by Deryn Lake
‘She spoke very highly of you,’ John heard Coralie answer.
‘Did she now? Umr. Tell me, Miss …’
‘Clive, Coralie Clive. I act, you know.’
‘I thought your features were familiar. I wondered where I had seen you, and only recently at that.’
‘I am currently appearing at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. You probably noticed me there.’
Cruttenden’s face suddenly came into view and his smile was that of a wolf. ‘No, not at the play.’ He paused, looking thoughtful, then said, ‘Oh yes, I remember now. It was at an Assembly. You were in the company of an irritating young man called Rawlings. He is supposedly an apothecary, but I have heard a rumour that he is somehow connected with the law. I do trust he is not a friend of yours.’
Coralie stood up and was clearly visible. She had removed her mask, and John, knowing her so well, could see at once that she was worried. Her plan was not working. She was being forced to think where she stood.
She turned to Cruttenden, her rustling garments exuding a perfume which John could smell even in his hiding place. ‘It is about him that I came to see you,’ Coralie said, and she gave a light laugh that would not have disgraced any stage.
‘Really?’ The Liveryman sounded interested.
‘Yes. To cut straight to the heart of the matter, Sir, the bastard has betrayed me. He went off with another woman, leaving me high and dry. God’s life but I hate him for what he did. How dare he abandon me so?’
In his hiding place, the Apothecary squirmed.
‘I could kill him,’ the actress shouted, then burst into a veritable flood of weeping.
‘There, there.’ Cruttenden stood up and folded Coralie into his arms. John felt physically sick.
From his considerable height, the Liveryman looked down into the actress’s face. ‘You are a very beautiful girl, my dear. One of the loveliest I have ever seen.’
She gazed up at him with trembling lips. ‘Then will you help me? I can repay you.’
‘How, my dear?’
‘That would depend.’ Rainbows were appearing from behind the tears and she was laughing and playful now.
‘Let us sit down and discuss the matter.’ Cruttenden indicated a couch and took a seat next to that of Coralie. He laid a long hand over one of hers. ‘This is a very sad story you have just told me. It shames me that one of my gender could behave so badly.’
‘It was particularly hurtful since we were lovers of longstanding.’
In his hiding place, John felt sicker than ever.
‘Wretched little beast. I never liked the look of him. But tell me, pretty lady, how do you think I can help?’
Coralie raised winsome eyes. ‘Miss Ebury – in her cups admittedly – did say that you had eased the passage of Lord Briggs from this wearisome life of ours.’
‘Did she now?’
‘Yes, but it may well have been a falsehood.’
‘That is possible.’
‘But if it were true, if you had done her that most remarkable favour, I just wondered – only wondered, mark you – if you might do a similar service for me.’
Cruttenden chuckled, a cold and sinister sound. ‘Are you saying, dear Miss Clive, that you want the upstart Rawlings removed?’
‘Yes, permanently.’
‘And if I were to do such a thing, what would be my reward?’
‘You would only have to name it, Sir.’
The Liveryman’s lecherous eyes swept Coralie’s body. ‘Anything?’
‘Anything,’ she whispered softly.
He caught her to him and swept a long deep kiss on to her lips. Without protest, the actress melted against him, as if she were loving every minute, in fact she was returning the man’s kisses. Hardly able to contain himself, John watched in horror.
‘You’ll kill him for me?’ murmured Coralie, as they drew briefly apart.
‘Yes,’ answered Cruttenden, equally quietly, and bent his head to kiss her breasts.
And it was then, at that most intimate of moments, that the door opened, and what the Apothecary could only see as a white-faced fury flung itself into the room.
‘You faithless bastard!’ screamed Clariana. She turned on Coralie whom she began to beat about the head and neck. ‘You filthy whore!’
Taken by surprise, Cruttenden stood defenceless for a moment or two, then he swung a swingeing blow at Clariana which, fortunately for her, missed its target.
