by Deryn Lake
‘As Sir Gabriel Kent,’ John answered airily, and could not help but feel a slight sense of self-importance at the look of interest that suddenly crossed Mrs Alleyn’s features.
It was not a pleasant task, going through a dead man’s papers, the act smacking too much of robbing a grave. With as vague a brief as he had, namely to find a reference to anyone who might have been Josiah’s enemy for however slight a reason, John felt obliged to look at everything, particularly personal letters. Further, Master Alleyn’s bills and receipts had to be inspected as they might reveal a dissatisfied patient or a shopkeeper who thought he was owed money. Hating what he was doing, the Apothecary slowly and painstakingly sifted through it all. Tea was served to him twice, once by Emilia alone so there was a chance for a swift embrace. Yet though he toiled on, the task proved fruitless. There was one thing that puzzled him, however: a list of names with no heading and no indication of what it meant. Probably past patients, John thought. Yet one of those names was highly significant in view of the current investigation.
Taking the list to the window to take advantage of the daylight, the Apothecary read it again. ‘Mr Montague Bending, the Hon. Sophie Ebury, the Bishop of Bodmin, the Marquis of Kensington, the Prince of Castile.’ It meant nothing to him but that one significant name was enough to make John fold the paper very carefully and slip it into an inside coat pocket.
‘Did you find anything?’ asked Emilia from the doorway. ‘No,’ said John, and went towards her, his hands outstretched. ‘I am so glad that you are coming to meet my father.’
‘I feel rather nervous. I didn’t realise he had a title.’
‘He’s a baronet. The whole thing will die out with him, as his only child was a daughter who died at birth.’
‘Why did he adopt you?’
‘He married my mother, who at one time was one of his servants. My real father was one of the Rawlings of Twickenham. I don’t know any more about it than that.’
‘John, are you a bastard?’
‘Yes, does it matter?’
‘Not to someone who loves you,’ answered Emilia, and went from the room as swiftly as she had come in, leaving John to touch the place on his cheek where she had planted a swift cool kiss.
He returned to Kensington in the dusk, just before the hour to dine, and, having delivered the competent horse back to its stables, went hastily on foot to The New Inn where Mr Fielding, still tying his cravat, most admirably John thought, emerged from his bedroom to meet the visitor.
‘You have news, my friend?’
‘Yes and no, Sir. There was nothing in the papers anywhere – and I went through everything – to reveal the identity of a secret enemy. All I could find was this most extraordinary list.’ And John read it aloud to the Blind Beak, who sat in a chair opposite him, finishing the adjustment of his neckwear.
There was silence when he had finished, then Mr Fielding said, ‘The Marquis of Kensington again. Can this be a coincidence?’
‘I don’t know, Sir. I simply don’t know. I have no idea what the list means. Are they possibly Master Alleyn’s patients?’
‘That is one possible construction certainly. But if not, then there must be some other reason for them to be linked together.’
‘But what?’
‘I have no idea, although I intend to find out. I had thought of spending another day in the country, but instead I shall leave Elizabeth and Mary Ann here to enjoy themselves, and go back alone. I want to get Jago working on this. I feel in my gut that you have discovered something important, Mr Rawlings, though for the life of me I can’t imagine what it is. However, we can test the theory of Master Alleyn’s patients tonight.’
‘Are we booked to play whist with the Marquis?’
‘Yes, we most certainly are, so I suggest that you hurry home to dine and then set forth for his extremely gracious home.’
‘I shall do as you say,’ said John, standing up.
The Blind Beak rose also. ‘You have done well, my friend. Thank you for all your help.’
With a very strong feeling that an extraordinary hidden truth was slowly beginning to emerge, John set off for Church Lane.
Four hours later, each one of them dressed within an inch of ostentation, Sir Gabriel, his son and Samuel Swann swept from the end of terrace house and into Sir Gabriel’s black coach, complete with its team of snowflake horses. The coachman went down the lane, along the High Street, and drove a course towards Knight’s Bridge that ran parallel with the huge, ornate and extremely beautiful gardens that lay adjacent to Kensington Palace. Fine and stately mansions stood to the right, opposite the palace grounds and it was before one of these that the equipage finally pulled in. A pair of vast wrought iron gates were swung back by the lodge-keeper and the coach proceeded around the carriage sweep to the front door of a magnificent dwelling house.
