Death at the Devil's Tavern (38 page)

The Blind Beak sat silently, the black eye cover turned towards the speaker, his hands motionless on the desk in front of him. Finally he nodded and said,

‘You are proceeding apace, I believe.'

John shook his head. ‘I don't feel as if I am. If anything, everything seems more confusing than it did at first.'

‘Not at all. Continue as you are doing and very soon now you will find the link that connects the person concerned to the two murders.'

‘I am glad you are so confident, Sir. I wish that I thought the same.'

The Magistrate's hands ran over the desk, feeling the various bits of paper that lay upon it. Eventually he identified one and handed it across the space between them.

‘I received a letter last night from the constable in Wapping, an excellent fellow by the sound of it. He was checking that you were indeed working for the Public Office, a thorough move. Further he informed me that the funeral of Kitty Perkins takes place tomorrow. I thought you should attend.'

The Apothecary glanced at the piece of paper and saw that even though it was written in a somewhat ill-formed hand, it none the less asked all the right questions and contained every bit of relevant information regarding the laying to rest of one deceased oyster girl.

‘As you say, Sir, a conscientious chap, this one.'

‘It strikes me, my friend, that you would do well to go to Wapping straight away. Perhaps you might be able to have further words with Mr Randolph, or even Hugh. Take Rudge with you and see what the pair of you can discover.'

John smiled. ‘You seem very keen on the Runner accompanying me everywhere. Is it your intention that he should act as my protector?'

‘Yes,' said Mr Fielding bluntly, ‘it is. You are too close to the murderer for comfort, as the saying goes. I want him there if anything untoward should happen.'

‘A very kind thought.'

‘Kind and practical,' answered the Blind Beak. He held out his hand. ‘Now I must bid you adieu, Mr Rawlings. The court is sitting early today. Rudge is waiting in the Public Office, keen as a hound for an adventure.'

‘Then I'll see how he fares on the waterway.'

‘Yes. Good luck to you. Watch carefully at the burial. Oh, and by the way …'

‘Yes, Sir?'

‘Take the great stick with you and show it around. See if anyone can identify its owner.'

‘Did Joe find anything on it?'

‘No, it had all been washed away by the river. But do your best.'

‘I will, Sir.' And with that assurance, John collected the stick and went off to find Benjamin Rudge, hoping that the Runner would be in a better mood than when he saw him last. As it turned out a good night's sleep had done wonders for the man, and he greeted the Apothecary with enthusiasm.

‘Good morning, Mr Rawlings. And where are we bound for today?'

‘To Wapping, at Mr Fielding's suggestion. I am to attend the funeral of Kitty Perkins tomorrow, something I would have wanted to do anyway. However, I must go home first and collect my black clothes and an overnight bag.'

‘I'll take you there in the carriage then I'll do the same.'

‘Shall, we meet at Hungerford Stairs in an hour?'

‘Indeed we shall.'

‘Oh,Rudge …'

‘Yes, Sir?'

‘Would it be possible to get a note round to Samuel Swann in St Paul's Churchyard? I rather think he might like to be at the burial.'

‘If you can scribble it out, Mr Rawlings, I'll get one of the others to take it.'

‘Good,' said John, and plunged into an hour of frantic activity.

It was almost a relief to take to the river again, even though the Apothecary had spent a great deal of time either on or near the water on the previous day. In fact so soothing was its influence that John found himself thinking yet again about a house near the Thames in years to come, a daydream that was becoming ever more important to him. Rudge, too, started to grin and relax, making John wonder just how effective he would be as a guard should trouble shortly break out. But all was calm as they climbed Pelican Stairs and headed into The Devil's Tavern, where the Apothecary booked two rooms for the night before taking a boat across to Redriff, or more specifically The Spread Eagle, in order to enquire the whereabouts of Valentine Randolph's lodging. On this occasion, John quite deliberately left Rudge behind, the Runner's task ostensibly to find out exactly where the late Sir William Hartfield's office was situated. In reality because another's presence might well inhibit Valentine should it come to an honest discussion.

