Death at the Devil's Tavern

by Deryn Lake

  ‘I was simply going to enquire whether you had the details of Sir William’s funeral.’

  ‘Yes, it is tomorrow morning in Bethnal Green. At St Matthew’s.’

  Thinking how very well informed she was and wondering whether Mr Randolph had once again obliged Amelia with the information, John nodded. ‘Will you be going?’

  ‘Of course I will. Even Lady Hodkin can’t keep me out.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’ The Apothecary bowed in the doorway. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Miss Lambourn, and with a sorrowful motion raised the black-edged handkerchief to her eyes so that he could no longer see her face.

  It being barely six o’clock, John Rawlings, feeling the need to confide his impressions in the Blind Beak, set off from Queens Square to Queen Street, and thence through a maze of alleyways and cuttings into White Hall. From there it was but a short step to Charing Cross. Striking up St Martin’s Lane, the Apothecary wove his way through to Bow Street just as it grew dark. Staring up at the tall facade of the third house on the left, he was delighted to see that candles had been lit in the private rooms, and from this surmised that the family were at home.

  In the event, it turned out that they were just finishing their dinner and were still at table, so John was shown into the salon to await the arrival of the Blind Beak, who came in only a few moments later, followed by Mary Ann bearing a tray set with a decanter of port and two glasses.

  ‘I thought you might be coming, my friend,’ said the Magistrate, indicating the second glass as if he could see it. ‘Nicholas arrived here not long since and said that you had gone to call on the bereaved bride. By the way, when he went to pay in the day’s takings to your father, he found that Sir Gabriel had set forth with a travelling trunk. I imagine that the adventure in Bethnal Green must be about to begin.’

  John frowned. ‘I hope that the scheme is a wise one.’

  The Blind Beak nodded to his niece to pour two glasses. ‘At the very worst, Sir Gabriel will not be offered hospitality and will discover nothing. At best, he will insinuate himself into Lady Hodkin’s confidence and find out everything that we want to know.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I hear doubt in your voice. Why is that?’

  ‘Because I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that knowing the contents of the will is vital to this puzzle. And even should they trust my father like a brother, the reading of the last testament is something he will not be invited to attend. Furthermore, Luke Challon is obviously trying to avoid giving me any further information about it because he has not called as promised.’

  ‘Quite true, and with that in mind I have made some enquiries of my own. It turns out that Mr Roger Hartfield, a dandy-cock much intimidated by this office, when asked by Joe Jago to reveal the identity of his father’s lawyer, promptly did so. Therefore a request has been sent to the man of learning this very day asking him to disclose the substance of Sir William’s will to my representative.’

  John smiled into his port glass. ‘Request?’ he repeated with irony.

  The Blind Beak laughed. ‘A strong one, admittedly. You are to go and see him tomorrow evening, Mr Rawlings. After the will has been read to the family. Now, what of Miss Lambourn? Is she the horrid whore that Roger described?’

  ‘Possibly she is but she is also very beautiful, and of very humble birth, just the sort of girl that Lady Hodkin would detest. I rather liked her.’

  ‘Is she sincere in her grief?’

  ‘She certainly seems very upset, though whether it is through a broken heart or simply because her provider has gone, it is difficult to say.’

  ‘But she might now find herself very wealthy indeed.’

  ‘Indeed she might. Anyway, three interesting things emerged from our conversation.’

  ‘And what were they?’

  ‘It seems that Valentine Randolph . .’

  ‘Remind me of him.’

  ‘The victim’s office manager. A strange individual, not yet recovered from some adolescent love affair apparently. However, it was he who told Amelia Lambourn of her future husband’s death but before he had been officially informed of it himself.’

  Mr Fielding sipped his port and absorbed this information in silence. Eventually he said, ‘The sequence of events was that three days after the murder you called at St James’s Square and told those present of Sir William’s death. After which Roger Hartfield wrote to the members of the family residing in Bethnal Green. It was only then that Luke Challon travelled to Wapping and informed Sir William’s office staff.’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘And Mr Randolph told Miss Lambourn …?’

  ‘On the morning after I had been to St James’s Square.’

  ‘Then presumably somebody from that house was in touch with him.’

