by Deryn Lake
It happened very suddenly. A wicked thrust from Gerald drew blood from the Angel’s arm. There was a cry of, “You bastard,” and the Angel fell back clutching his wound. As if released from a trance, John fired at the feet of the Angel closest, forcing the man to jump in the air. At this the younger and more stalwart men present turned on their attackers and in a trice it was all over. The Angels ran off into the dark streets and the whole incident was finished. With a sense almost of anti-climax, the crowd broke up. Emilia came out of her doorway and shot a quick glance in the direction of Coralie, who had remained standing quite still throughout, displaying no sign of panic. Was it John’s imagination or did his wife pull a face before she turned a smile at him?
“Are you going to speak to her?”
“Of course not. She hasn’t even seen me.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
Before John could answer, Gerald Fitz’s voice rang out. “Miss Clive, I am one of your most ardent admirers, having driven to London many, many times in order to see you perform. Allow me to present you with my card.” He bowed and handed it over, all the time eating the actress with his eyes.
Coralie took the card in a gloved hand. “The Honourable Gerald Fitz,” she read aloud.
“At your service.” He bowed again, most fulsomely. “May I have the great pleasure of escorting you to supper? My coach awaits nearby.”
She smiled up at him. “As you defended me so nobly it would be churlish of me to refuse. I should be delighted.”
Gerald bowed for the third time and John wondered nastily whether he had had lessons in bowing as well as swordsmanship, and decided that he probably had. Disgruntled, he turned away and walked, holding Emilia’s hand, to where Irish Tom awaited them.
* * *
It was late but The Salutation was still lit by candles and appeared to be full of people. Indeed, Joe Jago hovered in the doorway. peering anxiously into the courtyard as John’s coach rumbled over the cobbles.
“Ah, Mr. Rawlings,” he said without preamble. “I’m afraid your services are required. There’s been an affray. Tobias Wills is very drunk and under arrest. Mr. Northmore, the quay master, is flat on his back, bruised and bleeding. While Mr. van Guylder has taken too much sleeping draught and is being attended by his physician who is unable to cope with all the other problems simultaneously.”
“Where would you like me to go first?” said John.
“To Tobias Wills. They have locked him in the cellar where he is attempting to kick the door down.”
“Hare and hounds, what a night!” answered the Apothecary and, kissing Emilia swiftly on the cheek, hurried to his room to get his medical bag. As a precaution he put on his long apron just in case anyone decided to vomit in his direction.
Even as he approached the cellar a rumpus could be heard and John, who had been sent down in the company of Dick Ham, the Flying Runner, turned to his companion.
“As we open the door he’ll probably come charging out.”
“Let him,” said Dick cheerfully, “there are ways of stopping a headlong bull.” And he indicated both his fist and his foot with a sly wink of the eye.
The Apothecary decided to calm the situation. “Tobias,” he called through the crack, “get a grip on yourself, man. You’ll achieve nothing by all this drunken brawling.”
“Go and piss yourself,” Tobias shouted back.
“If that’s your attitude you must take the consequences,” John answered and, nodding at Dick to stand by, opened the door and stepped back. Much as they had expected, Tobias came flying out as fast as his shambling gait would allow him. Dick acted fast as lightning. Out went his foot and Tobias hit the stone floor with an almighty thud.
“Right,” said John, straddling the fallen man. “I’ve had enough of your stupidity. It’s time you sobered up and acted like the gentlemen you’re supposed to be rather than an oafish lout. I’ve got something here that I want you to drink. It will calm you down enough for us to have a rational conversation, tomorrow if not before.”
“I’ll not have any of your muck down my throat,”
“You’ll have it and like it,” the Apothecary answered, and turning Tobias over and propping up his head, poured the juice of white poppy into his gulping mouth. Though a great deal was spat out, sufficient went in to have effect, and after a while Tobias dropped into a gentle sleep.
Making absolutely sure that no bottles or barrels were lying round the place, the Apothecary and Dick rolled Tobias onto a mattress and covered him with a rather nasty looking blanket, the presence of which suggested that the cellar had been used as a temporary gaol before. Placing a bucket close by in which the wretched young fellow could answer the calls of nature, John and Dick went out quietly, locking the door behind them.
“One dealt with, two to go,” the Apothecary said with a sigh.
“Do you want me to stick with you for the rest of the night, Sir? I’ve precious little else to do.”
“That would be an enormous help. You never know with these unhappy tormented people when one of them is going to get rough.”
“Just as I thought. Now, who are you going to see next?”
“I presume that Mr. Northmore is somewhere in the inn?”
“They’ve carried him to an upstairs room, Mr. Rawlings.”
“I see. How exactly did he get into that state?”
“He was drinking in one of the snugs, considering himself too fine to mix with the locals, I dare swear, when in comes young Tobias, full of fight, and accuses Northmore of having an affair with Juliana.”
“Oh my God, not another one.”
“Very much Mr. Jago’s reaction.”
“Was there any truth in it, do you reckon?”
“That remains to be seen. But the accusation was that it was Northmore who deflowered her when she was a young girl.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him, considering himself so desirable as he does.”