The mudlark, who was washing up in preparation for the onslaught of custom due at any moment, greeted him with enthusiasm. ‘How are you m'dear old duke? I see you've brought me stick back, you goodly fellow.'

John smiled but shook his head. ‘I'm afraid you can't have it yet. I've got to show it around first. See if anyone knows who owns it.'

Fred looked crestfallen. ‘Oh.'

‘And I'd like to start with Mr Randolph. Have you any idea where he lodges?'

‘Yes, he's with the Widow Greenhill, the end house in Elephant Lane. It's painted blue and white. Used to belong to Captain Greenhill who drowned at sea.'

‘I should be able to find that easily enough.'

‘I hope you can 'cos I ain't coming with yer. Remember what happened last time?'

‘Only too clearly.'

‘Anyway Mr Valentine won't be home yet. He generally rows across about six o'clock.'

‘Then I'll come back.'

‘Aren't you staying for a drink?'

‘Not at the moment. I need to keep a clear head.'

Yet this wasn't quite true. In fact John wanted to go back to St Mary's and stroll about the churchyard, conjecturing what had happened on the night Sir William had gone to meet the blackmailer and instead had met his end by the grave of poor Elizabeth Wells, plucked from the cruel world at the age of fifteen. For, though they could never be quite certain, Joe Jago, after examining the scrapings of dried blood and the sad white hairs taken from the gravestone, had concluded with John that this had probably been the place where the dying man had fallen, never again to rise.

A glance at his watch told John that it was five o'clock and he turned his steps in the direction of The Spread Eagle, in order to watch Church Stairs for the return of Valentine Randolph. A balcony outside provided the ideal spot and it did not seem too long before a dot on the river grew larger and John recognised the long lean form and hawk-like features of Sir William's office manager, dressed in sensible grey worsted, and rowing himself back home after a day at work. Keeping very still, the Apothecary watched Valentine moor his boat and make his way slowly up the stone steps. The man knew the river backwards, that much was obvious, and John thought back to the occasion when Kitty had called out that she had seen someone she recognised in a strange place, thus bringing about her own cruel death. That she knew exactly who Valentine was had been made clear on the night when John and Samuel had first met her. But surely all of the others must have been in Wapping at some time or another. Guilt did not necessarily rest on the shoulders of the local man. Glumly, John finished his drink, waited ten minutes, then followed Valentine Randolph to his lodging in the house of the Widow Greenhill.

He was shown into the downstairs parlour and a few moments later, the man he had come to see came through the door looking extremely puzzled.

‘Oh, it's you,' he said.

‘Yes. I do apologise for calling without prior warning. The fact is that Mr Fielding has asked me to speak to one or two people about the death of Kitty Perkins, the oyster girl. You knew her of course.'

‘Yes, I did.'

‘And you realise that somebody has killed her?'

‘Yes. Redriff is a village, Mr Rawlings, and Wapping is too in its way. Everyone is talking about the girl's terrible end.'

‘Did you also know there is a strong possibility her murder was connected to that of Sir William?'

Valentine Randolph looked astonished. ‘No. That hadn't occurred to me.'

John decided that it was time to stop mincing words. ‘Listen, Mr Randolph, let me warn you that you are in a very hazardous position. You were in Redriff on the night Sir William was murdered, and at the right time too. Further, you were with a possible accomplice. There is talk of blackmail flying about, money being extorted by someone who knew the dead man's private affairs. It seems to me that as far as your involvement is concerned, there are too many coincidences to be overlooked.'

Valentine gave him a bitter glance. ‘And would he then have chosen me to be his bridegroom's witness? If I had been fleecing him all those years, would Sir William have asked me to stand up for him?'

‘Quite true. But then, of course, Lydia Hartfield might have been the blackmailer and you could well have killed your employer to protect your mistress and her guilt.'

Valentine went white and his hand flew in the air as if he were going to land a blow. ‘Don't call her that! How dare you do so! I am in love with that woman. I would give my life for her.'