  ‘Yes, but I wonder why whoever it was didn’t bother to tell Luke that Randolph knew. It would have saved him an awkward journey. There’s another thing, too.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘A person unknown has given Amelia the time and place of the funeral. For someone supposedly so shunned she is astonishingly well informed.’

  The Blind Beak’s black bandage veered in John’s direction. ‘Mr Randolph again?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Why do you say that? Do you believe it could be somebody else?’

  The Apothecary shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Sir. I really don’t. All I do know is that it would be a very interesting exercise to look into the past of Sir William’s affianced bride. I think a visit to Islington Spa might be called for. I shall contact Samuel forthwith.’

  ‘A splendid notion. Now tell me the third thing you discovered.’

  ‘Miss Lambourn lied to me about leaving her house on the night before the wedding.’

  ‘Why should she do that?’

  ‘Because it is my belief she was at The Devil’s Tavern. The landlord told me that a bride had stayed there on the previous evening and I know instinctively it was her.’

  ‘Then that puts her at the very spot where the body was discovered.’ The Blind Beak turned to the fire, just as if he were staring into the flames. ‘Go to Islington as soon as you can, Mr Rawlings. I feel there is something that does not quite ring true about Miss Amelia.’

  John nodded in agreement. Then, hearing the Apothecary put his glass down and stand up, the Magistrate moved his head to follow the sound. ‘Surely you are not off there now, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘No, I think I might call on the Comte and Comtesse de Vignolles. As my father is away and not expecting me, it seems an ideal opportunity.’

  John Fielding smiled. ‘I take it you are attending the funeral tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, and therefore will require Nicholas. Thank you again for that introduction, Sir. I really couldn’t have managed without him.’

  ‘I thought the boy might be useful,’ the Blind Beak answered laconically, pouring himself another glass of port. ‘Good luck, Mr Rawlings. Keep your eyes open. The burial should provide an ideal opportunity to study all those involved.’

  ‘It will be fascinating,’ answered John as he bowed in the doorway and took his leave.

  It was just as dusk was falling and John Rawlings was making his way into the Public Office that the undertaker’s mute posted outside the wrought-iron gates of Kirby Hall nearly forgot his role and shouted aloud in alarm. For out of the gloaming, travelling at quite some speed, came a black coach pulled by an elegant team of snow white horses, which cast a wheel at the very moment it drew level with the portals. In fact so close was it that the mute, an ethereal child with a wistful expression, clad overall in sombre black, was forced to leap to one side in a most energetic manner, a move not at all suited to his general air of having communication only with the other world and knowing nothing of the wickedness of this. Meanwhile, thanks to the quick thinking of the coachman, an accident was avoided and the carriage, though dipping on one side, m
anaged to remain upright. Narrowing his gaze, the mute watched as steps were let down by the postillion and a very fine gentleman of noble stature descended.

  ‘Gracious heavens,’ this being said, his eyes taking in the dark wreath upon the gate and the somewhat dishevelled mute struggling to regain his equilibrium. ‘I do believe this is a house of mourning.’

  ‘That it clearly is, Sir Gabriel,’ the coachman answered cheerfully. ‘Still I must disturb them for all their sadness.’

  ‘No.’ The fine man shook his head. ‘If anyone is to disturb their repose it should be I.’

  ‘Then I’ll accompany you, Sir.’ And the coachman nodded to the gatekeeper, who had come from his lodge to see what was amiss, to allow them entry, which he did with a grin as Sir Gabriel tossed him a coin.

  The mute stared after the departing figures disconsolately, hoping that some mourners would arrive soon, so that he could walk down the drive before them, his gait very solemn, and perhaps earn a tip or two for himself. Meanwhile, without the mute’s aid, Sir Gabriel had reached the front door and had allowed his coachman to pull the bell. Then he stood back, wondering which one of the extraordinary family that John had described so accurately on the previous evening, would give permission for him to enter.

