Death at Apothecaries' Hall

by Deryn Lake

  ‘Yet she managed to pick up a hackney. You don’t think there’s anything odd about her story, do you?’

  ‘No. She was definitely given white poppy juice last night and she definitely showed all the signs of an overdose. What is far more odd is the attack on Francis Cruttenden.’

  ‘You mean that his assailant disappeared into a coach bearing Kensington’s coat of arms?’

  ‘Exactly. Does our esteemed Liveryman have enemies in high places? And if so, why?’

  Samuel shook his head, bewildered, and John, drawing breath, continued, ‘I suppose we’d better go in. Let it be hoped that everything is as it should be and we find Mr Gill alive and well in his apartment.’

  ‘But it’s pitch dark up there,’ the Goldsmith answered gloomily, and having pealed the bell to no avail, put his shoulder to the door and stumbled inside when it swung open without difficulty.

  Prepared as best he could be, John struck a tinder and taking a candle from his pocket, lit it. The flickering flame illuminated little, casting even darker shadows than those in the street outside.

  ‘I don’t care for this,’ Samuel confided.

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Where did she say she saw the body?’

  ‘Hanging on a hook normally used for herbs, which means the compounding room.’

  ‘Oh God!’ said the Goldsmith, and swallowed noisily.

  With the pit of his stomach contracting, John moved silently through the shop, wondering, even while he did so, why he was walking so quietly. For if Tobias was at home, better to call out cheerily and not startle the man.

  ‘Hallooh,’ he tried, the sound dying on his lips as he made it.

  ‘Shush,’ said Samuel from somewhere in the gloom.

  ‘But if she dreamed it all, then Mr Gill is upstairs somewhere and needs to know of our arrival.’

  ‘Then why is the place in darkness?’

  The horrible truth of this could not be denied and John braced himself as he passed through the open door leading into the compounding room and went into the dimness beyond. He stood for a moment, his candle fluttering violently, trying to get his bearings. Behind him Samuel’s breathing became magnified a hundred-fold, the only sound in the total stillness. And then some unseen object brushed against John’s face.

  To his shame he yelped like a dog and jumped backwards, clutching Samuel’s arm as he did so.

  ‘What is it? What happened?’

  ‘Something touched my cheek.’

  ‘Shine the light, shine the light,’ Samuel ordered, and his voice was a rasp.

  With a shaking hand, the Apothecary raised the candle to arm’s length, and they both stared upwards. Sad old feet in worn out shoes were up there, a long apothecary’s gown flapping very slightly around two thin ankles. Tobias Gill had compounded his last physick. Somebody had done for him on the end of a rope and now he hung where once there had been a bunch of fragrant herbs.

  ‘Christ’s mercy,’ said John.

  ‘Amen to that.’

  ‘We must cut him down.’

  ‘But surely there’s no chance?’

  The Apothecary shook his head. ‘None whatsoever. He’s been up there for hours. None the less, we must do the right thing.’

  They hurried round the place, the confirmation of Clariana’s story a relief in a sense, releasing the friends from their fear and tension and giving them a purpose, albeit a most grisly and horrid one. More candles were found and placed strategically round the room until at last there was enough light to see clearly what they were doing. Then both John and Samuel pulled chairs beneath Tobias’s slight and sorrowful corpse and while the Apothecary hacked through the rope with a stout knife, discovered amongst the compounding equipment, Samuel caught the dead man. He swayed for a moment on the chair, then successfully clambered down with his burden and laid poor Mr Gill on the table.

  ‘We’ve done all we can here,’ said John. ‘Now we must lock up and head straight for Bow Street.’

  ‘Where are the keys?’

  ‘There,’ and the Apothecary indicated a large bunch hanging on a nail on the compounding room wall.

  ‘But who could have done this, John?’

  ‘He may have killed himself, of course.’

  ‘That, I don’t think,’ said Samuel, simultaneously earnest and excited.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because to do so he would have had to climb on a chair and there was none beneath his feet, either standing or kicked over. We had to drag the two chairs we used into position.’

