Death on the Romney Marsh by Deryn Lake Page B

burial just as easily as anyone else.’
    John’s stomach churned. ‘His head is in a terrible condition.’
    â€˜The Runners can clean him up,’ answered the Magistrate cheerily. ‘But before we do anything, we must get this piece of paper to Dr Willes.’
    The Apothecary’s mobile brows rose. ‘Dr Willes?’
    Mr Fielding laughed again. ‘Should we tell him, Joe?’
    The clerk’s foxy features vanished in a dried-out riverbed of wrinkles as he grinned scampishly. ‘Not all of it, Sir, no.’
    Catching their mood, John’s crooked smile appeared. ‘What don’t I know? Who is this Dr Willes?’
    The Blind Beak cleared his throat and suddenly looked immensely stern. ‘Have respect. We speak of the Decipherer to the King, Sir. A man of great importance whose name you must keep utterly confidential, you understand.’
    The Apothecary’s jaw dropped. ‘I was not-aware there was such a post.’
    â€˜That is because you are young, my friend. Believe me, there is a Secret Department attached to the Post Office which was founded about the turn of this century and has been functional ever since, its task to open suspect mail and decipher coded messages. That is apart from the Secret Office which falls directly within the jurisdiction of the Secretary of State himself and is responsible for organising the secret agents or spies.’
    â€˜I am frankly astounded. Why should there be the need for such things?’
    Joe Jago broke in, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. ‘To garner information, Mr Rawlings. Governments need intelligence, and they are prepared to pay to get it.’
    Mr Fielding shifted the papers on his desk and the other two men turned to look at him. ‘I suggest you take your find directly to Dr Willes yourself, Mr Rawlings. It is quite clearly time that you learned something of what goes on behind the scenes. But tell me first, have you breakfasted?’
    â€˜Yes, thank you. As I told you, I rode straight from Fairfield to Hastings, a goodish way. But by going hell for leather I managed to catch the two o’clock post chaise. So, having arrived early this morning, I booked a room in one of the inns and got a few hours’ sleep and some food before I came here.’
    â€˜Very sensible. Then would it suit you to visit Dr Willes immediately? Jago will write a letter of introduction and you can explain to the King’s Decipherer exactly how you came across this document.’
    â€˜I should be more than delighted. In fact, positively intrigued.’
    â€˜Excellent. I shall order you some coffee while Joe puts pen to paper.’
    â€˜I think I’d rather take a stroll, Sir. Twelve hours in a coach is enough to give anyone cramp.’
    â€˜Indeed, indeed. Come back in half an hour, my friend, and all will be ready for you.’
    Emerging into the cold unflattering brightness of London on a February morning, still dressed in the clothes he had worn for the last twenty-four hours and feeling desperately in need of a shave, was hardly the moment to run into the woman for whom John perpetually wanted to look his best. But fate was obviously in quizzical mood, for there she was. Wondering whether to hide in a doorway, but for all that longing to speak to her, the Apothecary hovered like a moth round a flame as Coralie Clive walked in his direction, clearly not yet having seen him.
    John’s heart beat faster as she drew nearer and he felt his mouth go dry. Then, telling himself not to be a fool, he bowed low, horribly aware that the sleeve of his coat, obviously put under a strain by the marathon ride he had undertaken yesterday, ripped as he did so.
    â€˜Good heavens,’ said Coralie, her voice rippling with amusement, ‘if it isn’t Mr Rawlings.’
    He felt instantly irritated. ‘I had thought we were on first name terms by now, Miss Clive.’
    Her green eyes,