by Deryn Lake
‘No. He thought the child was his. He prevented me from aborting.’
‘But he knows now surely. The resemblance to Cruttenden is marked.’
‘I don’t know whether he does or not. The grim truth has never been spoken of between us.’
‘Whatever the case, he loves the boy. That is obvious from the way he talks about him. Torture yourself no further.’
Harriet flung herself into his arms. ‘My whole life has been a torture since I met that evil bastard. If somebody attacked him then good is all I can say. Oh, my dear Mr Rawlings, he took away my innocence, my girlhood, and he almost took away my son.’
The Apothecary removed her to arm’s length so that he could look her in the eye.
‘But he didn’t take him away, did he? And, indirectly, Francis Cruttenden gave you your greatest treasure. For the boy is a fine one, for all his condition. Now what did Dr Hensey say?’
‘That somehow he would contact his old tutor. He believes that Matthew’s condition could be brought totally under control.’
John frowned. ‘But surely his professor was in Paris, and we are at war with France. How will he get the message through?’
Harriet dashed away her tears. ‘That he did not tell me. He simply said that he would try.’
‘Then God bless him. He helped me once when I thought I was beyond hope.’
‘He is a man of great integrity,’ Mrs Clarke said solemnly. She withdrew her arms from John’s grasp and he watched her compose herself ‘Now, Sir, how further can I help you?’
‘By telling me how Francis Cruttenden became so wealthy.’
She looked at him wide eyed. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Very.’
‘What are you implying?’
‘I don’t know. All I do know is that the man has enemies in high places. Now why should that be?’
She shook her head. ‘I cannot help you there. I know of his reputation with young women. I know all the terrible things he did to me. But as to how he acquired his wealth, I have no idea. I always imagined that it was inherited.’
‘Then I suppose it must be. And yet …’
‘Mr Rawlings,’ said Harriet.
‘Yes?’
‘Promise me one thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘That you will unlock the cupboard of that unpleasant individual and watch as the skeletons come tumbling forth.’
‘I will not only watch,’ answered John, thinking of the youth and joy of Emilia and how low she had been brought by the seal-grey Liveryman, ‘I will personally crush his skeletons to powder beneath my heel.’
Chapter Nineteen
He was in a white hot rage, angry on behalf of every female that Cruttenden had enticed into his bed, livid that one of them should have been the delightful Emilia Alleyn. In fact John’s blood was running so high that he felt more than capable of punching the Liveryman in the face and taking the consequences. Then he recalled that somebody else had already done this for him and knew that however furious he might feel it would be beyond the pale to strike a wounded man.
He was marching towards Pye House, built on the site of the old Pye Pleasure Garden, so Harriet Clarke had informed him. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Southwark had been London’s haunt of pleasure, conveniently placed outside the City Boundary and with few people living there to raise complaint. As well as Pye Garden there had been the Old Bear Gardens, and the cruel torturing of animals, something which John abominated, had flourished. The playhouses had also been situated on the south bank, together with the stews or brothels. Lusty men and true had been rowed across the river to take their delights as they saw fit. But since the rule of Oliver Cromwell and his Puritans many of Southwark’s attractions had been closed down and most had not reopened after the Restoration.
‘Trust him to have a house on a prime site,’ John mutteredspitefully, and wondered for a wild and capricious moment whether he dared heave a brick through one of the windows. Tempting though the prospect was, however, he remembered that he was an apothecary, that he had a respectable place in society, and reckoned beside all those factors that it was bright broad daylight and he would be bound to be seen.
However, his temper was sufficiently fired to send him through the gate and up the path to the front door at a stamping pace. Once there he rang the bell as if he were pealing for the hordes of hell to come forth from their flaming pit, and he barked at the footman who answered the door, ‘John Rawlings for Miss Clariana Gill, if you please.’
‘But …’ said the man, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
‘She’s my patient and I demand to see her,’ thundered John, and pushed past the servant most rudely.