  The Apothecary stared at his friend in true amazement. ‘That was brilliantly observed. Please make the same point to Mr Fielding.’

  ‘Do you think it important?’

  ‘I think it very important indeed.’

  At this hour, well past the time to dine, it was customary to find people out and about, visiting friends upon the town attending the play, the ridotto, the pleasure gardens, or simply sampling the million and one pleasures that the lawless capital offered. However, quieter-living folk could be discovered safely tucked into their abode, making music, playing cards or reading a book. And in the case of John Fielding, Principal Magistrate, it was frequently the latter, for much as he was a cultivated man, loving the theatre, music, and all the delights allied therewith, the very fact of his blindness precluded him from many of the events that he would so dearly have liked to attend. Fortunately in the choice of his wife, Elizabeth, he had found the right companion. She, too, quite preferred the simple life, sitting and reading to her brilliant husband, keeping him up with the day’s events through the newspapers, or enjoying the sheer pleasure of sharing a book together.

  The only discordant note in this domestically blissful world was struck by the couple’s niece, Mary Ann Whittingham, who was currently passing through a particularly tiresome phase that all adolescent girls have in common.

  The young woman, for thus the little beauty had become, stood up as John and Samuel entered the Fieldings’ salon, shown upstairs by a servant.

  ‘Why Mr Rawlings – and Mr Swann is it not? – how delightful to see you again.’

  The Apothecary shot her an acerbic look. ‘Mary Ann, I’m glad to find you well.’

  ‘Oh, never better, Sir.’

  She fluttered lashes which concealed eyes of a piercing gentian shade and John was horrified to see Samuel make the kind of bow he would to an adult female.

  The Blind Beak spoke from his chair by the fire. ‘You’ve come on business, I take it, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘Business indeed, Sir. May we speak privately?’

  ‘By all means. Let us go into my study.’

  Mr Fielding got to his feet, tall, large framed and agile, and led the way from the room, using a switch which he carried before him to help him avoid any obstacles in his path.

  John was fascinated to find himself in a part of the house he had never seen before. Downstairs, leading off the Public Office, the Magistrate had a study full of legal papers and law books, a domain that the Apothecary always associated with Joe Jago, who masterminded the reading and writing of all official documents and letters for his sightless master. But climbing up one flight from the salon, John and Samuel found themselves in a snug little room, warmed by a fire of coal and wood, containing only a desk and two chairs for furniture. Here, books written by the Magistrate’s half brother, Henry Fielding, crammed the shelves, along with works by Defoe, Swift and Richardson. This was clearly the place to which the Fieldings escaped when they wanted to read privately.

  The Magistrate rang a bell and ordered the responding servant to fetch another chair, then, when all three of them were seated, he turned his head in the direction of John. ‘So what has been happening, my friend?’

  In as concise a manner as he could, the Apothecary spoke of everything that had taken place since their last meeting in the court at Bow Street. When he had finished, the Blind Beak sat in silence for a moment, then turned the black bandage that hid his eyes in
John’s direction. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  It was uncanny, for the Apothecary had omitted all mention of the attack on Francis Cruttenden, feeling it hardly relevant to the case they were discussing.

  ‘Yes, there is, Sir. There’s a Liveryman called Francis Cruttenden …’

  ‘So I believe. Joe has spoken to me about him. You asked him to make some enquiries into the man’s background, I believe.’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘May I ask why that was?’

  ‘No reason really.’

  The Magistrate’s eyebrows rose and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  Without knowing quite why, John felt obliged to explain. ‘Well, that isn’t quite true. I met the man when I called on Master Alleyn to check his progress. Alas, he had died that morning, and even the Liveryman was unable to save him. Be that as it may, I took an immediate dislike to Cruttenden. And now I dislike him more than ever.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Shooting Samuel a look that defied him to elaborate, John said, ‘He’s obsessed by young women. I believe him to be a seducer on a grand scale.’

