Death at the Devil's Tavern (3 page)

Samuel stood up, dislodging a mariner as he did so. ‘There's very little room. Do you want to stay here?'

‘Certainly I do.' The Apothecary stared round. ‘Look, there are two places by that table.'

And he made a dive to where a wooden bench, very old and dishevelled but still standing, occupied a space beside a table in front of one of the windows and comfortably close to a cheerful fire. On the table a man lay sprawled, dead drunk.

Samuel looked doubtful. ‘Do we really want him for company?'

‘Of course.' his friend answered. ‘He'll be far less trouble than anyone else in this unruly mob.'

‘How very true,' Samuel answered, and eased his broad build onto the protesting bench.

He was a very powerful young person, tall and largely made, and extremely handy to have around in times of trouble. As yet he still carried no excess fat, though this would undoubtedly gather with the passing of the years, but none the less Samuel gave the impression of girth and size, and always reminded John of a tower or windmill. And now that impression was endorsed as Samuel Swann threw a vast arm round his friend's shoulders.

‘Well, my dear chap, how did it go?'

‘I've been made Free,' answered John, pumping Samuel's hand. ‘I am a Yeoman of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. And not before time as you well know.'

Samuel responded by giving John a slap on the back that sent him reeling. ‘What splendid news. I wonder if they serve champagne here.'

‘Bound to. The place is always teeming with quality folk come to see how the other half lives. A clever landlord will cater for their tastes, sure as fate.'

‘Besides, it's an inn as well as a tavern. People stay here, waiting to board ship. I'll go and order some.'

And Samuel rose to his feet, looming over the assembled company, and made his way through the throng towards the pewter bar.

The drunken man let out a terrible belch and a voice said in John's ear, ‘Disgusting pig. Could we not roll him onto the floor?'

The Apothecary turned to see who addressed him and found himself staring into the prettiest pair of blue eyes he had seen for a long time, the colour of forget-me-nots and fringed by a pair of long jet lashes. Their owner, a neat comely little thing, simply dressed and smelling strongly of the sea, gave him a dimpling smile. John immediately guessed her to be one of the fraternity who haunted the banks of the Thames alongside the watermen and sailors, taking their craft down to the Estuary in order to fish.

‘I think,' he said, rising and making her a small polite bow, ‘that if we wake him up it could be dangerous, for who knows what state of anger he might be in. Might it not be best to let him rot?'

She flashed her eyes, and Samuel, returning with a bottle of champagne and two somewhat rough looking glasses, regarded her with open admiration. ‘I don't think I've had the pleasure.'

She stared at him. ‘What?'

‘I haven't had the pleasure of being presented to you. John …'

The Apothecary's mouth curved. ‘Miss … er …?'

‘Kitty.' She held out her small workaday hand. ‘I'm Kitty Perkins of Wapping. Oyster girl by trade. Evening to you both, gents.'

She descended to the floor where she sat cross-legged at John's feet, such an inelegant move and posture that any person of breeding should have been filled with horror at the sight. Yet, coming from her, there was so much charm about it that both John and Samuel found themselves gazing at her in fascination.

‘Like me, do you?' she went on.

‘Very much indeed,' the Apothecary answered enthusiastically. ‘But are you comfortable down there? Are you sure you wouldn't like my seat?'

‘Do have some champagne,' Samuel added, and passed her his glass.

She raised it in a toast. ‘Here's long life to you, gents.' She drank deeply. ‘Reckon you've never met a working woman before, other than for your servants.'

‘On the contrary,' John answered, grinning crookedly. ‘The ladies of my acquaintance nearly all have some occupation or other.'

Kitty looked at him mischievously over the rim of her glass. ‘Indeed? And what work might that be, Sir?'

‘My closest female friend was once a card sharp and gamester,' he answered, amused by the astonished expression on her face. ‘And amongst my circle there are several actresses.'

Samuel chortled. ‘I rather thought Miss Coralie Clive should be described as a friend rather than merely a member of your group.'

‘As you are well aware,' John answered severely, ‘I have seen little of that lady since Christmas. She has been appearing at Drury Lane a great deal and has had little time for socialising.'