“Again what Mr. Jago thinks. However, Northmore rose up on his high horse and denied it and Tobias hit him in the guts.”
“Good old Tobias!”
“Which is just … “
“ … what Mr. Jago said.”
They both laughed and went upstairs to one of the smaller back bedrooms. Knocking gently on the door, a voice croaked, “Come in,” and the Apothecary and the Runner went in to see an extraordinary sight.
Snatching at what was left of his dignity, the quay master had dragged himself to a chair where he sat in his small clothes, a pair of skinny white legs sticking out before him, his breeches, ripped up the back seam beyond repair, draped over the back. As well as the guts, it seemed that he had been punched in the mouth, for his lips were swollen and bleeding and his whalebone dentures lay beside him on a table with several of their more important components missing. The urge to guffaw was almost uncontrollable and John found himself with an inane grin on his face as his mouth twitched and pulled and his ribs started to ache.
“My dear Sir,” he said in a strangulated voice.
The quay master’s pebbly eyes glared at him. “Are you laughing at me, young man?”
“Good gracious, what a thought,” John answered, and buried his head in his medical bag as his shoulders began to shake.
To his great credit Dick Ham managed to keep a straight face, a trick which he had obviously mastered by means of adopting a forceful manner.
“The accusations that Mr. Wills made against you, Sir, namely that you had robbed Miss van Guylder of her virginity. Is there any truth in them?”
The quay master looked furious, as best he could in his underwear. “How dare you ask me such a question. Who are you to interrogate me? I’ll deal with a higher authority, not a common pipsqueak like yourself.”
All John’s mirth vanished and he straightened up and looked Mr. Northmore in the eye.
“Runner Ham represents Mr. John Fielding, I’ll have you know.”
“And what is John Fielding to
me? He has no fame in Devon, Sir. If I have to speak to a magistrate then I shall make sure that it is one from Exeter, and there’s an end to it.”
A door opened and closed again quietly and Joe Jago’s voice said, “Mr. Northmore, I do not consider it wise of you to take that attitude. I am empowered, when I am on Mr. Fielding’s business, to arrest if necessary. But if you do not deem that suitable then the local constable also has such powers. Surely it would be better to avoid unpleasantness and talk to us here in the privacy of this room, out of the earshot of your family, rather than drag your good name through the dirt.”
“But I am innocent. I have nothing to fear.” With a coolness that left John without breath, Joe Jago suddenly changed tack. “Sir, I must ask you why you put such obstacles in the way when we wanted to board the Constantia t’other morning. Was it because you knew the body of Richard van Guylder was aboard? And was that because you yourself had murdered him and faked the evidence to look like suicide?”
The quay master looked aghast. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”
“I dare because it may very well be true,” Joe answered calmly, and walked into the room.
“How could it be? I was as shocked as the next man when you discovered Richard’s body.”
Joe sat down on the edge of the bed. “I have often observed in my career how well rogues and villains assume guises when it comes to protecting their hides.”
“How dare you,” Thomas Northmore blustered once more, and then relapsed into silence, perhaps realising that it was not easy to look masterful without teeth.
“These will take some fixing,” John said cheerfully, picking up the broken dentures as if to emphasise the point.
Joe came in again. “Now, Sir, do you want to tell me about your relationship with the van Guylders? Or would you prefer to speak to someone local?”
“I would prefer to speak to neither of you.”
“That will not be possible. Juliana van Guylder was expecting a child when she died. I have the physician’s report here.” He tapped his pocket. “Therefore anyone who had any relationship with her in the past will be asked to account for himself. Now, Mr. Northmore, was that child yours?”
The quay master’s face went from mottled to pale and back again, clearly shocked. “A child, you say! Did her father know?”
“He guessed at it, yes. Now, Sir, don’t beat about the bush with me. Was the baby yours?”
“Of course not. I was an uncle figure to her.”
“That’s not what Tobias Wills thinks. He told me that you seduced the girl, that you, a man old enough to be her father, robbed her of her innocence. Now, Sir, how do you answer?”
The quay master was silent, clearly thinking through his best course of action. Then after a while, during which the other three men regarded him stony-faced, he adopted a man-of-the-world expression and an almost jovial look came into his eye.
“Gentlemen, I shall be totally honest with you. All of you look as if you know life in its various aspects, so I am sure you will understand the tale that I am about to unfold, indeed even sympathise with it. Juliana developed a wild girlhood passion for me, disregarding the fact that I was a married man with children. She offered me anything, even a chance to see the funeral cortege of
Lord Dalrymple, an event many wished to attend, if I would but run away with her. She offered herself to me, begged me to take her in fact … “ The quay master attempted a man-to-man smile, an effect ruined by his naked gums. “ … but I refused because of her youth. But a man’s a man, God knows. One day I weakened and she became my mistress.”
“And remained so until her death?”
Mr. Northmore looked affronted. “Certainly not. I was constantly persuading her to find a man of her own age and leave me be … “
Like the devil you were, thought John.
“ … and one day she did.”
“Was that man Gerald Fitz?”