The house, which he had only glimpsed from outside, was even more voluptuous within than he had imagined it to be. Fine Turkey carpets, glistening chandeliers and expensive oil paintings abounded in all the major rooms leading off the hall. While the staircase rising from it was a triumph of delicacy, curving more beautifully than any John had ever seen before.
The footman recovered himself ‘I will see if Miss Gill is able to receive you, Sir.’
‘Then she is here?’
‘Madam is the Master’s affianced bride, Sir. There has been a tragedy in her family and she is staying with the Master whilst she recovers from the shock.’
‘Then would you be kind enough to take her my card and tell her that there is something of importance I need to discuss with her.’
‘Certainly,’ said the footman aloofly, and placing the card on a silver tray, disappeared from view.
Not having been extended the courtesy of a chair, the Apothecary remained upright, slowly wandering the length of the vestibule examining the many and beautiful objets casually placed in niches or on small tables, valuable though they obviously were. The fact of Liveryman Cruttenden’s enormous wealth was endorsed everywhere John looked, and yet again he wondered at it.
The footman reappeared. ‘Miss Gill will spare you five minutes, and that is all. Kindly follow me.’
John was led into a spacious room where Clariana, clad in flowing black, lay on a day bed, looking as ashen as if she herself had recently died. In contrast, her red hair flamed round her face, giving the girl an almost grotesque appearance.
She opened her eyes and looked up as John came in. ‘Mr Rawlings, I am far from well. The news of my poor father’s death coming on top of my recent ordeal …’
‘You should not have left Mr Smith’s house without my permission,’ John stated abruptly.
‘You are not my gaoler, Sir.’
‘No, but you were in my care. I was treating you for a severe case of opiate poisoning. You had no right to discharge yourself without my authority.’
Clariana raised her livid face and glared at him and John found himself thinking what a particularly nasty young woman she was, quite capable of murdering anyone. He then considered the fact that she and Cruttenden thoroughly deserved one another and would make a perfectly beastly couple that should in no circumstances have children.
Her voice was like ice. ‘Is that all you have to say to me? If so, you may as well leave now. As you know, my future husband is a Liveryman of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries and is more than capable of prescribing for me.’
What a bitch, thought John, and produced the diamond button from his inner pocket with a great deal of flourish. ‘I found this, Madam, at the scene of your father’s murder. Do you know to whom it belongs?’
Clariana held out an imperious hand. ‘What do you have there? Be so good as to show it to me.’
Advancing towards the day bed, John gave a curt bow. ‘It is a button, Miss Gill. A diamond button of fine quality. Not the sort of thing that your father would have worn, I am sure you will agree.’ He held it out but did not pass it to her.
Clariana stared, her bleached face turning even whiter. Sensing her discomfort, John pressed on. ‘Well?’
Miss Gill swallowed. ‘It�
��s mine,’ she said.
‘Really?’ His disbelief sounded in his voice.
‘I lost it from one of my gowns.’
‘It must have been a very fine gown, if I might comment. Did you lose it the night of the Duchess’s Assembly?’
‘Yes. It was part of my evening ensemble. May I have it back please.’
‘No,’ said John, returning the button to his pocket. ‘You may not.’
‘Why? It belongs to me. It is my property.’
‘On the contrary. It is now the property of the Public Office at Bow Street. It was found at the scene of a murder and is therefore material evidence.’
Clariana sat upright. ‘How dare you say such a thing? The button is mine.’
‘Then I suggest you put that to Mr John Fielding. I shall pass it into his safe keeping tonight.’
Behind him John was aware of a rustle in the doorway. A swish of garments together with the faint smell of medicinal balm, told him that Francis Cruttenden was standing behind him. Indeed, he could feel the man’s eyes boring into his back in the most unnerving manner. Not even bothering to force a smile, John turned and experienced a spiteful thrill of pleasure at seeing just how bruised and battered the ladies’ man looked.