‘Ooh!' said Kitty knowingly, and Samuel chuckled once more. ‘I'd give her a piece of my mind if I was you.'

The Apothecary instantly felt irritable and could not think why. ‘Miss Clive and I do not have that kind of relationship,' he said pompously. ‘We are merely people who meet from time to time. I have no right to tell her what to do, nor she me.'

‘More's the pity, eh?'

Samuel tactfully changed the subject. ‘Where do you get your oysters, Miss Perkins?'

‘Kitty to you. I goes down the Estuary and brings 'em back from Essex. Sometimes I gets as far as Whitstable, but it's quite a distance.'

‘And do you bring them back by the barrel-load?'

‘Yes, and sells 'em all around. I brought a haul in here tonight. Would you like some?'

‘I certainly would,' answered John keenly, and stepped up to the bar to put in the order. And it was then that he saw the bridegroom's witness, sitting in a dusky corner, consoling himself with a bottle of brandy. He had changed from his lavender suit and now wore plain grey worsted, but there could be no mistaking his long spare frame and hawkish features. Much intrigued, for it had not occurred to him that the man could possibly be local, the Apothecary studied him surreptitiously.

He was about thirty-five years of age, and handsome in his dark saturnine way. He was also, in marked contrast to the rest of the customers, immaculately clean. Looking at his hands, John noticed how long and elegant they were and thought to himself that this man had never done a day's labouring work in his life. Fascinated, he returned to the table, bearing three great platesful of oysters.

‘Kitty, you come from Wapping, do you not?' John asked as he sat down.

‘Yes,' she answered, finishing her glass of champagne and pouring herself a refill.

‘Do you see that man sitting alone over there? The dark one in grey.'

She craned her neck. ‘You mean Mr Randolph?'

‘I'm not sure who I mean. Is he drinking brandy?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's the one I want to know about. What can you tell me?'

‘His name is Valentine Randolph,' she replied promptly. ‘He works for one of the ship owners. I think he manages their office. He lives across the river at Redriff. He rows himself over every day.'

‘Redriff?' repeated John, frowning. ‘Where is that? The waterman referred to it earlier today.'

‘It's also known as Rotherhithe,' said Samuel importantly. ‘There's quite a pretty fishing village clustered round the church, and one or two expensive properties as well. One of my customers lives there. He had a very fine gold necklace made for his wife's birthday.'

‘That's as may be,' Kitty answered spiritedly, ‘but we locals call it Redriff. Redhra – sailor. Saxon, see.'

John shook his head. ‘No, I don't.' He smiled encouraging. ‘Tell me what else you know of Mr Randolph.'

‘Nothing really. Like I said, he lives across the river and works in Wapping.'

‘Is he a married man?'

She shrugged. ‘He could be. Though come to think of it I've never seen him with anyone. In fact most of his family sailed for Virginia a long time ago, leaving him by himself. Reckon he's got no friends.'

‘Well, he's got at least one,' John said thoughtfully.

‘And who might that be?'

‘The missing bridegroom,' the Apothecary answered, and laughed to himself at the perplexed expression on both Kitty and Samuel's faces.

It had been one of the most exhilarating and colourful nights of John Rawlings's life. As the evening had progressed, the bar of The Devil's Tavern had filled with a motley collection of characters, all quite terrifying in their different ways and therefore tremendously thrilling to watch. Sailors of every nationality, or so it seemed, had leant against the bar, flaxen-haired Scandinavians rubbing shoulders with those of a far more swarthy hue. Pocket divers and cutpurses, clearly on the look out for members of the
beau monde
, cast their eyes over John and Samuel but decided that in their sober garb – John had dressed quietly that day in order to attend the Court of Assistants – they were probably not worth robbing. In one corner a gypsy told fortunes, in another a slut plied her trade, lowlife abounded in plenty. Sitting at their table, feasting on oysters and champagne, the Apothecary and his friend watched it all and were intoxicated by the swashbuckling, insecure atmosphere. The tide had risen while they had been in The Devil's Tavern, so high that, with the driving wind behind it, the water now lashed against the window by which they sat. Staring out into the darkness, looking at the lights of the great ships which rode at anchor, John wondered where they had come from and what their next destination might be, and what great and mysterious cargoes they carried in their holds. Again and again, he felt his eyes drawn to the square rigger which bobbed mid stream directly opposite the hostelry, its lantern lit masts reflecting pale pools of gold on the black waters beneath, wondering who slumbered on board there in its cramped and coffin-like confines.

