Death at the Devil's Tavern (16 page)

‘So far he has received only one shilling.'

‘Then he shall have two more.' And reaching inside the drawer where the cash was kept, he paid the young man his well-earned dues. ‘And now,' he said, still smiling, ‘I would like you to run an errand for me.'

‘Certainly,' said Nicholas, removing his apron.

‘I want you to take the rest of the day off and go home to Bow Street, where I presume you are still living.' The boy nodded. ‘In that case would you seek out Mr Fielding and tell him I will call on him tonight, after dinner. There is a great deal I have to discuss.'

‘I have a better plan,' interrupted Sir Gabriel. ‘Why don't you ask Mr and Mrs Fielding to dine with us at five o'clock. Then we can deliberate over a good meal.'

Nicholas looked as pleased as if he were going to eat the food himself and John, regarding him closely, thought that the boy was starting to lose the terrible paleness which had so singled him out.

‘I think you're in better condition,' he said.

‘That's because I'm enjoying myself,' the lad answered cheerfully and, struggling into his sensible worsted coat, whistled his way from the shop, leaving the two others to wink at one another behind his retreating back.

Punctually at five, just as the March evening started to darken, a carriage drew up outside number two, Nassau Street and, contrary to custom, Elizabeth Fielding stepped out first in order to assist her husband down the steps and into the house. Glimpsing the sight from one of the upper front windows, John as ever felt a moment's sadness that such a great and powerful man as the Magistrate should be reduced to such dependency upon another. But once inside and seated in the library, the Blind Beak having tapped his way across the hall with his cane, the Apothecary felt himself yet again totally in the thrall of John Fielding's potent personality.

Sipping his sherry, the Magistrate rumbled a laugh as he described his interview with Roger Hartfield, who had been requested to attend the Public Office in order to state formally that the body he had seen in the mortuary had been that of his father.

‘What a pretty fellow he sounded, and what a pretty stinkard into the bargain. Why, the downstairs rooms were redolent with his perfume for an entire day after his departure. What does he look like, Mr Rawlings?'

‘A trifle fleshy but a piercing beau for all that, dressed in the very latest fashions, wildly wigged and flashingly beringed. He fainted and vomited a good deal at the ordeal of seeing the body.'

‘How vulgar,' commented Sir Gabriel.

‘Was he genuinely upset, do you think?' Mr Fielding asked.

John looked thoughtful. ‘I'm not sure. It's rather hard to say. The greater the fuss the less the emotion, I always tend to think.'

‘Quite. He called his father's betrothed a horrid little whore, by the way.'

‘The consensus it would appear.'

Mr Fielding nodded. ‘And what of the others? How did they react to the news of Sir William's death?'

‘They all seemed saddened, in their different ways. His daughter-in-law Lydia, a somewhat daunting young widow, appeared very anxious that I should hear no family gossip yet hadn't a good word for Amelia Lambourn when I finally drew her out. On the other hand his two youngest children, a delightful pair of twins, disagreed on that point. The boy felt his father could not be blamed, the girl considered the bride a money grubbing harlot. By the way, there is one other odd thing.'

‘And what is that?'

‘I overheard rather a strange piece of conversation.' And John recounted the words he had heard while he had been concealed in the ante room.

‘I wonder, I wonder …' said the Magistrate softly.

‘What is that, Sir?'

‘Whether money is the motive for this crime. When is the will to be read?'

‘After the funeral, which takes place the day after tomorrow. Apparently the body is being taken to Kirby Hall to lie in state.' He paused, then went on, ‘I take it that Lady Hodkin's letter of complaint has reached you by now?'

The Blind Beak chuckled tunefully. ‘It certainly has. What an ostentatious vulgarian the woman sounds. She says that you menaced her. Did you?'

‘I most certainly did,' John replied guilelessly.

‘Gracious heavens!' exclaimed his father, raising an arched eyebrow.

John Fielding chuckled once more. ‘What did you say?'

‘I told her that refusal to cooperate could be read as a sign of guilt. At that she created such a rumpus, her daughter rushed in to save her.'