The Apothecary gave a minimalistic bow. ‘Sir.’
Cruttenden grimaced. ‘I must thank you for your help the other evening. I was in a parlous state.’
‘A very strange affair,’ John answered, ‘made even stranger by the fact that your assailant jumped into a coach belonging to the Marquis of Kensington. Now how do you account for that?’
Just for a fleeting second, before he masked his face utterly, the Liveryman reacted, John would have sworn to it. However, the older man’s recovery was instant. Cruttenden laughed.
‘Who told you that? What utter nonsense. The man was a common cutpurse, a vagabond whose only motive was robbery. Marquis of Kensington? God’s life, where do these rumours start?’
It was so convincing a performance that momentarily the Apothecary wondered. But there was no denying the shutter that had closed at the very back of Cruttenden’s eyes. The mention of the Marquis had both startled and disconcerted him.
John inclined his head. ‘Indeed there are many strange stories circulating around town. Probably my informant was wrong.’
Walking painfully, the Liveryman came further into the room. ‘There’s no probably about it, Sir. You have been misinformed. Now, to what do we owe the pleasure of your calling upon us?’
‘Two reasons. One I wanted to see how you progressed, Sir, after so painful a beating. Secondly, I was somewhat concerned that Miss Gill discharged herself from my care without my consent. She was very poorly, Master Cruttenden. I assure you I brought her back from the brink.’
Clariana had the good grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘I wanted to be with you, Francis. I longed for your comforting presence.’
About as comforting as a cobra, John thought maliciously.
Cruttenden looked as urbane as his bruises would allow. ‘I am sure you will understand, Mr Rawlings. Poor child. What an ordeal to return home and discover her father’s body.’
‘Fortunately Miss Gill was under the influence of opium at the time and therefore the full horror of the discovery would have been dulled.’
The Liveryman took a seat, not inviting John to do likeways. ‘I intend to demand a full apology from Dr Ridgeway. How dare the old fool treat my betrothed in such a manner.’
‘Miss Gill was extremely hysterical,’ John answered, straight faced. ‘I believe the physician was hard put to it to quieten her.’
‘I wish you would not speak about me as if I were not here,’ Clariana said grumpily.
She really was a sullen baggage, the Apothecary considered, staring at her truculent face. The only time she had been even reasonably pleasant was when she had been full of opium and ill because of it.
He bowed in her direction. ‘I have taken up enough of your time. Now that I am assured you will be properly cared for, I shall take my leave. Good morning Miss Gill, Mr Cruttenden.’
The Liveryman heaved himself to his feet. ‘Allow me to recompense you for your services.’
The Apothecary raised a dignified hand. ‘No, Sir. I would not hear of it. It is my calling to heal the sick and I only make a charge to those who send for me. To administer to those who have met with an accident is part of my duty. Good day to you.’
And with that he swept from the room, feeling rather proud of the way he had conducted himself.
‘Do you mean to say that bloody button belonged to Clariana?’ said Samuel, flushing angrily. ‘Just as I feared. There’s our one and only clue gone out of the window.’
John stroked his chin. ‘She certainly said it belonged to her. Told me it had come off her evening gown.’
‘It’s possible. She probably went into the compounding room to tell her father she was leaving for the Assembly, and it fell off then.’
‘The trouble is I don’t remember her evening clothes having diamond buttons on them. But then I didn’t look at her all that closely. Quite honestly, I don’t care for the girl.’
‘There’s one person who would know,’ said Samuel cautiously.
‘Who?’
‘Coralie. Women always observe one another’s fashions with a hawk’s eye.’
‘Well, I can hardly ask her. Our relationship has reached its inevitable conclusion.’
‘John,’ said Samuel earnestly. ‘You may marry another, have children, do what you will, but your association with Coralie will never conclude, not as long as there’s breath in your body.’
