by Deryn Lake
‘A strange coincidence, though, that he was night-watchman at the very place where the poison was put in the flour.’
‘I quite agree with you about that,’ answered the Blind Beak.
There was a short pause while a servant appeared with a claret jug and three glasses and served the assembled company. When they were alone once more the Magistrate turned in the direction of John. ‘You have something to tell me?’
‘Yes, Sir. I found a diamond button, real at that, in Tobias Gill’s compounding room. His daughter claims that it was hers but I am not so sure.’
‘But why should she lie?’
‘To protect another. Francis Cruttenden perhaps.’
Mr Fielding chuckled gently. ‘Mr Rawlings, my old friend, may I comment that you seem somewhat obsessed with that man. We are, after all, attempting to find the murderer of Master Alleyn and Tobias Gill, a task with which all of us are being singularly unsuccessful. There is nothing whatsoever to link Master Cruttenden, however much you might dislike him, with those crimes.’
‘No, you’re right, of course. And yet …’
‘Yet what?’
‘He seems to sit in the centre of the web, a silky grey spider that hastens away whenever you try to approach it.’
The Blind Beak was silent for a while, then he said, ‘I agree with you that the attack by what appears to have been a lackey of the Marquis of Kensington demands further explanation, though I do not see the connection with the two deaths. To me they are a separate issue altogether. However, I intend to beard the Marquis in his den and travel to Kensington to do so.’
‘Sir, I have a better idea,’ John said boldly. ‘My father has written to me to say that the building work on the place we have acquired is moving along splendidly and he desires me to stay for a day or so to inspect it. Why do you and Mrs Fielding not come down at the same time and take rooms in a local hostelry? I would then wager a goodly sum that Sir Gabriel can arrange an invitation for us to call on the Marquis. Why, he only has to be in a place a few days and he is on the visiting list of every hostess for miles around.’
‘Capital,’ the Blind Beak answered with enthusiasm. ‘Far better than visiting officially. A very good plan, Sir. however, we shall have to bring Mary Ann. The girl’s too young to be left in the care of servants.’
‘It all sounds most amusing,’ put in Samuel heartily. ‘Has anyone any objection if I join the party?’
Chapter Twenty
They travelled to Kensington in Mr Fielding’s coach, Mary Ann squeezed between her aunt and uncle, John and Samuel on the seat opposite, the luggage stowed on the roof They journeyed by daylight and so considered it safe to traverse the park, notorious for highwaymen and duellists. Indeed it was so dangerous to use at night that bells were rung at the various gates to allow coaches to gather together and proceed in convoy. Yet even though it was day time, an armed Runner sat beside the coachman as a safeguard.
Passing Hyde Park Wall, the driver took the coach road crossing the park which led through to Knight’s Bridge and eventually brought them into the village of Kensington, where they stopped at The New Tavern to deposit the Fieldings, the Magistrate considering the inn more in the centre of things than The Dun Cow, pleasant though that hostelry was. The coach then continued along the High Street before turning right into Church Lane, where it drew to a halt before the house at the end of the terrace near the King’s kitchen garden.
‘Mighty fine, if I might say so,’ said Samuel, alighting and taking his bag from the carriage roof.
‘My father insisted on something a little rural but not too far removed from the great houses. This seemed to fit the bill.’
‘It’s splendid.’
But there was even greater pleasure to be discovered within. John, fully aware that Sir Gabriel would be spending more time in the house than he would, had left the entire design of the interior in his father’s hands. But any slight fear that the whole place would be done throughout in black and white was immediately allayed as the two friends stepped into the long, thin entrance hall. A sensuous shade of saffron covered the walls and this was repeated within the principal salon, its long windows overlooking the royal domestic garden. To complement the colour, the cornice had been picked out in warm amber, a shade repeated with topaz and cream in the moulded ceiling. The curtains, made of velvet, rich gold in hue, hung to the floor.
‘A triumph,’ said John. ‘Father, you have performed a miracle.’
