntarily followed suit. “It’s been a long and tiring day. I’m afraid the time has come for me to retire.” Emilia smiled. “John, will you accompany me? I can’t get the picture of that headless coachman out of my mind and think I might jump at shadows.”
He grinned unevenly. “So might I. Come, my dear, we’ll escort one another.” And slipping his arm round his wife’s waist, the Apothecary took her to their bedchamber, wondering with every step of the stairs exactly what it was that they had seen on the moorland that night.
* * *
At dawn, long before anyone was up, Juliana van Guylder’s body was placed in a plain wooden coffin, the lid loosely secured so that those who needed to look at her could easily do so, then put in a farm cart and driven slowly to the mortuary in Exeter. Accompanying her, in fact driving the cart, was William Haycraft, the constable.
Shortly after their departure, John woke and went to the beach. The Constantia rode at anchor, her sails catching the pink glow of morning, her decks as deserted as ever, her very silence echoing the brooding mystery that surrounded her. She had drifted a little in the night and the Apothecary, who had been considering a further exhaustive search of the vessel, thought better of the chilly swim and instead walked for a while, contemplating. Then he returned to the inn, wondering how long he should wait for Jan van Guylder to appear before once more going in search of the man. As it was, Emilia made the decision for him.
“Sweetheart, you must leave forTopsham as soon as you have eaten your breakfast. I shall wait here and amuse myself by looking round. If Mr. van Guylder comes I shall tell him as best I can what has befallen, but I truly think it better if you try to seek him out.”
“But what if he hasn’t returned from Exeter?”
“Perhaps you should look for him there. After all, his son’s school should be easy enough to find. Didn’t van Guylder say it was the Grammar School?”
“Yes, he did. And you think the boy might be able to tell me where his father is?”
“He is bound to know his haunts, yes.”
John nodded. “You’re quite right. I shall go as soon as I’ve had some food.”
His wife grinned at him. “Whatever you do, don’t leave without doing that.”
Much as he had feared, the Apothecary’s call at Shell House produced exactly the same result as on the previous night. Jan van Guylder had not returned from Exeter and none of his servants was able to help at all. Grateful, yet again, that he now had his own coach at his disposal, John set out for the city determined to track down his quarry.
They entered Exeter by
“Who indeed,” the Apothecary answered thoughtfully. He changed the subject. “Tell me more about the Angels.”
“They’re very similar to the London Mohocks, as I said. They go round at night terrorising watchmen and women; flattening noses, cutting legs as they make their victims dance. They force females to stand on their heads against a wall, then as their clothes fall back play lewd games with them that cannot be described in front of a lady. They are reputedly the sons of aristocrats and gentry folk.”
“As were the London gang, now dispersed thank God.”
“The Exeter mob was silent for a while, about ten years in fact. But lately some choice spirits have revived the pack and they’re back to all their old tricks.”
“Can the constables do nothing?”
“No, and the nightwatchmen are too old to be effective. In other words the lads run riot as and when they feel like it. There’s been talk of citizens forming a group to protect themselves though nothing has ever come of it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because, in my view, the rumour is true, Sir. The fathers of the Angels are mostly well placed and have powerful means at their disposal to protect their sons.”
Beside him, John’s bride gave a deep yawn and he involuntarily followed suit. “It’s been a long and tiring day. I’m afraid the time has come for me to retire.” Emilia smiled. “John, will you accompany me? I can’t get the picture of that headless coachman out of my mind and think I might jump at shadows.”
He grinned unevenly. “So might I. Come, my dear, we’ll escort one another.” And slipping his arm round his wife’s waist, the Apothecary took her to their bedchamber, wondering with every step of the stairs exactly what it was that they had seen on the moorland that night.
* * *
At dawn, long before anyone was up, Juliana van Guylder’s body was placed in a plain wooden coffin, the lid loosely secured so that those who needed to look at her could easily do so, then put in a farm cart and driven slowly to the mortuary in Exeter. Accompanying her, in fact driving the cart, was William Haycraft, the constable.
Shortly after their departure, John woke and went to the beach. The Constantia rode at anchor, her sails catching the pink glow of morning, her decks as deserted as ever, her very silence echoing the brooding mystery that surrounded her. She had drifted a little in the night and the Apothecary, who had been considering a further exhaustive search of the vessel, thought better of the chilly swim and instead walked for a while, contemplating. Then he returned to the inn, wondering how long he should wait for Jan van Guylder to appear before once more going in search of the man. As it was, Emilia made the decision for him.
“Sweetheart, you must leave forTopsham as soon as you have eaten your breakfast. I shall wait here and amuse myself by looking round. If Mr. van Guylder comes I shall tell him as best I can what has befallen, but I truly think it better if you try to seek him out.”
“But what if he hasn’t returned from Exeter?”
“Perhaps you should look for him there. After all, his son’s school should be easy enough to find. Didn’t van Guylder say it was the Grammar School?”
“Yes, he did. And you think the boy might be able to tell me where his father is?”
“He is bound to know his haunts, yes.”
John nodded. “You’re quite right. I shall go as soon as I’ve had some food.”
His wife grinned at him. “Whatever you do, don’t leave without doing that.”
Much as he had feared, the Apothecary’s call at Shell House produced exactly the same result as on the previous night. Jan van Guylder had not returned from Exeter and none of his servants was able to help at all. Grateful, yet again, that he now had his own coach at his disposal, John set out for the city determined to track down his quarry.
They entered Exeter by
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