‘Imposing,’ said John.
‘It was built by the Marquis’s grandfather. He must have played here when he was a child, though he never thought to inherit.’
‘I shall be fascinated to meet him,’ the Apothecary answered with feeling.
He had not mentioned the existence of a mysterious list to either his father or Samuel, feeling it better to say nothing, until the whole matter had been looked into by Joe Jago. His discretion was confirmed by Elizabeth Fielding, this night acting as her husband’s eyes, who breathed in his ear as she arrived immediately following them. ‘John asks that you remain silent about your discovery.’
‘Tell him that I have.’
‘He further requests that you bring the name of Master Alleyn into the conversation.’
‘I will gladly.’
They filed between two solemn footmen into a huge circular entrance hall. Lined with twenty veined alabaster columns, classical nudes dotted about in niches, some flaunting all they possessed, others with modest hands covering breasts and thighs, it was a truly awe inspiring sight.
Mary Ann immediately began a tour of inspection of the more well endowed male statues and started to giggle.
John sidled over. ‘If you don’t behave yourself, you will be sent to sit in the carriage.’
She grinned up at him, quite the prettiest little thing out. ‘I didn’t know that you had been put in charge of me, Mr Rawlings.’
‘I’m not, Madam, luckily for you, but out of respect for your aunt and uncle behave with some decorum.’
For once the little flirt looked suitably contrite, and walked away to join the line of people proceeding into the circular saloon where beneath the Waterford crystal chandeliers and before Venetian mirrors of enormous splendour, card tables had been set up.
The Marquis stood in the doorway, dark and stocky, handsome in his way.
Sir Gabriel took the lead and introduced the company. ‘My lord, may I present Mr John Fielding, the Principal Magistrate, together with his wife and niece.’
John noticed to his horror that Mary Ann even made eyes at the Marquis as she dropped him a curtsey that was very slightly impudent.
‘And this is my son, John Rawlings, and a family friend, Samuel Swann.’
There was much bowing and salutation, and refreshment was offered to the guests before everyone sat down. As luck would have it, John found himself on the same table as the Marquis, who was partnered by Sir Gabriel. He himself was paired with John Fielding, whose wife sat right behind him, whispering in his ear exactly what cards he had.
‘Let us play a long hand,’ said the Marquis, and relapsed into a frowning silence as he stared moodily at his cards.
Faced with a dilemma as to whether to speak or not, John decided that now would be as good a time as any. ‘I saw some old friends of yours today, My Lord.’
The Marquis did not look up. ‘Oh yes?’
‘Mrs Alleyn and her daughter. As you probably know, Josiah Alleyn died recently in rather odd circumstances.’
The nobleman shot him a quick dark stare then returned his attention to his hand. ‘Josiah who?’
‘Never heard of the fellow. Who was he?’
‘An apothecary, Sir.’
‘No, don’t know him. There must be some mistake.’
Smooth as silk, Mr Fielding came in. ‘But surely you know Liveryman Cruttenden, my Lord. Why he’s a famous socialite.’
There was a reaction, John saw it. The dusky eyes looked up and a small flame flickered briefly in their depths before it was rapidly extinguished. The Marquis laughed. ‘Who are all these extraordinary people you keep mentioning to me? Damme, Sir Gabriel, I swear that I’m in the clutches of the Grand Inquisitor.’
John’s father responded smoothly. ‘Attempts at conversation, my Lord, that is all. Some people talk over cards. Others, like ourselves, prefer to play in silence.’
‘I stand corrected, Sir,’ said John Fielding, but he had felt the Apothecary tense beside him and knew that their objective had been achieved. Elizabeth, too, had noticed something, and the pressure of her hand on her husband’s arm tightened very slightly.
There was a guffaw from the other table where Samuel and Mary Ann, together with the Marchioness and another jolly fellow, were indulging in horseplay.