‘When one considers what a dingy little place it was, perhaps.’
‘You are too modest, Sir,’ said Samuel enthusiastically. ‘You have a gem here. A palace in miniature.’
‘Wait till you have seen it all,’ Sir Gabriel answered, and with ill-concealed pride took them on a tour of the rest of the house.
There were more delights in store. A dining room of deep damson, the colour lifted by the use of silver; while white and green provided a splendid foil for the vivid red walls of the master bedroom.
‘Your room, John,’ said Sir Gabriel, throwing open a door on the first floor landing. It was all the Apothecary could have wished for, painted a deep yellow throughout, with blue and white curtains and bed hangings, and china of the same colour combination, decorating the walls and shelves. By contrast, the guest room was the palest shade of green, highlighted with salmon pink. On the top floor dwelt the three servants in far simpler but perfectly comfortable accommodation.
‘I am more than impressed,’ said Samuel as they returned to the salon. ‘I intend to visit frequently.’ He burst into hearty laughter and slapped John on the back, then bowed and wrung Sir Gabriel’s hand. His exuberance was so infectious that the popping of a champagne cork seemed the only suitable accompaniment and the three men sat with full glasses by the fire, while the conversation turned away from the house to other matters.
‘How are you proceeding with the investigation?’ asked John’s father.
‘There has been another murder, Sir.’
And the Apothecary described to Sir Gabriel all that had happened since the older man had departed for Kensington, including the extraordinary attack on Francis Cruttenden and the even more extraordinary departure of his assailant.
Sir Gabriel refilled everyone’s glass. ‘The Marquis of Kensington, you say? Surely the fellow who claimed he saw this must have been mistaken.’
‘It’s possible of course, but the fact remains for all that.’
‘Extraordinary! I have met the Marquis. A regular sort of chap in my opinion.’
John smiled to himself. His personal wager that his father would know everyone within days of his arrival, just won. ‘I thought you might be acquainted. Tell me what he’s like.’
‘He’s young, in his mid thirties. He came into the title following the death of an uncle. He’s quite good looking in a dark, fleshy sort of way. Loves playing cards, in fact he’s invited me over for whist. Would you care to meet him?’
‘I’d love to – and so would Mr Fielding.’
‘You wrote me that they intended to stay near by. Are they at The Dun Cow?’
‘No, The New Tavern. The whole family is with him. They have made an excursion of it.’
‘And the purpose of their visit?’
John looked vague. ‘I believe Mr Fielding is interested in buying a property somewhere round here.’
‘And wants to meet the Marquis into the bargain?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Then I shall see what can be arranged,’ said Sir Gabriel, and looked wise.
They dined on simple country fare, extremely well prepared by a woman who came in to do the cooking, and after dinner the three men set forth, armed with lanterns and sticks, to make the short walk to the Blind Beak’s hostelry, where they found him comfortably installed in a suite of rooms overlooking the King’s stables on the other side of the High Street. After the usual cordial greetings, during which Mary Ann made much of flirting with all three of the new arrivals, the gentlemen re
paired with a bottle of port to the Magistrate’s private dining room.
Sir Gabriel opened the conversation, addressing himself to Mr Fielding. ‘I believe you seek acquaintance with the Marquis of Kensington, Sir.’
The Blind Beak nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Did John tell you of the strange attack on an individual named Cruttenden?’
With a shock, the Apothecary realised that this was the first time the Magistrate had ever referred to him by his Christian name and wondered whether, after all these years, their relationship was about to become less formal.
‘He did. I am hard put to it to find an explanation.’
‘Jago did a little research on the Marquis before I left town,’ Mr Fielding continued. ‘It seems that he was not in line for the title at all, being the child of a youngest son. However, his father was killed in battle leaving him and another boy, child of the deceased middle brother, as possible heirs. Then the hand of fate struck. The eldest brother, holder of the title, died of a fever shortly before he was due to be married and the immediate heir, child of the middle brother, followed him to the grave a few weeks later. Thus, the present incumbent took the title.’