  ‘And you don’t approve?’

  ‘Call me prudish if you wish, Sir, but no, I don’t.’

  Mr Fielding cleared his throat. ‘Neither do I, come to that. However, Joe’s enquiries revealed that his current young creature is none other than Clariana Gill, daughter of the murdered man, but then you would know that fact.’

  ‘I certainly do. Yet there is something even more interesting.’ And John explained in detail exactly what had taken place at the Assembly on the previous evening.

  The Magistrate sat silently for a moment or two, then said, ‘You are telling me that he was attacked by someone in the pay of the Marquis of Kensington?’

  ‘That I don’t know. The witness simply said that he saw the assailant get into a coach bearing the Marquis’s coat of arms.’

  ‘Then deep enquiries must be made. I shall call on Kensington myself, and you must accompany me, Mr Rawlings.’

  ‘It would be a pleasure, Sir.’

  Samuel spoke for the first time. ‘Is there any sign of the missing watchman, Griggs?’

  The Blind Beak shook his head. ‘None at all. He has vanished from the face of the earth, or so it would seem.’

  ‘Into the river in my view.’

  ‘But not yet out again.’

  John changed the topic. ‘How do we proceed now?’

  ‘As soon as you have gone, Mr Rawlings, I shall despatch the two Brave Fellows to fetch the body and take it to the mortuary. Then tomorrow, when it is light, I would like you, if it is convenient …’

  ‘I shall make it so.’

  ‘… to search Tobias Gill’s house and shop from top to bottom. Who knows what might be revealed in the way of a clue to this ghastly crime? Then, Mr Rawlings, I think you should talk to Harriet Clarke. From what you have said of her she sounds an intriguing woman, possibly with something to hide. That done, I suggest we call on the Marquis. I shall dissemble and pretend that I am looking for a property in Kensington. I shall then drop Cruttenden’s name into the conversation and proceed from there.’

  Samuel spoke again. ‘Sir, do you think the murder of Master Alleyn and that of Tobias Gill are connected in any way?’

  ‘Very probably, yes. I warned you, Mr Rawlings, that this killer is dangerous. Maybe both Gill and Cruttenden discovered more about Alleyn’s death than we know. Perhaps that is why both were attacked, one fatally.’

  ‘But what could the Marquis of Kensington have to do with a modest Liveryman living in Chelsea?’

  ‘That is what we must find out, for there is a connection in all this. I feel it in my gut.’

  ‘I wonder what the link could possibly be?’

  ‘When we know that, we know the truth,’ said Mr Fielding. He got to his feet. ‘Gentlemen, we can achieve nothing further tonight. Go and break the sad news to Clariana Gill, and while you are doing so, see if there is anything further you can discover about her relationship with her elderly beau.’

  ‘She is clearly fascinated by him.’

  ‘Power and money are potent aphrodisiacs.’

  John shook his head. ‘Just why is he so high and so mighty? Liveryman is a worthy position indeed, but not sufficiently exalted to sustain the style in which Francis Cruttenden lives.’

  ‘I’ll instruct Jago to enquire further.’

  ‘I think perhaps Harriet Clarke might hold the key. She and her mother once worked for him as servants.’

  ‘Was she seduced by him?’ Mr Fielding asked out of the blue.

  John stared. ‘By God, Sir, I hadn’t thought of that. But do you know, you might be right.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to find out, won’t you?’

  ‘Tread carefully,’ warned Samuel. ‘Remember what women are like.’

  But his friend did not answer, already starting to put an earlier idea together with this latest thought and coming up with the most extraordinary answer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the house of death, something moved. John, on his hands and knees in the compounding room where Tobias Gill had been hanged by the neck and left to die, heard the sound distinctly and jumped with fright. Above his head, in the apartments where the dead man had lived with his daughter, someone had just walked across the floor. Quite alone, for the two Brave Fellows had departed with Tobias’s body during the previous night, the Apothecary felt panic rise within him, and had to breathe deeply in order to bring himself under control.

