Death on the Rocks

by Deryn Lake

  ‘So it was the wretched Lady Tyninghame all along?’

  ‘I came to the conclusion, Sir John, that she was mentally impaired in some way. It was as if two people lived inside her. The most terrible thing was that she tried to kill her own son. Or so Gilbert Farr, the Constable, wrote to me recently.’

  ‘I remember a case I had before me some while ago. It concerned a Frenchman named D’Eon. To come to the heart of the matter, rumours flew that he was a woman impersonating a man. I thought otherwise. I believed him to be a man who truly believed that he was a woman. Not quite the same as the Tyninghame case, but I am quite positive that such mental disorders can sometimes be found.’

  John nodded, then said, ‘There is something else that is of concern to me.’

  ‘I had wondered if there was.’

  ‘I have had a letter inviting me to go to Boston on a matter of business. I would like to go, but how can I? How can I leave my children?’

  The Magistrate thought for a few minutes, then said, ‘Can you not take them?’

  ‘But the hardships of the journey … Would it not be wrong to expose them to such?’

  Sir John scratched his chin with a long, shapely finger. ‘The twins are under three, are they not?’

  ‘You are very well informed.’

  ‘Jago keeps me up-to-date with all that goes on, and if he leaves anything out my wife more than compensates.’

  The Magistrate rumbled his great laugh, which was so addictive that John found himself laughing alongside.

  ‘But Rose is at school and loves it so much. It would be cruel to take her away.’

  The Magistrate poured himself another glass of punch and offered one to John, who accepted.

  ‘Well, it seems to me that you must do the least cruel thing.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘To take the children with you. The boys hardly know who you are – or so I’ve been told – and by the time that you return from such an excursion would regard you as a complete stranger. As for Rose, her love for you is so important to her that to break the bond would be ruthless. They have schools in Boston, don’t they? Or are the Colonies breeding a race of savages? So there’s your answer, my dear fellow. Take your talents to the Americas.’

  John sipped from his glass. ‘Thank you, Sir. Do you know, I would not have even considered such an action had my father been alive. But now …’

  He did not finish what he was about to say and it was the blind man who spoke.

  ‘Here’s to your great adventure, my friend. May the Colonies bring you well-earned success.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  ‘God bless you, John.’

  And John Rawlings was so surprised to be addressed by his first name that he could merely answer, ‘That is only the second time you have done that, Sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Called me John.’

  The Magistrate bellowed a laugh. ‘Well, damme, so it is, Mr Rawlings. So it is.’

  So it had come at last. The moment of departure. John felt at that second that he didn’t want to go, that he would change his mind at the last minute and stay with his friends on the quayside. For they were all there: Samuel, extremely weighty; Serafina, extremely thin; Joe Jago, looking raffish; Jacquetta and Gideon, looking in love; Nicholas Dawkins and Olivia, she with another baby on the way; and last but very far from least there was Robin Hazell, now on the threshold of manhood, and young Fred, scarcely an inch taller.

  John had made the household arrangements some weeks earlier. He had written to Josiah Hallowell and told him that he would be obliged if he could find lodging for six people, three adults and three children. Hannah had jumped at the chance of going to the Colonies, while Irish Tom had wept when John had given him notice and declared that he would rather work as a hand on the ship than be separated from everything he held dear. Number 2, Nassau Street, had now become the residence of Gideon and his wife, while the shop at Shug Lane would become Gideon’s domain, along with the two apprentices.

  ‘But it’s not as if I’m going for ever,’ said John as he hugged Samuel closely.

  ‘I should damned well say you’re not,’ replied his oldest companion, applying a large handkerchief.

  Joe Jago, man of mystery and dear friend, gave John a low bow and said, ‘It’s been a pleasure working with you, my good Sir.’

  Serafina, the former Masked Lady and the greatest gambler in London, threw her elegant racehorse frame into John’s arms and cried openly.

  Gideon grinned farewell and his wife wept. Nicholas buried his face in his wife’s shoulder, while little Fred and Robin bowed in unison as John and his party mounted the gangplank. A fiddler started to play and everyone was shouting out ‘Goodbye’ as the elegant cutter, Breath of the Sea, slipped its moorings.

  John’s eyes were full of tears as Rose said in her politest voice, ‘May I walk round and see the ship, Papa?’

  ‘Yes, but be very careful. I don’t want you falling overboard.’

  ‘I promise to be good.’

  John was weeping like a child and it was only the steadying arm of Tom that stopped him swimming to shore.

  ‘Hang on, John. ’Tis a great adventure we’re going to have.’

  ‘I’m a fool,’ the Apothecary answered, wiping his eyes.

  Rose came running back, bubbling with fun. ‘Oh, Papa, I’ve met such a nice man. He bowed to me and I gave him my best curtsey.’

  ‘You little witch. What pranks are you playing talking to strange men.’

  ‘But Papa, I know you’re really going to like him. He told me his name.’

  ‘And what is it, sweetheart?’

  ‘It’s Julian Wychwood. He said he was going to the Americas to find his mother’s fortune.’

  John turned to Tom and they stared at one another before they both started to laugh.

  ‘Well, well,’ said John Rawlings, ‘this is going to be a very strange adventure indeed.’

  Historical Note

  Old readers of the John Rawlings series will know that he actually lived and dwelt in eighteenth-century London, serving as an Apothecary. The adventures which I have given him have, of course, been works of fiction. I have had one or two enquiries from readers who believed that I have abandoned John Rawlings in favour of Nick Lawrence, an inoffensive vicar in a village in sleepy Sussex. This is most definitely not the case and John will continue as long as I do, I promise. But Nick and his fellow villagers are quite charming in their way and I suggest that you might be interested in dipping into one of their adventures by way of a change.

  Samuel Foote, the actor with the wooden leg, actually lived a very full and vibrant life. Those interested in finding out more could not do better than read a truly delightful book, Mr Foote’s Other Leg by Ian Kelly, published by Picador.

  I found the young men working as archivists in Bristol most delightful and friendly and, through them I came across a little snippet which I thought I would pass on to you.

  ‘3rd September, 1721, St Michael on the Mount Church, marriage of Commodore and Venus, two negroes.’

  The slave trade was unspeakably vile, but it had its upside as well. Sometimes the negroes adapted and became family friends and pets, even respected businessmen and professionals. In other cases they were treated worse than dogs. A microcosm of everyday life, perhaps.

  I hope you enjoy this book and that you will contact me via my website www.derynlake.com if you like it.