‘It serves the old woman right, of course. But the situation does present certain difficulties.'

‘In what way?' asked Sir Gabriel.

‘She has to be questioned, so do all of them who reside in Kirby Hall, but she has refused Mr Rawlings admittance and states that she will not speak to anyone lest they be of her social standing.'

‘What arrant posturing!'

‘It is indeed, but it causes a problem for all that.'

Sir Gabriel nodded. ‘It most certainly does.'

‘However, I am sure we will find a way round it.' The Blind Beak turned back to John. ‘How did you find the rest of the family, my friend?'

‘The eldest female, Sir William's sister-in-law, Hesther, admitted she was in love with him and seemed broken hearted and jealous that he chose to marry a flighty young flap and not herself when he was widowed. Luke Challon, the secretary, appeared anxious to be helpful and murmured that he would see me privately in London. Sir William's office manager, Valentine Randolph, the man who would have acted as bridegroom's witness, spoke highly of his late employer. He was of the opinion that Sir William was entitled to a little happiness. Of the other two, Hugh Hartfield and his wife, Maud, I cannot give an opinion as I did not come across them. However, the twins described them as prudish and prim and made rude remarks about their consequent lack of offspring.'

Mr Fielding laughed again. ‘I see. So with the exception of Hugh and his lady you have spoken to everybody concerned?'

‘All but Miss Amelia Lambourn herself, and I intend to brave her tomorrow. By the way I was surprised to learn from Mr Randolph that Sir William met her at Islington Spa, where she served the Well water.'

‘A fact guaranteed to send Lady Hodkin into a frenzy, no doubt.'

‘Particularly if she has been left the bulk of Sir William's fortune.'

The Blind Beak looked thoughtful. ‘Have you discovered the name of the dead man's solicitor?'

‘Luke promised to tell me when he came to see me.'

‘It is imperative that we find out. Someone must learn the contents of the will, and soon at that.'

Elizabeth Fielding spoke for the first time. ‘What a shame that you cannot send a decoy into Kirby Hall.'

The Blind Beak turned his bandaged eyes towards her. ‘What do you mean exactly?'

‘That if someone could go there, someone who would be acceptable to the old woman, that is, yet someone who does not reveal himself as working for the Public Office, then a great deal might be gleaned.'

Her husband laughed. ‘You would be ideal, my dear, but alas I cannot spare you from Bow Street.'

Elizabeth nodded. ‘I know, I know. It was just a thought.'

Sir Gabriel spoke into the ensuing silence. ‘I am prepared to do it if you believe I would be of any use.'

There was absolute quiet in the room as everyone stared at him, the Magistrate bending his head just as if he could see.

‘But how would you gain admittance?' he asked reflectively.

‘I don't know really. I suppose I could always claim to be an old friend of Sir William's.'

‘That might not work,' Mr Fielding answered, and John realised with a shock that the Blind Beak was treating Sir Gabriel's offer seriously.

‘Perhaps a coach accident could be contrived,' he continued, still in the same thoughtful tone of voice. ‘If a wheel were to come off at Kirby Hall's gates they would be almost duty bound to let you wait there until repairs were made.'

‘That's an excellent scheme,' John's father answered with enthusiasm. ‘But with the funeral so near, when should I carry it out?'

‘You're not in earnest …' the Apothecary began, but Mr Fielding cut across him.

‘Perhaps tomorrow. With the body lying in state they are bound to give you a tearful explanation as to how the poor fellow met his end.'

‘And I could act in a most sympathetic manner and hope that they invite me to dine with them.'

‘Really!' John protested, but he was out numbered. Sir Gabriel was warming to his theme, the Blind Beak was nodding enthusiastically, while Elizabeth had clasped her hands in pleasure, delighted that her idea had been so well received.

‘A toast,' she cried, raising her glass. ‘To the Public Office's newest representative.'

‘Hear, hear,' answered John Fielding, and the Apothecary was left with no option but to join them in drinking to what he considered to be an utterly harebrained and somewhat dangerous scheme.

