Death at Apothecaries' Hall

by Deryn Lake

  Still not quite sure what the thread was, John shook his head. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The story of the Marquis of Kensington’s sudden acquisition of the title you already know.’

  ‘And the Prince of Castile?’

  ‘More difficult to unearth because it all took place in Spain. But from what I can gather the Prince’s grandfather, the old King, had about ten sons, none of whom lived as long as he did. Because of this the eldest grandson was in line to become Crown Prince. There were four ahead of the Prince in the line of succession but they were all mysteriously struck down with dysentery and died, leaving him as Heir Apparent.’

  John gazed at him, thunderstruck. ‘Is this true, Joe?’

  ‘As far as I can ascertain, Sir.’

  ‘Then what’s the common denominator, other than the fact that these people profited by the death of another?’

  ‘My enquiries so far – and please remember that I have not had the time to probe too deeply – reveal that the persons who died were, every one of them, treated by an apothecary.’

  ‘But what’s odd about that?’

  ‘It was the same apothecary, Sir.’

  ‘The same one? Oh, surely not?’

  ‘It looks very much that way Sir.’

  John went white. ‘Not Master Alleyn?’

  ‘No, not him.’

  ‘Dear God, then who?’

  He still hadn’t made the connection but Mr Fielding was a leap ahead. ‘It’s Cruttenden, isn’t it, Joe? Mr Rawlings’s instinct was correct all along.’

  ‘Then why was the list in Master Alleyn’s desk?’

  ‘Because he had become suspicious. He was probably making his own enquiries and coming up with the right answers. That is why he had to die.’

  John let out a groan. ‘Just as I thought. The poisoning wasn’t done at Apothecaries’ Hall at all, that was merely a blind. Josiah was killed on the morning I called to see him, having been made ill again the night before. Cruttenden told me he had administered a clyster as a last resort. I’ll warrant it contained pure poison.’

  ‘I think you’re probably right,’ said the Blind Beak slowly. ‘We are quite obviously dealing with a man who is a paid assassin. Now it becomes clear how his great wealth was amassed.’

  ‘What about Tobias Gill? Did he murder him also?’

  ‘More than likely. From what you have told me, Mr Rawlings, the poor old man stood between Cruttenden and the object of his desire, the unlovely Clariana. I would imagine that that was enough to sign Gill’s death warrant.’

  ‘He has to be stopped,’ said Joe Jago solemnly. ‘He is a menace to society.’

  ‘The thing is, how do we prove what we think? None of the people concerned will admit to hiring a paid killer. We are between a rock and a hard place when it comes to establishing our case.’

  ‘What about the Marquis?’ asked John. ‘He seems to have wanted Cruttenden dead.’

  ‘Probably because he was being blackmailed. That is a well known risk if one engages an assassin to do one’s filthy deeds for one. I doubt that he would talk.’

  ‘Then what do we do?’

  ‘We must use a decoy. Somebody must go in, somebody from the beau monde claiming to have a tiresome relative – it has to be believable for he is a clever devil and may well check – and ask for his services. Then when he agrees to the deed and we hear him say so, we can strike.’

  There was no need to ask who: Coralie’s name hung in the air almost as if it were visible. Indeed there was much hesitation over who would be the first to say it.

  ‘Of course there is one obvious candidate,’ said the Blind Beak eventually.

  ‘I don’t want her anywhere near him,’ answered John vehemently.

  ‘There would be no danger. He would never harm a potential client.’

  ‘Unless he suspected that she was not all she appeared to be.’

  Mr Fielding turned the black bandage in the Apothecary’s direction. ‘But she must go as herself, my friend. She must say that someone, perhaps another actress, perhaps even her sister, is standing in the way of her career. That to reach the top of her profession means more to her than anything else in the world.’

  The words were too close to home and John winced visibly.

  Perhaps he made a small sound, for the Magistrate added, ‘Please don’t be afraid for her, Mr Rawlings. I would have armed men at every door.’

  Joe Jago, who always knew exactly what was going on and who had undoubtedly heard through his own private network that the Apothecary’s affections were now engaged elsewhere, caught John’s eye and winked.