  In the event, Sir Gabriel was somewhat confused, for a person entered the small salon into which he had been shown who fitted none of the portraits that John’s words had so clearly conjured. Nearly as tall as Sir Gabriel himself and without an ounce of spare flesh upon his wiry frame, this man had dark brown hair which curled slightly over his cravat, and eyes of an almost identical shade. His skin, too, was of a brownish hue and John’s father took a shrewd guess that this individual had spent a fair amount of time in a hot climate. Wondering if this could possibly be Hugh, the brother that John had not yet met, Sir Gabriel gave a bow that dazzled with its grace.

  ‘My dear Sir,’ he said, ‘believe me, nobody could be more mortified than I to have thrust myself upon you at a time of bereavement, but the fact of the matter is that my coach cast a wheel at your very gates. I wondered, therefore, if you could tell me where I might find the nearest wheelwright, so that I might be on my way once more.’

  Hugh, if it was he, hesitated and at that moment the door to the salon flew open unceremoniously. Gazing round, Sir Gabriel saw a grim faced old woman, a pug whom she closely resembled clutched to her bosom, glaring into the room to see what was going on. Knowing at once who this must be, he gave a low salute which caused the top of his wig to brush against the floor.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘allow me to introduce myself. Gabriel Kent, Knight, of Nassau Street, Soho. A most unfortunate accident brings me to your house of sorrow and for this I humbly apologise.’

  The old snob simpered. ‘Cannot be helped, Sir. Cannot be helped. Now, what can we do to assist you?’

  ‘Merely give me the whereabouts of the nearest wheelwright so that he might effect a repair and I can continue my journey.’

  Lady Hodkin frowned. ‘Who does Sir Gabriel require, Hugh, eh?’

  ‘I’m not too sure but I believe the nearest chap is in Camel Row.’

  ‘In Mile End New Town? That’s a fair step, Sir.’

  ‘My postillion could go.’

  She looked dubious. ‘It’s not a safe or easy walk after dark. Can you send a carriage, Hugh?’

  ‘No, Grandmother, not at the moment. We are just about to dine, if you remember. Should we leave it much later we will get caught up with the visitors come to see Father laid out.’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ said Sir Gabriel mournfully. ‘Madam, I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough. I shall walk to the nearest hostelry and there find rooms for myself and my servants.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ snapped Lady Hodkin, glaring at Hugh and loosening her hold on the dog which cascaded to the floor like a malevolent waterfall. ‘What? Would I have the word go round town that we behave like barbarians in Kirby Hall? Sir, you must join us for dinner. Later, transport will be arranged so that you may find the wheelwright in safety. Meanwhile, direct your servants to the kitchen where they shall be given something to eat.’

  ‘Your humble servant, Ma’am.’ Sir Gabriel bowed yet again.

  ‘The pleasure is entirely mine, Sir. Now I shall get a footman to direct you to our facilities, quite the latest thing, you know. Then you must join us in the red salon for sherry.’

  Lady Hodkin gave the nearest she could ever get to a coquettish smile and hurried from the room, the pug limping in her wake.

  Sir Gabriel coughed deferentially. ‘I do apologise for this intrusion,’ he said, looking suitably anguished.

  Hugh gave a wintry smile. ‘It is of no consequence. Now, if you will forgive me, I have much to think about. It is not pleasant to return from a trip overseas to be informed that one’s father is dead. One is not prepared, either physically or mentally, if you understand me.’

  ‘Indeed I do and I sympathise deeply. May I ask when this happened?’

  ‘Two days ago. The ship docked at the Customs Quays, I disembarked and went to my father’s office in Wapping, only to find his private secretary had been there to break the news of his tragic demise.’ Unexpectedly, a sob escaped from Hugh’s tight lips. ‘D’you know, I think I would have fainted to the floor had it not been for Valentine Randolph.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘The office manager. Fortunately he caught me in his arms as I staggered, then gave me brandy. I would not have retained consciousness if he had not saved me.’

  ‘Mr Randolph sounds just the sort of person to have around in a crisis. Will he be joining us for dinner tonight?’

  ‘No, my grandmother has fallen out with him over some imagined slight. He is to be allowed to the wake tomorrow, but that is all.’

  ‘The funeral is tomorrow! Oh, I am so sorry …’

  But Sir Gabriel got no further. The door opened once more to reveal a little dark creature so similar to Hugh to look at that John’s father instantly took her for his sister.