The Apothecary rose particularly early next day and penned a warning note to his father begging him to think carefully about his proposed trip to Bethnal Green. Then, somewhat sulkily, he set off for Shug Lane without eating breakfast. Yet despite the earliness of the hour, John had only been in his shop five minutes before Nicholas arrived, still clad in his worsted suit, obviously the only garments he possessed, but for all that looking very presentable. He seemed slightly surprised to see John in residence.

‘I thought you'd be about your business, Sir.'

‘No, I've decided to make my visits this afternoon. So, for a few hours at least, we shall be working together.'

‘If you're called out this morning may I come with you?' Nicholas asked enthusiastically.

‘That would rather negate the purpose of your being here.'

‘But how else can I learn?'

‘You're not my apprentice, you know,' John said, then wished he hadn't spoken when the boy's expression became utterly crestfallen.

‘No, of course not,' Nicholas answered wistfully. He squared his shoulders, obviously used to a lifetime of disappointment. ‘Would you like me to make some tea, Sir?' he asked in a different voice.

‘Yes please,' the Apothecary answered, feeling quite the most cold-hearted being ever born.

‘Very good.' And Nicholas went bustling into the back.

John dusted in silence, thinking about a bastard boy with Muscovy blood in his veins, put into the care of the parish for no sin other than that of having no money or means of support, and how near he himself must once have been to the same terrible fate. That is if it had not been for the intercession of Sir Gabriel Kent. Furious with his own behaviour, the Apothecary put down the ampulla he was holding and called out, ‘Nicholas.'

‘Yes, Sir?' came a voice from the back.

‘You are quite right. Even though you are not apprenticed, I know Mr Fielding sent you here to learn. So if I am called to attend the sick, you may come with me. We can leave a sign on the shop door.'

Nicholas's face, looking positively animated for someone of so pale a countenance, appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh thank you Mr Rawlings. I promise I shall behave fittingly. You see, I used to help the captain with any accidents when I was at sea. We didn't have a ship's doctor other than him.'

‘What cargoes used you to carry?' the Apothecary asked curiously.

‘All sorts really; spices, tobacco, fruit. Once we transported a batch of slaves bound for Liverpool. That was terrible.'

‘Why?'

‘It was so awful to hear them groaning in the holds below. That's how I got my limp.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I was trying to clamber down to take the poor creatures some water but I fell off the ladder and broke my leg. The captain set it, after he'd given me a good flogging that is, but it left me with a permanent defect.'

‘What happened to the slaves?'

‘Those that survived were sold off in groups, the others were buried at sea. One or two managed to run away. That's all I know. I was put ashore after that because of my injury.'

‘And then you came to London to make your way.'

Nicholas's pallid cheeks flushed uncomfortably. ‘If you're referring to my thieving, Sir, yes it's true. But I only stole to keep myself alive. I would never, ever touch a penny of yours, I swear it.'

The boy seemed on the verge of tears and John looked at him, a stern expression masking the very real compassion he was feeling. ‘If I thought that of you I would most certainly never have agreed to let you work in my shop. Now, where is my tea? I did not have time for breakfast this morning and I am famished for a cup.'

Hearing this, Nicholas insisted on going to a nearby bakery to buy some rolls and so John was alone when the first customer of the day came to the door. Hearing voices outside, he stepped behind the counter so that he could be ready when the bell rang. But the couple, for the Apothecary could distinctly see a man and a woman through the window, were taking their time, standing in his doorway, talking quietly. There was something so familiar about them that John found himself peering. Then he caught the sheen of foxy red hair and could hardly believe the coincidence. Of all the many apothecaries' shops in London, Julian and Juliette Hartfield had chosen his to visit so early in the morning;

Unaware of his covert observation, the twins continued to converse, occasionally laughing but mostly keeping a serious mien. Then, quite abruptly, Juliette, seeing the approach of some chairmen, hailed a sedan, whilst Julian turned in the doorway and entered the shop. Hastily stooping to pick up some mythical object, John took his time before standing upright.

The twin was examining some bottles of physick displayed on a far counter and started wildly as John cleared his throat warningly before saying, ‘Good morning, Sir. How may I help you?'