‘For him a fortunate series of misadventures.’
‘Indeed.’
‘What has all that to do with the attack on Cruttenden?’ asked Samuel.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ the Blind Beak answered, ‘except that I like to have the background details of those under investigation.’
Sir Gabriel spoke. ‘He’s a decent fellow, though damned addicted to gambling. He’s always desperate for whist players, so I might suggest that I take the three of you along.’
‘It’s a pity Serafina is not here,’ John commented. ‘She would give him a run for his money.’
His father sighed. ‘Our sweet friend. It seems an eternity since I have seen her. How is she these days?’
‘Extremely pregnant. Her child is due in February I believe.’
Samuel chuckled. ‘Not that that’s ever stopped her. Do you remember the twins connected with The Devil’s Tavern affair, John? She soon sorted them out and she was big bellied then.’
‘That’s true enough.’
‘Anyway, to the present,’ said Mr Fielding. ‘You have heard, Sir Gabriel, that we are absolutely no further forward with the Apothecaries’ Hall poisoning and that another apothecary has been murdered?’
‘Yes, I have. Are there simply no leads whatsoever? It seems extraordinary to me.’
John took advantage of the fact that he knew everyone present extremely well, and thought aloud. ‘The stumbling block for me is that Master Alleyn died.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the Magistrate.
‘How was it done? It means the poisoner must have been close to him in order to ensure that he was given more arsenic than everybody else. Did the Runners’ investigation of all those Liverymen present reveal nothing?’
‘Nothing that we could act upon.’
‘But he must have a hidden enemy,’ John said emphatically. ‘He simply must.’
‘I suppose,’ said Sir Gabriel mildly, ‘that you have looked through his private papers?’
Everybody stared at him, even Mr Fielding turning his bandaged eyes in the direction of the speaker.
‘To be honest, no,’ the Magistrate answered eventually. ‘Truth to tell, having been assured that the only person with a grudge against him was Garnett Smith, a man whom it now appears seems highly unlikely as a suspect, we did not look any further.’
‘I think you should,’ John’s father continued imperturbably. ‘Also those of the other dead man. Perhaps you will find a foe common to both.’
‘What papers I could discover at Tobias Gill’s have been delivered to the Public Office,’ John said. ‘However, his appointment book was missing.’
‘Very significant,’ boomed Samuel, determined to get a word in. ‘I’m sure the murderer’s name was written in there and it was removed to conceal their identity.’
‘Sir Gabriel is right,’ said the Blind Beak. ‘As soon as we return to town, those papers must be gone through.’
The Apothecary cleared his throat. ‘It was my intention to call on Miss Alleyn in Chelsea tomorrow. I shall ask her mother’s permission to search Master Alleyn’s documents whilst I am there.’
‘Excellent,’ Mr Fielding replied. ‘I trust you will be back in time to meet the Marquis.’
‘I shall certainly be back,’ John answered. He looked straight at Sir Gabriel, his expression endearingly earnest. ‘And I would like to invite the Alleyn ladies to dine with us, perhaps tomorrow, if that is in order.’
He spent an amazingly comfortable night in his new bedroom, sleeping better than he had done for some days. Waking refreshed, John devoured a large breakfast, then, having left Samuel happily conversing with Sir Gabriel over the tea cups, made his way to a small but efficient livery stable situated not far from the King’s own stable yard. There he hired a large competent-looking horse and went at speed back to Knight’s Bridge, then down a serpentine path known as Sloane Lane by the locals, named in memory of Sir Hans Sloane, whose patients had included Queen Anne and a citizen named Pepys, and who had founded the Chelsea Physick Garden, much loved by all apothecaries. He had died in 1753 when John had still been an apprentice, living to the great age of ninety-two.