The girl appeared to go crazy, rending at the Liveryman with nails, kicking him viciously. ‘You bloody murderer. I’ll tell the world what I know. I’ll say to them how you killed my father. You’re not fit to live. Bastard, bastard, bastard!’
She wheeled from him to Coralie, on whom she landed such a clout that the girl fell back on to the floor, semiconscious. Given this chance, Clariana kicked the actress repeatedly, and was only stopped by Cruttenden, who picked her bodily off her feet and flung her across the room.
John had had enough. He burst from his hiding place shouting, ‘Stop or I’ll shoot.’
It seemed the same idea had simultaneously occurred to Joe, who erupted from a large chest, waving a formidable pistol. ‘Mr Francis Cruttenden,’ he shouted, ‘I arrest you in the name of the Public Office, Bow Street, on a charge of conspiring to kill. Come with me, Sir.’
The Runners burst in through a long window which they had managed to force open.
‘Take him,’ ordered Joe.
‘Piss you!’ shouted Cruttenden, and was past them and out of the window as quickly as they had come through it.
‘After him,’ Joe commanded, then swung round on Clariana, who had totally lost control and was attempting to gouge out his eyes with her evil nails. Without pausing for breath, the clerk heaved a blow to her jaw which knocked the hellcat senseless. ‘Silly woman,’ he said, and turned back to John who, to his shame, laughed.
‘Nicholas,’ the Apothecary called, as he attempted to control himself ‘You’re wanted, quickly.’ He leant over Coralie and applied every bit of skill he had into tending her.
She opened her eyes and spoke through a lip that had started to swell. ‘Mr Rawlings, how nice to see you.’
‘Be quiet. I’m about to take you to bed upstairs. I feel we’ll all be staying at this house tonight.’
She looked at him very seriously. ‘If I go to bed, I will put myself there. You and I shall not be alone in a bedroom again, John.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just in case we did something we might regret. Your path is clear now, my friend. Our goodbyes are said.’
Then she closed her eyes and refused to speak further.
An hour later, Joe, John and Nicholas, together with two of the Runners, sat at Francis Cruttenden’s dining table being served a hearty supper by his servants. The other two of the party had already left, taking Clariana, bound hand and foot, to Bow Street, after Jago had formally arrested her on a charge of accessory to murder. She had gone in the Flying Coach and was to be transported over Westminster Bridge rather than risk her escaping by water.
As John came downstairs after checking Coralie, who was now sleeping peacefully, Runner Marriott was speaking.
‘… we couldn’t stop it, Sir. It all happened so quickly.’
‘What’s this?’ asked John.
Joe looked grim. ‘Cruttenden’s gone into the river and we’ve lost him in the darkness.’
‘Surely he can’t swim far in this icy cold?’
The Runner gave a humourless laugh. ‘He won’t be swimming anywhere, Mr Rawlings. Somebody dealt him a death blow.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘As we sprinted after him, a figure detached itself from some bushes and swung him such a clout with a club that he staggered and fell into the Thames. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in that state. He must have drowned immediately.’
‘Who did it? Did you catch them?’
‘No. We gave chase but he or she was too quick for us. Sped off like l
ightning and knew their way round, too. Soon disappeared into the night without trace.’
‘Didn’t you even catch a glimpse?’
‘Not a glimpse, Sir. Could have been anyone. But then Master Cruttenden had a lot of enemies, I believe. Wasn’t he attacked recently?’
John looked thoughtful. ‘Yes he was.’
‘Then, Sir, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,’ said the Runner with an air of resignation.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was so cold that ice had formed in the water of the fountain which played in the gardens round which the graceful houses of Hanover Square were built. Indeed the roofs of those same houses gleamed with frost despite the fact that it was already getting on for noon.