The Marquis rolled his lustrous eyes. ‘I fear our usual concentration is doomed to be broken, Sir Gabriel.’
‘Alas, my Lord, youthful high spirits will out.’
‘Indeed,’ answered the nobleman, and shot John Rawlings a black expressionless look that revealed absolutely nothing.
Chapter Twenty-One
The winter weather was kind, and Emilia entered the house in Church Lane in a burst of sunshine, then proceeded to glow with so much pleasure that everything looked brighter in her presence. Mrs Alleyn discreetly allowed herself to fade into the background, letting her beautiful daughter gleam like the heavenly being she resembled. Sir Gabriel was utterly charmed; Samuel, who had seen her before but never like this, was clearly quite smitten; John fell more deeply in love.
They dined, then Emilia entertained at the harpsichord which she played extremely well. She also sang in a high, clear, untutored voice which all present found very appealing. After that they indulged in a hand or two at cards and then the ladies went home, having first pressed upon Sir Gabriel an invitation to dine with them.
‘And you must come too,’ said Mrs Alleyn, smiling fondly at John.
‘Alas, Madam, I must return to town tomorrow. Firstly my shop demands my attention and, secondly, so does Mr Fielding. I simply cannot stay one day more. Much as I would like to.’
He looked straight at Emilia, who returned his gaze with an unmistakeable message in her eyes. Samuel, watching all this, made a strange little coughing sound and John, much to his own annoyance, immediately thought of Coralie.
‘Then, Sir,’ said Maud, just a fraction coquettishly, ‘it will be just ourselves.’
‘I can think of nothing nicer,’ answered Sir Gabriel, gallant to his fingertips, and kissed her hand.
They all went into the street as the Alleyn coach was brought round from the yard at the back, and waved the party goodbye with a great deal of enthusiasm. John, under cover of darkness, blew a kiss to Emilia, but she either did not see it or was too shy to return it under the gaze of her mama.
‘A fine young woman,’ said Sir Gabriel as they went back into the house. ‘What are your intentions, John?’
‘Honourable, Sir.’
‘And your relationship with Miss Clive? Is that finally at an end?’
An urgent desire to tell the whole truth came over the Apothecary. ‘Samuel believes that it will never be.’
‘Well, I …’ his friend protested in the background.
‘Samuel may well be right,’ Sir Gabriel said wisely. ‘There are some people whom it is impossible to give up entirely, some affinities too deep ever to be broken. But the time for you and Coralie was not right and may possibly never be so.’
‘Then what am I to do?’
‘What I advised you originally. Miss Clive misjudged your patience and expected you to continue your connection with her on her terms and her terms only. She may be the great passion of your life, who knows? But I believe that you are doing the right thing in drawing that chapter to a close.’
‘Then you approve of Miss Alleyn?’
‘I think she is absolutely charming.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Samuel. ‘Propose, lad, before somebody else snaps her up.
‘Meaning yourself?’
‘Now would I poach on another man’s terrain?’
‘Definitely. Without a second thought.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ responded the Goldsmith cheerily.
‘Another decanter of port could be in order,’ said Sir Gabriel, and the two younger people happily agreed.
The next morning, quite early, John and Samuel caught the public stage back into London, arriving at the Gloucester Coffee House, Piccadilly, in good time to start work. There they bowed and shook hands, arranged to meet shortly and went their separate ways, both to their individual shops to see how their apprentices had enjoyed, or otherwise, the responsibility of running the establishment single-handedly.
As usual when Nicholas was in sole charge, John found his emporium in Shug Lane full of eager young females. Wondering yet again what it was about the Muscovite’s pale, rather angular features that attracted them, John courteously raised his hat and retreated to the compounding room, leaving his apprentice to deal with their clamours for his attention. Eventually, though, the place cleared and the usual patients, gout, wind and clap ridden, surfaced. The Apothecary briskly dispensed a decoction of Dog’s Grass for the gout, also beneficial for expelling urine and staying laxes and vomiting; Saxifrage for colic and expelling gas, to say nothing of its uses against the stone, gravel and scurvy; and Hound’s Tongue for the clap.