  ‘Of course it will be up to Miss Clive in the end, Sir. Is that not so, Mr Fielding?’

  ‘It is, Jago, it is.’

  John sighed deeply. ‘I suppose you want me to ask her?’

  ‘You would appear to be the obvious choice.’

  ‘My close relationship with Miss Clive has actually come to an end, Sir. We are no longer as intimate as once we were.’

  ‘None the less, you are the nearest to her in terms of age and friendship. Will you put the matter to the young lady?’

  ‘If I do,’ John answered honestly, ‘I will probably try to dissuade her.’

  ‘That’s as may be. Let fate decide.’

  ‘Then on those conditions, I will do as you ask. I shall call on Coralie tomorrow morning.’

  ‘The sooner the better,’ answered the Magistrate. ‘It is high time that Liveryman Cruttenden was brought to book for the evil he has perpetrated.’

  ‘Let’s get the bastard,’ said Joe in layman’s terms.

  ‘Amen to that,’ echoed John, and wished that his heart were not so full of dread.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As usual when it came to Coralie, John felt torn in two. Part of him wanted to see her again, for the sake of gazing at her lovely face and smile as much as anything. The other part dreaded the meeting, for, after all, she had asked him to leave when they had last been together, had rejected him and shown him the door. There could be no denying that their relationship had reached – and indeed passed – the point of no return. Further, there was the fact that he had now surrendered himself totally to the delicious madness of being in love with Emilia. Yet there still lingered the thought that Sir Gabriel and Samuel might be right, that Coralie was like a recurring dream, something that would never quite go away.

  With a resigned shrug of his shoulders, the Apothecary set off next morning to walk to Cecil Street. The path he took brought back memories: of returning from Coralie’s early in the morning after he had first made love to her; of standing outside the house in Cecil Street and hearing Kitty sing to a man with a German accent. The King himself perhaps? Or the great Mr Handel? Whoever, John was riven with bittersweet recollections and felt thoroughly sad by the time he arrived at Miss Clive’s front door.

  Not for nothing was Coralie acclaimed as one of the brightest stars of the London stage. After keeping him waiting half-an-hour she appeared looking radiant in white muslin trimmed with forget-me-not ribbons, her dark hair au naturel tied up with an ice blue scarf.

  ‘John, my dear,’ she said, ‘how sweet of you to visit me. My goodness, doesn’t time hasten? Is it a month, or more?’

  ‘A week or two actually.’

  ‘As little as that? When one is busy it is so hard to tell.’

  He looked at her suspiciously, wondering if the eyes were just a little too bright, the smile just a fraction too merry, but the actress revealed nothing. It seemed that she had already forgotten him, dismissed him into the ranks of former admirers, of which, of course, there were many.

  She poured coffee into a small and exquisite bone china cup and her hand shook not at all. ‘Now, my dear John,’ Coralie said, her green eyes fastening on him, wide and clear, ‘to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’

  Was there a trace of sarcasm in the voice? None that he could hear. Within, John felt more than a flicker of irritation that he had been
forgotten quite so easily. ‘I come on behalf of Mr Fielding.’

  She could have spoken words to the effect that she had guessed he had not called on his own accord, but Coralie merely smiled serenely. ‘A wonderful man. Truth to tell I would like to see more of him and his family, but when one is in the theatre life goes pacify by. Anyway, what can I do for him?’

  ‘He wants you to undertake an errand on his behalf, an errand which I believe might be dangerous and which I would prefer you did not engage to do.’

  The smile softened and the eyes grew wide. ‘How thoughtful you are. Tell me of it.’

  Why, oh why, thought John wretchedly, did he have the terrible feeling that somewhere, deep down in her heart, she was laughing uproariously at him? He cleared his throat. ‘It concerns the poisoning at Apothecaries’ Hall.’

  And he told her everything, just as he had discussed it with the Magistrate and Joe Jago on the previous evening. Coralie looked thoughtful. ‘If what you suppose is correct, then this Cruttenden must be one of the most evil monsters ever spawned.’

  ‘You remember him?’

  ‘Of course I do. The lecherous grey lizard dressed to kill.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing above her fingers. ‘Dressed to kill! Oh la, what have I said?’