It was midnight, the hour of dark thoughts, candles were burning low and many of the patrons had gone to their lodging. Still at his feet, Kitty was singing quietly to herself, while Samuel slept, leaning forward on the table, his head a mere few inches away from that of the drunken man. In the thrall of a strange mood, the Apothecary felt as if his soul were flying out over the river enabling him to see the tide falling again, exposing the mud flats which banked the wild waterway on either side. Above him, the sky was a velvet cloak of deepest blue, scattered with sequinned stars. Below, the Thames looked like a tinker's ribbon woven with glittering threads. Then John's head fell forward and he realised that he had been on the point of dropping off to sleep.

Kitty looked up at him slyly. ‘You've been dozing and I didn't like to wake you.' She stood up, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. ‘Well, I must get to bed. Do you want to come with me? I promise I'll wash.'

John smiled. ‘I'm too tired for such pleasures, alas. Also I need to see my friend gets home safely. For all his size, he's a bit vague when it comes to practical matters.'

Kitty hitched her skirt up so that her ankles were uncluttered for walking. ‘Well, I'll say goodbye then. Don't forget, you can usually find me here of an evening and I'd like to drink with you again.' She gave him rather a sad smile, then walked out into the dangerous darkness.

The bearded ruffian came towards them from behind the pewter bar. ‘You'd best put up for the night, Sir. There's not many that would row you back on so black and windy a river. And those who might would charge you a pretty fortune.'

The Apothecary nodded. ‘Do you have a good room?'

The landlord laughed, an oddly musical sound. ‘Aye, good enough for a bride.'

John woke up fully. ‘A bride you say?'

‘One slept here last night, on her way to her wedding.'

‘She was to be married locally?'

‘At St Paul's, Sir. But then there's many that do. It's handy for embarkation, you see.'

‘You did not know her?'

‘No, I'd never seen her before in my life.' The landlord stared at John hard. ‘Why do you ask? Was she something to do with you?'

‘Nothing at all,' the Apothecary assured him. ‘It's just that I have a lively curiosity.' He leant over Samuel and shook him by the shoulder. ‘Wake up, old friend. It's time to go to bed.'

His companion leapt to his feet and flailed his arms. ‘What's going on? Is there trouble?'

‘Not at all,' John answered soothingly. ‘It's simply that the hour is so late I have booked a room.'

Samuel returned to consciousness. ‘A wise move. I feel fit to drop.'

‘You already have,' the Apothecary commented wryly.

‘Then that being settled, I'll escort you, gentlemen,' said the bearded landlord, and took up a candle stuck in a bottle from the many that rested on the bar.

It was precisely at that moment that the door leading onto the street swung open and John saw a waterman standing there, dripping wet, soaked through from head to toe.

‘Daniel,' gasped the newcomer. ‘We needs to borrow the cock fight place, urgent like.'

As if this were some secret code between them, John, suddenly extraordinarily alert, saw the landlord stiffen. ‘Where?' he asked.

‘Bottom of the stairs.'

‘Well, I'll just see these gentlemen off to their room and then I'll join you. Have a brandy, you look drenched, man.'

‘It's an evil night,' answered the waterman in a different tone, and the Apothecary had the distinct impression that he and Samuel had been surveyed, put down as town folk, and that nothing further would be said in front of them.

‘Come on Mr Swann,' he ordered over-loudly. ‘We must let this good man have some rest.'

‘Yes indeed,' his friend answered heartily, clearly aware that something strange was taking place.

‘You have one of the rooms overlooking the river, Sir. The best in the house,' and Daniel led the way upwards, his candle throwing dancing shadows on the wall.