With the reputation of being something of a Whig stronghold, Hanover Square, deserted on this wintry day, not only housed many important people but even boasted its own church, St George’s, at which the great Mr Handel, very ancient and very blind, had been a churchwarden. John, out of curiosity, had once attended a service there and watched the grand old man sitting in his own pew. Rumours had abounded even then that at an advanced age the celebrated musician had fallen in love with Kitty Clive, who had created the role of Delilah in the first production of his oratorio, Samson. Whether this was true or not even John, with his knowledge of the family, couldn’t say. But he could vividly remember the night he had lingered outside the home of the Clive sisters and heard Kitty sing to an unknown German admirer.
But now he stood outside another house, number twelve Hanover Square, ringing the bell for admittance and wondering whether his great friend, Serafina de Vignolles, would allow him to visit her in her extremely pregnant state. He had much to discuss with her. Firstly how Francis Cruttenden, whom he had disliked on sight, had been responsible for the poisoning at Apothecaries’ Hall. And, much more importantly, how his relationship with Coralie was finally at an end and how he had a new sweetheart, a young and beautiful woman with whom he was falling somewhat seriously in love.
The footman who had answered the door reappeared in the entrance hall where John waited.
‘Madame la Comtesse will see you for a short while, Sir. She is in the salon. If you would be good enough to follow me.’
The servant led the way and they climbed the sweep of the exquisite staircase to a first floor landing. Here the footman threw open a pair of double doors.
‘Mr Rawlings, Ma’am.’
‘Ah John,’ Serafina called from within, ‘come in, do.’
She was lying on her duchesse en bateau, the curtains partially drawn to protect her eyes, and the Apothecary was vividly reminded of the first occasion on which he had met her. He had been investigating a mysterious death in the Dark Walk at Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens at that time but he had still found time to fall in love with her, or rather with her alter ego, the Masked Lady. Now Serafina was his friend, his confidante, someone with whom the Apothecary needed to discuss the twists and turns of his personal life. With a smile, John drew close to her couch.
He had never seen her so drawn, in fact Serafina looked utterly exhausted. She waved a hand at him feebly.
‘My dear, if it had been anyone else but you I would most certainly have refused to see them. I have had quite the most wearisome night and morning. My back has ached and twinged constantly. I simply cannot find a comfortable position in which to lie. In fact Louis has taken Italia out in order to give me some peace and quiet, in the hope I might sleep.’
Because he knew her so well, the Apothecary was able to say, ‘Sit up a bit and I will rub your back for you. The pressure of hands can often relieve pain.’
Serafina struggled to rise, her distended body in the way whichever move she made.
‘Oh I shall be glad to get shot of this little devil. I feel if I get any bigger I shall burst.’
‘When is it due?’
‘Supposedly another five weeks or so, but I think it will be before then.’
John slipped his hands behind her and started to massage the length of her spine.
‘I have a new lady love.’
‘I thought you might.’
‘Why?’
‘Because last time I saw you you were so over-friendly to Coralie.’
‘You notice too much.’
‘A sign of a good gambler.’ Serafina closed her eyes. ‘My pain is easing. You are doing me good.’
‘Sign of a good apothecary,’ John answered, and they laughed.
Serafina looked up. ‘I forget my manners, Sir. Let me offer you some refreshment.’
‘Only if you are having something.’
‘I thought a glass of canary might raise my spirits.’
‘Then I shall join you. Do you want me to summon a servant?’
‘No, the exercise will be good for me. I insist. Don’t pull that face.’
With a mighty effort Serafina heaved herself off the duchesse en bateau and waddled, there was no other word to describe her gait, towards the bellrope. Then she stopped, let out a mighty cry as her hand flew to her back, and turned on John a look of consternation.
‘My God, it’s coming. I had no idea. Send someone for Dr Drake. Quick, John, quick.’
He shot to the door and down the stairs, collaring the first footman who came into view.
‘Madam has gone into labour. Send your fastest boy to Dr Drake’s house and ask the physician to come immediately. Meanwhile, get me some towels, a bowl and several ewers of warm water. Oh, and some brandy wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘Are you going to deliver the child, Sir?’ the servant asked, looking horrified.