  It was funny, very, but John could hardly raise a smile, so upset was he by her attitude towards him. ‘Very droll,’ he said drily.

  Coralie contrived to look contrite and mischievous simultaneously. ‘I’m sorry. This is a serious matter. I must try not to be frivolous.’

  Now she was making him feel middle-aged. John composed his features into a scowl. ‘I believe that ladies always study one another’s clothing,’ he said severely. ‘Did the redhead, Clariana, have diamond buttons on her gown that night?’

  ‘No, indeed not. Remember, I was the one who found her screaming in the street. I had to physically wrestle with the horrid girl. Buttons would have gone flying at that, but none did.’

  John nodded grimly. ‘Much as I thought. Did Cruttenden wear any?’

  ‘Oh yes. As he raised his quizzing glass to stare at me I saw the flash of them at his wrist.’

  ‘Then Clariana is an accessory to her own father’s murder!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I found a diamond button in the very room in which Tobias Gill met his death. When I showed it to Clariana she claimed it was hers and was therefore not an important piece of evidence.’

  ‘Then she deserves to roast in hell,’ said Coralie emphatically. ‘Tell Mr Fielding that I will undertake his commission. Such villainy must not go unpunished. I am free tomorrow evening if that is convenient. I shall await his instructions.’

  ‘But …’

  She put a finger to her lips. ‘Too gallant of you to protest, but I assure you it is in vain.’ Behind her, a long case clock struck the hour. The actress stood up. ‘Good gracious, is that the time? I must go and dress. We are to rehearse a new play this morning. John, my dear, it has been such a joy to see you again. Do call at any time.’ And in one movement she planted a kiss on his cheek, waved her fingers and was gone from the room.

  Feeling thoroughly wrong footed, the Apothecary crammed his hat on his head and left the house.

  Before he had left Bow Street, Joe had drawn John to one side in the entrance hall.

  ‘It is poor Gill’s funeral tomorrow. The Beak has asked me to go, but first I am to call on the Master at Apothecaries’ Hall. In the greatest confidence I am to tell him what has transpired.’

  ‘Are you sure he’ll say nothing?’

  ‘A man in his lordly position? No, Mr Rawlings, he’ll keep mum.’

  ‘What time are you to be at the Hall?’

  ‘Twelve noon. The funeral’s shortly afterwards. I believe the Master wishes to attend. He is much disturbed by all that has happened.’

  ‘Hardly surprising! I’ll meet you there, Joe, and go to the burial with you.’

  ‘I’ll be glad of your company, Sir.’

  Thus they had parted and now, thoroughly discomfited, John looked at his watch and saw that he had plenty of time to walk. At a brisk pace he set off for his destination.

  His first call, on arrival, was to Michael Clarke who beamed a good morning at him. His attitude was so cheerful and friendly that John decided Harriet had said nothing to her husband about their recent conversation.

  ‘My dear friend,’ Michael greeted him, ‘I can never thank you enough for your introduction to Dr Hensey. Did Harriet tell you that he is sending to his old Professor to discover how we might bring Matthew’s sickness under control?’

  ‘She did indeed. What wonderful news.’

  ‘The good man is calling on us tomorrow afternoon at three. It is my fervent wish that you will be there for, alas, I cannot. I am duty bound to pay my last respects to poor Gill and two days with the shop closed are not possible. Further, whatever prescription Dr Hensey gives us, it is you, Mr Rawlings, whom I want to compound for us.’

  ‘But what about yourself? You are more than capable.’

  ‘I trust nobody more than you, Sir.’

  ‘Then I would be honoured.’ They bowed to one another.

  ‘I am closing the shop at noon.’ Michael continued.

  ‘Are the Liverymen intending to be present at the funeral?’

  ‘In force, Sir.’

  ‘Despite Gill’s quarrel with the Society?’

  ‘They are too big for such pettiness,’ Michael answered simply, and John felt a huge surge of pride that he was a member of such a great and powerful body that put minor disagreements behind them and rose to an occasion without rancour.

  ‘In that case I’ll be on my way. I intend to greet the Backlers before I wait on the deceased.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you in church.’