The Apothecary turned away impatiently. ‘I don’t wish to hear that. I have begun a new connection with a woman to whom I am violently attracted. I speak of Emilia of course. In fact I like her so well that I intend to go to Chelsea then take her to Kensington to meet my father.’
‘I wonder what he will think.’
‘He will like her. He told me that my affair with Coralie had run its course. Now stop trying to annoy me.’
‘Very well. No more talk of ladies. What do you intend to do next?’
‘To take the button to Mr Fielding this very night. Do you want to come with me?’
‘I certainly do,’ Samuel answered eagerly. ‘I wouldn’t mind another eyeful of that damned pretty niece of his.’
John looked shocked. ‘She’s a child, Sam. A horrible, snivelling child.’
‘She’s fifteen if she’s a day. My mother married when she was fifteen.’
‘That was then. Things are different now.’
‘In two years that girl will be a bride, mark my words.’
‘God’s mercy! What with Nicholas hankering after her and now you. I’d like to throttle the little witch.’
‘You probably fancy her yourself’
‘I think,’ said John vehemently, ‘that I am about to be violently sick.’ And with that he slapped his hat on his head and made to leave.
Fearing that they might interrupt the Fieldings at dinner if they were too early, the two friends walked to Bow Street, breathing in the frosty December air, grateful that the cold was killing some of the smells that usually rose from the streets. They did not speak much, both preoccupied with the thought of the two deaths and who could be guilty of the crimes.
Eventually John said, ‘I still can’t see how the person responsible for poisoning the flour managed to contrive that Master Alleyn had more than anybody else.’
‘He must have been present at the dinner.’
‘And made himself ill? Yes, he must.’
‘Do you think it was Master Cruttenden?’
‘He’s unpleasant enough most certainly, but there’s absolutely no motive. He was Josiah’s friend and had been for years.’
‘Perhaps they had a quarrel that nobody else knew about.’
‘Even Mrs Alleyn? I don’t really think so. She was very close to her husband.’
‘Yet he must have kept some
secrets from her.’
‘I suppose so,’ John answered. Once again something intangible was nagging at him, some fact that he really should have thought of by now but had still failed to do.
The pensive silence was not broken until they arrived at the Public Office and were duly shown up the stairs to the salon where the Fieldings received guests. Seated on either side of the fire were John and Elizabeth, while Mary Ann perched at a table demurely doing her embroidery. She raised her long lashed eyes as the two young men came into the room, and shot them a look that was quite unmistakeable.
‘Behave,’ mouthed John, but Samuel bowed and made much of greeting her.
The Blind Beak moved his head in the direction of the newcomers. ‘Mr Rawlings?’ he asked.
‘Here with Samuel Swann, Sir.’
‘How fortuitous. I have news to impart. Let us repair to my study. Elizabeth, my sweetheart, would you arrange for refreshments to be served us?’
‘Certainly, my dearest.’
As they walked up the stairs to the Magistrate’s snug, John found himself strangely moved by the tenderness the couple obviously felt for one another and he wondered what it must be like for a blind man to fall in love with a voice and make love to someone he had never seen. The thought of never having been able to set eyes on Coralie’s shimmering beauty or Emilia’s heavenly looks made him cringe, and yet again his admiration for one of the most brilliant but challenged men in London soared.
They sat as they had done before, Mr Fielding behind his desk, his two visitors facing him.
‘You said you had news, Sir.’
‘Yes, the body of George Griggs has been found. It came up in Limehouse Reach near Cuckold’s Point. It is lying at present in Poplar Mortuary.’
‘How do you know it is Griggs? Has someone been to identify it?’
Mr Fielding gave a humourless laugh. ‘Sotherton Backler was given the unpleasant task. Apparently he fainted clean away at poor Griggs’s greenish condition.’
‘God!’ said Samuel under his breath.
John leant forward. ‘Were there any signs of attack, Sir?’
‘There was a bad blow to the head but whether this had been delivered after death is anyone’s guess. I’m afraid that the poor fellow has been too long in the water for us to tell.’