‘Does it work?’ asked the beau buying it, his expression a little weary.
‘On everything,’ John answered cheerfully. ‘The root baked in embers, wrapped in paste and made into a suppository, will ease painful piles. The distilled water will take away any foul ulcers, while the physick will cure your clap, fluxes and haemorrhages. By the way, if a mad dog bites you, rub the leaves on to the wound. And don’t forget that the bruised leaves boiled in hog’s lard and applied to the scalp stop your hair falling out.’
The beau gave a sickly smile and left, looking fractionally faint.
‘Is all that true?’ asked Nicholas, amazed.
‘It is,’ said John seriously. ‘A wonderful plant is Hound’s Tongue.’ He looked at his watch. ‘The dinner hour approaches. I shall take you to have something to eat, my boy. You have a lean and hungry look, to quote the Bard. But perhaps it’s that that brings the young ladies rushing to your side. I suspect they all want to mother you.’
‘Then I must stay thin, mustn’t I?’ Nicholas answered cheerfully, and set about closing the shop.
They dined at the Smyrna in Pall Mall, the haunt of Whig politicians, before John left his apprentice to return to Shug Lane for the late afternoon trade. The Apothecary hurried back to Nassau Street, fairly confident that a message from Mr Fielding would be awaiting him. He was not disappointed. A letter asking him to go to Bow Street as soon as he arrived back in town lay amongst a pile of others. Only pausing long enough to freshen his appearance, John sent one of his father’s footmen to hail him a chair.
He found the Blind Beak and his redoubtable clerk in conference in the study on the ground floor, close to the Public Office and the court. Both heads moved as he went in and Mr Fielding, in that unnerving way of his, said, ‘Mr Rawlings?’
‘Yes, Sir. I only returned from Kensington today and went straight to my shop before going home. I came here as soon as I received your message.’
Joe Jago stood up, his light blue eyes smiling in his craggy face. ‘You’ve arrived just in time, Sir. The Magistrate and I were on the point of discussing the list you found.’
‘Indeed you are,’ Jago answered with a chuckle. ‘Indeed you are.’
John sat, removing some law books from the chair to make room. ‘Did you make any sense of the list, Joe?’
‘Not at first I didn’t. Just seemed like a series of names put together at random. And then I began to make a few enquiries. And what do you think I found?’
‘I’ve no idea. What?’
‘Well, I’ll begin at the beginning. The first name on the list, Mr Montague Bending, I discovered belonged to a gentleman recently deceased. He had died leaving a considerable fortune to his heirs. But do you know what?’ Joe had his audience in the palm of his hand and was enjoying every minute of it.
‘Tell us,’ ordered Mr Fielding with a rumbling laugh.
‘He was never due to inherit that fortune in the first place. His grandfather had fallen out with him and was just about to make a new will, cutting Mr Bending out, when lo and behold the old man suddenly died.’
An extraordinary sensation rang the length of John’s spine but he said nothing.
‘Then I came to the Honourable Sophie Ebury, a flighty young lady of some thirty years or so. Hers was rather a different tale. Daughter of a younger son with very little fortune, she scraped her way into society on the strength of her title and family name. There she acquired an elderly admirer, old Lord Briggs, who was keen as mustard to make her his wife and who made her his chief beneficiary to prove the warmth of his affections. But alas, she had formed an attachment for a handsome young army man, Captain Robert, who wanted her to elope. The elderly lover threatened cutting her off without a penny unless she married him. And then …’
‘He died before the will could be changed?’
‘Precisely so. Next I came to the interesting story of the Bishop of Bodmin. Here clerical skulduggery enters the tale. Throughout his rise through the ranks of the clergy he was always stalked by a rival, the Reverend Timothy Simpkins. Both had risen to the rank of archdeacon when suddenly the Bishopric of Bodmin fell vacant. There was intense speculation as to who would receive preferment, but the consensus was that Archdeacon Simpkins was more favourably regarded by the Archbishop. And then the Archdeacon, though still only in his forties, took sick of a sudden and died.’