  Crossing the courtyard, John proceeded to the Butler’s pantry and there found Jane Backler, dressed all in black and looking most becoming. She smiled her wide-toothed smile. ‘My dear Mr Rawlings, Sotherton and I were discussing you only the other night. Where have you been? And what has happened about the poisoning? Are you any nearer the truth? Everything has gone so quiet.’

  Very taken with how charming she looked, the Apothecary kissed her hand. ‘Madam, we are near the answer indeed. In fact we have it.’

  The eyes widened and the great grin also. ‘You know who did it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well?’

  He smiled disarmingly. ‘I cannot tell you, not yet. Mr Fielding has still to make an arrest. So I would ask you to keep the knowledge that we are close to a solution to yourself for the moment.’

  ‘But what about Sotherton?’

  ‘Yes, what about him?’ said a voice from the doorway, and they both turned to see that the Beadle stood there.

  His wife immediately adopted a conspiratorial look which John found faintly amusing. ‘Nothing, my dear,’ she said – the least likely phrase to put someone off the scent.

  He came into the room, his rounded belly leading. ‘Mr Rawlings.’ Sotherton inclined his head, the gesture of a superior to one of lesser status.

  John responded with a full blooded bow. ‘Sir, I trust I find you well.’

  ‘You do indeed. Now what was it you were saying?’

  Jane turned to him. ‘Mr Fielding is close to the truth, but neither you nor I are to breathe a word.’

  Sotherton looked pompous. ‘I trust no one we know is involved.’

  John shook his head. ‘I cannot expand, Sir. I simply cannot.’

  ‘Just tell me it wasn’t poor mad Mr Smith,’ said Jane anxiously. ‘I always felt so sorry for that man. Oh Mr Rawlings, tell me it wasn’t him.’

  ‘I have said too much already,’ the Apothecary answered, wishing he had never gone to see them.

  The Beadle became even more grandiose. ‘Jane, you ask too many questions. Mr Rawlings, here, is clearly ill at ease. Now I must go and put on dark weeds. We are about to lay a fellow apothecary in the earth.
’

  Pretentious old beast, John thought, as with effusive politeness Sotherton Backler bowed his way out of the room.

  At two o’clock that afternoon, in the church of St Dunstan’s in the East, at which Tobias Gill had been a regular worshipper, a strange notion for such a bitter man, the murdered apothecary was finally put to rest.

  The Liverymen were true to their word, waiting outside in the bitter December cold until the funeral procession, consisting only of Clariana, like a dark vixen in her stark black, and one elderly man who could have been Gill’s brother, walked in behind the coffin.

  Amongst their number trooped Francis Cruttenden, his long black robe swirling about him, his face drawn and serious. It was hard, John thought, seeing him in that context, to imagine him killing at will. Yet was it? His expression was so closed, his demeanour so suave, that any wickedness could have been hidden.

  As they took their seats in one of the hard wooden pews at the back, Joe nudged him. ‘The Master’s all for clapping him in irons now,’ he whispered.

  ‘If only we could.’

  ‘We daren’t. Our case is too flimsy. What did Miss Clive say to you?’

  ‘She’ll do it, tomorrow night if possible.’

  Joe rubbed his hands together. ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘I insist on being there to protect her.’

  The clerk’s light blue eyes shot him a look that spoke volumes yet said nothing. ‘I’ll pass that on to Mr Fielding, Sir.’

  ‘I shall be at Bow Street first thing tomorrow morning to receive my instructions.’

  Joe chuckled softly, even though he was in church. ‘I see there’ll be no dissuading you, Sir.’

  ‘There most certainly won’t,’ John answered, then was forced to silence as the funeral service began.

  Knowing, because of the diamond button, that Clariana must be fully aware who had murdered her poor wretched father, John found himself studying the girl with a horrible fascination. That anyone in their right mind could so give themselves over to another human creature that they would allow a parent to be killed, then cover up for the murderer, was totally beyond him. So it was that as they processed to the graveside, something the Apothecary usually avoided, he allowed his expression to change briefly to a look of intense dislike. As chance would have it, that was the moment Clariana chose to glance up at him through the dark veils beneath her huge brimmed hat.