  Not noticing the visitor she flew to Hugh’s side. ‘I really don’t know what this family is coming to,’ she said crossly. ‘Hesther’s in a regular fluster. Lady Hodkin has made her change into her best black and told her to put paint on her face, just like some cheap houri from a harem. Apparently, some man has called …’

  ‘Really?’ said Hugh, so loudly that the woman jumped. He took her arm and whirled her round. ‘Maud, may I present to you Sir Gabriel Kent? His coach met with an accident at our very gates and Grandmama has invited him to dine with us while she decides what’s best to be done. Sir Gabriel, this is my wife, Maud.’

  Quite amazed by the living proof of the saying that people who dwell together grow to look the same, John’s father gave a charming smile.

  ‘Madam, I am most sincere in my apologies …’

  But yet again he was cut short, this time by the arrival of the footman, come to conduct him to the niche in the hall housing the plunger closet. Somewhat daunted, Sir Gabriel followed him meekly. A quarter of an hour later and much in need of a restorative sherry, he was taken to the red salon where the family, all in black with one glaring exception, was assembled. Testing his skill at remembering, Sir Gabriel looked around him.

  Seated in a large chair by the fire was old Lady Hodkin, whilst behind her, standing in a somewhat deferential pose, was a middle-aged woman whom he took to be Hesther. Having heard John remark on her notably plain appearance, Sir Gabriel was aware that tonight the poor creature had indeed made an effort. Rather badly, in a very hit or miss style but there for all that, was a gallant attempt at the use of cosmetics. Admittedly, the cheeks were too rouged, the lips too carmined, whilst the use of patches was eccentric to say the least, but still there was a glow in Hesther’s darkened eyes which burned even more brightly when Sir Gabriel bowed in her direction.

  Besides these two females there were three others present. Hugh’s wife Maud, who made a deep curtsey, obviou
sly keen to make a good impression this time, and a dark beautiful strong woman whose lovely neck revealed her to be Sir William’s widowed daughter-in-law, Lydia. Having saluted them, Sir Gabriel turned to the third, the burnished Juliette. Looking as luscious as a fruit with her pale skin and glowing hair, she was studiously ignoring her twin brother, who had moved away from the family group and was presently studying a piece of music over by the harpsichord. Wondering if the siblings had quarrelled over something, Sir Gabriel turned to regard the rest of the company.

  Roger was instantly apparent because of his gorgeous clothes and fulsome manner. Tonight, he wore garter blue silk breeches which fitted within an inch of his life, together with a coat of pale purple velvet turned up with lemon colour, the ensemble completed by lilac stockings. Though the rest of the family had already put on mourning, the eldest son was obviously cocking a snook at convention and waiting until tomorrow, Sir Gabriel thought. Roger stared, quite clearly thunderstruck, at Sir Gabriel’s starkly eye-catching evening clothes, effected as ever in deepest black and glittering silver.

  In stark contrast to the blood’s vivid ensemble, a traditionally handsome, serious young man who had to be Luke Challon, stood stiff-legged and clearly unhappy, helping himself unobserved from the sherry decanter. Whilst Hugh, very much as if he were now master of the house, stood directly in front of the fire, warming his posterior and smiling around him urbanely.

  So this, John’s father thought, was all of them, with the exception of Amelia Lambourn and Valentine Randolph. Was it from these ranks that a killer had risen up and struck Sir William a mortal blow? Or had someone removed from the family been responsible? With a clutch at his heart, Sir Gabriel turned to face the group, introduced himself, made a general speech of apology for intruding at such a sensitive time, then devoted his attention to Lady Hodkin, certain that if she approved of him he would be able to find out much that John had been prevented from doing.

  As it happened, he had a stroke of luck he could not have guessed at. Lady Hodkin proved to have a fondness for drink, a fact which combined to make her both irritable and garrulous. Trading on this, Sir Gabriel signalled to the footman every time her glass was empty, meanwhile behaving in so charming a manner that she was soon treating him as a confidant and directing her irascibility towards the others. Poor Hesther, who sat tongue-tied and flushed on Sir Gabriel’s other side, came in for her share of scorn from which he rescued her so cleverly that she looked at him from then on with dog-like devotion.