Now, proceeding down the path named after Hans Sloane, on his way to see Emilia Alleyn, a song of happiness rose to John’s lips. Despite the circumstances of his visit, probing even further into her father’s death, he felt carefree and young and in that divine state known as falling in love. The weather echoed his mood, the December sky a deep rich blue, the sun out and the ground hard with overnight frost.
Sloane Lane continued on its twisting way until it joined Jews Row, which John crossed, heading for Wilderness Row, which ran round the back of Ranelagh Gardens. From there it was but a short trot to the river and the house to which he had first escorted a dying Josiah Alleyn. Though I could have sworn I’d saved him, John thought. And at that an idea came that almost made him fall from his horse so sharply did it strike him. Clutching the reins to regain his balance, the Apothecary made a slower pace to his sweetheart’s house as he considered every aspect of the sudden suspicion which had come to him.
It was customary to wear mourning for some time after the death of a member of the family, but today Emilia had adopted a very deep purple which suited her and enhanced her golden looks. Well aware and by now a little wary of the budding relationship between her daughter and the young apothecary who had tried so hard to save her husband, Mrs Alleyn, fond of John as she was, firmly acted as chaperone.
The two women received their visitor in a delightful parlour overlooking the garden and river.
‘My dear,’ said Maud Alleyn, rising to her feet. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?’
John, extremely conscious that he looked rather fine in his riding clothes, made much of kissing her hand. ‘I am staying at my father’s country house in Kensington and thought I would like to call. I trust you have no objection.’ Knowing full well that she had only recently caught him embracing Emilia, he was very slightly on edge and determined to ingratiate himself.
‘Of course not. It is always a pleasure to see you Mr Rawlings. Will you take tea?’
‘I would very much enjoy that.’
Emilia came towards him, and he could not resist, mother or no mother, taking both her hands in his.
‘Do you have any further news of Clariana Gill?’ she asked, looking up at him with those heavenly eyes of hers.
‘Yes, she’s with the elderly lover, of course. And short shrift they gave me when I called. Cruttenden even offered to pay me for my services.’
‘You should have taken the money,’ said Maud roundly, ‘he’s got enough of it.’
The Apothecary seized the moment. ‘Interestingly, the matter of his wealth is under investigation at this very minute,’ he said, telling half the truth.
> ‘Quite rightly so.’
‘In fact, Madam, in that regard I have a favour to ask of you.’
‘And what is that?’
‘That I might be allowed to look at your husband’s personal papers. Please do not be offended. I have no intention of prying into Master Alleyn’s affairs. The fact of the matter is that Mr Fielding believes there might, just might, be some reference to Master Cruttenden within them.’
Maud looked round the room, her expression none too happy. ‘I do not really relish the thought of Josiah’s documents being examined by strangers.’
Emilia spoke up, quite sharply, showing that there could be a bite in the angel’s tongue. ‘Really Mother! John is hardly a stranger. He tried to save Father’s life, remember. To deny him and the Public Office access to anything that might throw light on any aspect of the mysterious circumstances surrounding Papa’s death would be utterly wrong of you.’
Mrs Alleyn looked contrite to the point that John almost felt sorry for her. ‘Of course, you’re right. I shall unlock his desk and let you look through the contents. Forgive me. I still grieve for him you know.’
‘Quite understandably.’ John paused, then said, ‘If it would not intrude on your mourning, I wondered if you and Miss Alleyn might care to dine with my father and myself tomorrow or the next day. After that I shall have to return to town alas.’
Emilia’s pleasure was so obvious that it would have been a churlish mama indeed who could have put a stop to it. None the less, Mrs Alleyn hesitated.
‘My father could send his carriage,’ John continued, hoping even as he said the words that Sir Gabriel would agree.
Maud gave in, laughing at his eagerness. ‘You are two very persuasive young people. Yes, Mr Rawlings. I should be happy to dine with Mr Rawlings senior.’
The Apothecary was so delighted that he bowed. ‘What excellent news. By the way, my father adopted me as a child and we have different surnames.’
‘Oh I see. So how shall I address him when we meet?’