‘Be calm,' said John soothingly, wondering if he was going to have to defend himself, here in Widow Greenhill's parlour, full of pieces of delicate china and breakable little knickknacks. ‘Think rationally. Admit that things do not look good for the pair of you.'

‘I've already told you what happened that night.'

‘But you've only told me half of it! The truth is that you met Lydia Hartfield wandering about, as were you. Then you took her to The Angel and there made love to her. That's what really happened, isn't it?'

Valentine sank onto the sofa, suddenly deflated. ‘Yes.'

‘So how did you know that she hadn't just killed a man when you came across her by the river? Or perhaps you did know. Mr Randolph, when I first met Miss Lambourn she told me that you had written to her, informing her of Sir William's death.'

‘So?'

‘There was a discrepancy in the timing of that letter. If what she said was true, you had written it before Luke Challon came to your office to tell you what had occurred. So how did you know that Sir William was dead? Was it because either you or Lydia, or both of you, had killed him?'

Valentine made a terrible retching sound. ‘No! I swear it! The fact is that I never went to sleep that night at all, and left Lydia before dawn. I told you the truth about my movements, except that I lied about coming home. In reality, after I had checked at The Spread Eagle that Sir William had not spent the night there, I went straight to work, despite the earliness of the hour. As I rowed across to Wapping, a waterman came alongside, a man I knew well by sight. He told me of his grisly errand, to fetch a body from The Devil's Tavern and take it to the Coroner. When he described the corpse to me – he came from Redriff incidentally and would not have known Sir William – a terrible thought came to me. Then, when the bridegroom did not come to church, I guessed the ghastly truth, though I had no idea that the poor man had been murdered. I wrote to Amelia out of basic humanity, longing to remove from her the burden of having been jilted.'

‘I see,' John answered quietly.

‘Now I've told you everything.'

The Apothecary nodded, as if in agreement. ‘Then I will take my leave. There is clearly nothing more to say.' He picked up the cane, still lying on the floor. ‘By the way, is this yours?' he added casually.

The office manager shook his head.

‘Then to whom does it belong? Have you ever seen it before?'

Valentine's lips tightened and his entire face became mask-like. ‘No,' he said. ‘I've never set eyes on it in my life.'

‘Thank you,' answered John, and left the house, acutely aware that for reasons of his own, Valentine Randolph was once again lying through his teeth.

Obviously determined to enjoy himself, Runner Rudge had changed into a fancy waistcoat and black breeches by the time John returned to The Devil's Tavern that evening, to say nothing of having already consumed several pints of ale in preparation for a jolly time ahead.

‘Ah, Mr Rawlings,' he said jovially, slapping the Apothecary on the back with a fist like a side of gammon. ‘I'm glad to see you've returned safely. Otherwise it would have meant organising a search party.'

Not knowing whether to be irritated or amused, John kept his tone light. ‘No need for that, Mr Rudge, I assure you. I wouldn't like to think that I can't go out without causing you worry.'

‘You're my responsibility, Sir. That's how I look on you.'

‘Well, give me certain freedoms, please do. Otherwise, like a naughty child, I might well run away.'

Rudge seemed to think this was terribly funny and clapped John on the back again.

‘What would you like to drink, Sir?'

‘A glass of good claret, please.'

‘It shall be yours.'

So saying, the officer of the law pushed his way to the pewter bar, supported on its base of barrels, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the waterside lowlife who crowded the inn that evening. It was then, looking round for somewhere to go, that John spotted Luke Challon, sitting by himself as usual, looking on the verge of both tears and suicide. With a sudden surge of compassion, the Apothecary went over to join him.

‘Luke, how are you? Last time I saw you you were fighting on this very floor.'

Sir William's secretary looked up and John saw that he had indeed been weeping. ‘A bitter day that was, too,' he answered bleakly.

‘You lost your employment through it?'

‘Aye, it was a family decision that I should go.'

‘Really?'

‘Well, Roger is nominally now head of the Hartfields, but gives not a damn as long as he is left alone to pursue his perversions …'

Knowing Luke's adoration of Amelia, John gave an inward shudder.