“I don’t know, Sir. Once our association was at an end, that was the finish of all conversation between us.”
Joe steepled his fingers, looking at the quay master over the top of them. “I presume you can answer for yourself at the time that Juliana and her brother went missing.”
Thomas went purple with fury. “Answer for myself? Why should I? I’ve told you the truth and there’s an end to it.”
“Supposing I said that I don’t believe you; that it is far more likely that Juliana abandoned you when she suddenly looked at you one day and saw that you were old. And supposing I were to think that you were furious and killed her because of it? Because your self-love had been deeply wounded?”
“Then you’d be a damnable fool.”
“That,” said Joe Jago in a most sinister voice, “remains to be seen.”
They sent him home like that, in his small clothes and with his teeth wrapped in a packet tied with string. As the Flying Runners drove him away in their coach, John Rawlings and Joe Jago turned to look at one another.
“I think, my friend,” said the older man, “that we have just done poor Mrs. Northmore the biggest favour of her life. If she has two tuppeny wits about her she’ll make this the turning point and never let him forget what a pitiable sight he presented to the world.”
“Do you think she knows about Juliana?”
“Of course. Wives have a nose for that kind of thing.”
“Did he kill the girl?”
“It’s perfectly possible, though who would conspire with him I have no idea. He seems to me to be the sort who would have no friends.”
“Maybe she was disliked so much that enemies bonded against her.”
Joe turned to the Apothecary. “Find out about her, Mr. Rawlings. Only in that way can we approach the truth.”
“Then let’s get down to Jan van Guylder’s. Perhaps when he recovers he’ll be ready to talk.”made, must be made.”
“Did he do this deliberately?” John asked as he drew the bottle from his bag.
The doctor looked at him mournfully. “That we’ll never know unless he himself tells us. I prescribed him some poppy juice so that he could sleep, for the poor devil has hardly had a wink since the death of Juliana, let alone the double tragedy. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it but I have known Jan for years and he was truly run ragged.”
“Was Juliana a little bitch?” John asked suddenly, not quite sure why he had been so forthright.
The physician turned a look of astonishment on him. “What makes you say that?”
“All the evidence is pointing to it.”
The other man stood up and stared the Apothecary in the eye. Then he nodded. “Yes, a terror,” he said. “Both the children went wild after the death of the mother. But though Richard seemed to settle down a bit after he went to school, Juliana never did. She was sent to Mrs. Simmons” Academy in Exeter, a place with a good reputation, but she was actually asked to leave. After that she had governesses at home. But, damme, Mr. Rawlings, she rode roughshod over the poor women. One of them even had a severe nervous disorder which I had to treat.”
John nodded. “Let us get this infusion down the patient and then we can talk further.”
They raised the limp and inert form up carefully and while John held him, the doctor spooned the liquid down Jan van Guylder’s throat.
“This may well do no good at this stage.”
“We can but try,” the physician answered, and continued to administer the physick drop by drop.
When the correct dose was fully consumed, the two men drew away from the bed and sat in front of the fire, their heads turned toward the patient so that they could see if there were any change.
The doctor held out his hand. “Shaw is the name. Thank you for your help.”
“Let it be hoped that we have saved the poor man.”
“We should know shortly. Though not perfect, a stimulant like that will have some effect soon.”
Sure enough, ten minutes later Jan van Guylder let out a deep sigh and his
eyelids fluttered. Instantly, the doctor went to his patient’s side.
“Jan, can you hear me? It is Luke Shaw. Squeeze my hand if you understand what I am saying.”
From where he was standing John saw the feeble movement of the Dutchman’s fingers and went to the bed, very conscious that he was dealing with another man’s patient yet anxious to see what progress had been made. Looking to Dr. Shaw to see if he approved and being given a nod of the head, the Apothecary pulled up one of Jan’s eyelids. The pupil of the eye, which earlier had been the size of a pinhead, was starting to return to normal.
The two men looked at one another. “I think he’s pulled through,” said Luke Shaw.
“The next few hours will be critical. Will you stay with him?”
“He’s an old friend. I will not leave his side.”
“Can I be of further assistance?”
“No, Mr. Rawlings. You have done splendidly. Return to the hostelry and get a good night’s sleep.”
The Apothecary gave a wry grin. “Would you believe that I am on my honeymoon and that every day something seems to occur that keeps me from my wife’s side?”
“Then you’d better hurry back. There’s nothing worse than a warm bed with a bride in it and no bridegroom at her side.”
“I know that only too well,” John answered ruefully, and made his way downstairs.
Dick Ham awaited him in the hall, dozing a little by the fire.
“We can go,” said the Apothecary. “I think he’s out of danger.”
“Was it attempted suicide, Sir?”
“There’s no way of telling, but somehow I imagine so. He probably feels that there is nothing left to live for with both of his children gone.”
“Poor devil.”
They stepped out into the April midnight to find it cold and clear and brilliantly lit by the moon. At the quay the Constantia rode quietly at anchor, bobbing slightly even though the boarding ramp was still in place. The Apothecary and the Runner looked at one another.