‘If Dr Drake doesn’t hurry it looks as if I might have to.’
Serafina was back on her couch, supine and straining, when he returned to the room. She rolled a desperate eye at him. ‘I want to push the little beast. I must have been in travail for hours.’
‘You’ll never get the child out like that,’ said John. ‘You’re too flat. Do it the gypsy girl’s way. They think nothing of it.’
‘How do you know what they do?’
‘My Master delivered one once. We were out picking simples and there she was crouching beside the footpath. Did the whole thing with great despatch. Now come on, Serafina. Hitch up your gown.’
‘Oh take the damned thing off me.’
‘What do you want for your modesty?’
‘Ask Louis’s man to bring me one of my husband’s shirts.’
She pushed again at that, loudly and distinctly. John heaved her upright, arranging as many pillows as he could find behind her back. There was a knocking at the door and the footman, looking absolutely petrified, appeared.
‘The things you ordered, Sir.’
John did not turn round. ‘Go and get one of the Master’s shirts,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Be quick about it.’
For Serafina was struggling to undress herself, rending at her elegant gown which was now impeding everything she was doing. John thought, most wryly, that several years ago he would have given much to see her naked, and now his wish was being granted in the most extraordinary circumstances.
A female kitchen servant came in with the shirt. ‘Do you want me to stay, Sir?’
‘Yes, as long as you don’t faint.’
‘I’m one of sixteen, Sir. I’ve seen my mam pop ’em out many a time.’
‘Good, then make sure that water stays warm. Now take my coat, there’s a good girl, and fetch my herb knife out of the pocket. Wash it thoroughly in the bowl.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Serafina swore violently. ‘John, hold me.’
‘The girl can do that. I need your fundament in the air, Ma’am. That’s where I shall be stationed. Now, come along. Into a ball, chin down.’
‘Damn you!’
‘Would you prefer to stand?’
‘No, but prop me up more.’
John turned to the servant. ‘Pillows from the beds, my dear. When you’ve brought them put them behind the mistress’s back.’
‘My mam’s got a special birthing chair.’
‘Well, it isn’t here, is it! So we must do the best we can.’
He took Serafina’s feet and put them against his chest, just beneath the shoulders. ‘Push against me.’
The Comtesse gave an almighty heave and the first sign of the head appeared.
‘He’s dark,’ said John.
‘Can you see him?’
‘Yes. We’ll have him before long.’
‘Oh God,’ said Serafina.
‘Stop talking, you’re wasting energy. Put your chin down, don’t push in your throat.’
‘You’re a bastard. I hate you.’
‘I love you.’
‘You love everybody.’
Now she worked in earnest, with no word to anyone. She approached the task, as Serafina did with most things, utterly determined to do it quickly and to do it well. With the kitchen maid holding her mistress tightly, John Rawlings, apothecary of Shug Lane, eased Serafina’s child out into the world, gave the boy a good shake to start his heart up, as John’s old Master used to say quite ridiculously, cut the cord with his herb knife and handed the Comtesse her son. Then he drank the brandy.
He turned to the girl. ‘To the kitchen, quick. We must keep this little fellow warm. I don’t think he was meant for the world just yet.’
‘My mam always kept her early ones by the hearth, in a box with a hot brick by. She never lost one.’
‘Then we’ll do exactly what she did. Get the fire stoked up in Madam’s bedroom. The little chap can lie there.’
The girl rushed from the room but not before she had given Serafina a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Begging pardon for the familiarity, Ma’am, but I never thought a lady could do it so good.’
‘I think that was a compliment,’ said the Comtesse as the door closed behind her.
‘It was but you deserved it, gypsy girl.’
‘This little person is going to be called John.’
‘I am honoured.’
‘John Gabriel Louis. Now, how about a glass of champagne?’
‘I’ll ring for service,’ said the Apothecary, realising as he crossed to the bell rope that not only was he sweating like a racehorse but shaking like a beast that had just won a truly hard race.