  The place had been empty when he had arrived, there was no doubt about that. Before he had begun his painstaking search of the premises, looking for anything that might throw light on Tobias’s murder, John had walked through both the shop and the residence over it. All had been quiet, filled with that eerie silence associated with violent death. But now someone was moving about. Feeling for the pistol in his coat pocket, the Apothecary made his way to the bottom of the stairs.

  As he put his foot on the first step it cracked like a bullet, sending waves of sound throughout the house. John froze, listening for a response. None came. Nothing stirred in the apartment above. With extreme caution he continued his journey upwards, till at last he stood in the room where only a few nights previously he had dined with a grateful Tobias and petulant Clariana. It seemed a long time ago now, so much had happened in the interim, yet something of that occasion still hung in the air, adding a touch of sadness to the uncanny atmosphere.

  And then John shouted with terror as something wrapped itself around his ankles. For no reason ridiculous visions of a serpent came into his mind, but when the Apothecary looked down it was to see a large red cat stropping round him. A great believer in the theory that owners and their pets grow to look alike, John knew at once that it was Clariana’s.

  He stooped to stroke it and felt a lump in the fur by its ear. Bending lower, the Apothecary saw that it had been wounded in some way and had bled profusely before the flow had congealed.

  ‘Now what happened to you?’ he asked, but the cat made no reply. Finding some water in a ewer, John cleaned the injury, while the cat stood in reasonable patience, hissing occasionally under its breath. The wound was consistent with a blow and the Apothecary wondered whether the cat had got in the murderer’s way and had earned a well-aimed kick for its pains. Assured now that the recent intruder had been merely feline, John went back to the compounding room, the cat following behind.

  The job of searching for clues was not a pleasant one. So far the Apothecary had painstakingly swept the entire downstairs floor area, looking for anything, however minute, that Tobias’s killer might have dropped as he crept up on Gill from behind. That the assailant had pinioned his victim tightly, then probably half strangled the frail fellow before hoisting him into the noose that would finish him off, John was reasonably certain, for the signs of struggle were negligible.

  ‘It points to him knowing his killer,’ the Apotheca
ry said to the cat, which was gingerly washing its ear with a paw.

  Much as John had thought, the shop itself had revealed little more than an abandoned suppository, not as skilfully made as those produced by his brand new machine, several pills squashed into the floor by a careless foot, and a few dropped coins. Of the compounding room itself he had higher hopes. Taking up a small hand brush and pan which he had brought with him, John sank to his knees once more and started to sweep gently.

  Behind him, the cat started to play with something, patting a mouse substitute along the floor then hooking it with its claws.

  ‘What have you got?’ John asked, and looked over his shoulder.

  The cat scudded its toy towards him, and the Apothecary stretched out his hand to pick it up. A gleaming diamond button lay in his palm, twinkling in the pale sunshine coming through the window.

  ‘How very interesting,’ he said, turning it over. ‘Not at all the sort of thing one would expect to find in a workplace. I think, Sir Puss, you have been of great help to me.’ So saying, John stowed the button in an inner pocket before continuing his meticulous task.

  Five hours later, with dusk beginning to fall, it was done. The entire house had been searched, inch by inch. Exhausted by his quest, John, having first fed the cat with some meat obtained from the butcher, headed straight for an alehouse and downed several draughts before leaving the City behind him and heading for Samuel’s establishment, where he cajoled his friend into joining him for dinner at Truby’s in St Paul’s Churchyard.

  ‘Well?’ said Samuel, once they had ordered their fare.

  ‘My prize exhibit,’ answered John, and produced the button.

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘On the compounding room floor, no less.’

  The Goldsmith let out a whistle. ‘Dropped by the murderer?’

  ‘Quite possibly. It certainly isn’t the sort of button Tobias would wear and no apprentice worth the name would own so fine a thing as this.’

  ‘What about a customer?’

  ‘Customers don’t go into compounding rooms. They remain in the shop.’