Death at the Devil's Tavern

by Deryn Lake

  Samuel had not only already arrived but had downed a pint of ale and secured a tavern chair, luxury indeed. After some searching, the Apothecary managed to locate a stool, the only seating left, and thus, squeezed in by a table, the two friends ordered a large meal consisting of dressed meats carved by the landlord, capons in pastry and various custards, all for the price of three shillings.

  ‘And what,’ asked Samuel, with his mouth stuffed full, ‘did you learn?’

  John rolled his eyes, unable to speak. Then gave a convulsive swallow and said, ‘What did I not! It was only Sir William’s death that prevented him from signing a new will in which Amelia was named as principal legatee. Everyone else’s portion would have been reduced to a minor share, and the business was destined to pass into the hands of Luke Challon, the secretary, and Valentine Randolph, the man we saw at The Devil’s Tavern.’

  ‘Hare and hounds!’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Then that means one of the others murdered the old chap in order to stop him signing.’

  ‘Probably, unless …’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless that is too easy a conclusion to come to. Suppose, just for a moment, that nobody other than the lawyer was aware of the new will. It is said that ignorance is bliss. If that is so, why kill Sir William?

  ‘To get their hands on the inheritance sooner?’

  ‘Why risk the rope when the money will come eventually?’

  Samuel shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. You’ve foxed me with that.’

  John took another mouthful and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘Do you know, it occurs to me that this might yet be a crime of passion.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘You saw Amelia Lambourn at the funeral; She is remarkably pretty is she not?’

  Samuel bit into a capon. ‘Glorious creature,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Well, one can’t help but notice that both Luke Challon and Valentine Randolph show a great deal of interest in her. So perhaps the business of the new will is a mere coincidence. Maybe the motive was jealousy all along.’

  ‘If that is the case, Amelia herself must be free of guilt.’

  ‘Not if she had a lover in the background. Perhaps the pair of them plotted to kill her elderly bridegroom before the ceremony ever took place.’

  Samuel’s face, full of food though it was, assumed a totally bewildered expression. ‘This is all too convoluted for me. I can’t follow the twists of it.’

  John grinned. ‘Neither can I, to tell the truth.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘Try to probe each possibility. Now, are you still on for tomorrow?’

  ‘Islington Spa, you mean …?’ John nodded. ‘Yes, I most certainly am. What time do you want to go?’

  ‘I think I should visit Bow Street first thing and tell Mr Fielding about the second will. Could you come to Shug Lane at noon?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Good. Then you can inspect young Nicholas.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  A serving girl appeared at their table to remove the empty plates but was restrained by Samuel, who asked, ‘Would it be possible for the landlord to carve me another helping of beef?’

  She smiled at him saucily. ‘You’re hungry, ain’t yer?’

  The Goldsmith gazed at her seriously. ‘It’s all this thinking. It plays the very devil with my appetite.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to give it up,’ the girl answered cheerfully. ‘Cos wiv men it’s either brains or ballocks, ain’t it?’

  And off she went to get some more meat, leaving Samuel to whisper hoarsely, ‘Dear God, I hope that isn’t true!’ before both he and his companion guffawed till their eyes streamed.

  The candles were still lit when John returned to Nassau Street by means of a hackney. Too many to be merely a welcome. With the sudden hope that his father might have come home, the Apothecary paid off the driver and rushed within.

  ‘Sir Gabriel is in the library, Master John,’ said the footman who answered the door.

  ‘Then I’ll join him.’

  ‘He has waited up in the hope that you would.’

  Feeling more than delighted, the Apothecary made straight for his favourite room, only to find that Sir Gabriel had already changed into a nightrail and turban, and was dozing in his chair by the fire. Suddenly acutely aware of his father’s advancing years, John would have crept out again, had not his parent said, ‘Ah, there you are, my dear. I was not asleep but had merely closed my eyes. After all, it has been rather a tumultuous day, has it not?’

  ‘It certainly has,’ John answered, collapsing into the chair on the other side of the fireplace. ‘I could not believe my eyes when I saw you with Lady Hodkin on your arm for all the world as if you were head of the family. Tell me what miracle you wrought to bring that about.’

  Sir Gabriel smiled and raised his lids. ‘No miracle, my child. Merely the exercising of a little tact and charm.’

  John snorted and his father continued, ‘Pray do not make that inelegant sound. Such behaviour does not become you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the Apothecary answered, compressing his lips to hide a smile. ‘Now, Father, if you have time to listen, I have a great deal to recount.’

  And he repeated almost word for word, drawing on his excellent memory, the conversations he had had with both Josiah Bradshaigh and Samuel.

  Sir Gabriel remained silent after his son had finished giving his account, the tips of his long fingers together, the index pair resting lightly on his chin. Then eventually he said, ‘Well, even though the situation seems more convoluted than ever, it is obvious that a great deal of progress has been made.’

  ‘In a way, yes,’ John replied pensively. ‘But, as I said to Sam, I am not certain that gain was the entire motive for this crime, though most probably a major part of it. However, I do think we can now be safe in assuming that Sir William was killed either late on his wedding eve or early next day.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. Those are the vital hours.’ Sir Gabriel poured two glasses of port and sipped his slowly. ‘I think,’ he said, his voice reflective, ‘that in view of all this I should take Lady Hodkin up on her invitation sooner than I had intended.’

  ‘She has asked you back to Kirby Hall?’

  ‘At any time. I do believe it is her fond hope that I am going to take Miss Hesther off her hands at last.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘My dear boy, please don’t be frivolous! No, my initial plan was to infiltrate myself into their confidence, which I have succeeded in doing. Now I feel I should enter the second phase, namely to try and discover as much as I can about all of them. With particular concentration on where they were – and by they I mean every member of the household – on the night before Sir William’s wedding.’

  John gave him a delighted smile. ‘My clever Papa, if you can do that for me you will rise even higher in my esteem, if such a thing were possible.’

  ‘In that case I must leave at once.’

  The Apothecary laughed. ‘I think tomorrow will be quite soon enough.’

  ‘Splendid. Then I shall return to Kirby Hall making the excuse of having left something behind.’ He stared at John closely. ‘And now, my child, I suggest that you go to bed. Are you aware that your eyes are actually closing?’

  ‘More than aware,’ his son replied with a yawn, then before he could say another word fell fast asleep in the chair, where Sir Gabriel, having covered him with a rug and called a servant to stoke up the fire, left him to doze in peace.

  Despite the fact that he should have woken with an aching back and tender limbs, the Apothecary rose feeling fresh and well at about six o’clock the following morning. Considering that he smelled of horseflesh and lawyer’s offices, he washed very thoroughly and in view of his proposed visit to Islington Spa later that day, dressed in a fine suit of plum satin with a pink embroidered waistcoat to go with it. Then John went downstairs and partook of a substantial breakfast
before going into the street and summoning some weary homegoing chairmen to take him to the Public Office as quickly as they could. Hoping that he would tip them generously, the poor souls put their backs into the task and the Apothecary arrived at Bow Street just as the Blind Beak was rising from table, his napkin still in his hand.

  ‘Mr Rawlings,’ he said with pleasure as John was shown into the morning room and announced, ‘will you join me in some coffee?’

  ‘I would be delighted, Sir.’

  ‘Then do have a second repast here. Nicholas has already left for Shug Lane so you have nothing to fear.’ And the Magistrate sat down again to show that he meant what he said. ‘Now tell me about the will,’ he went on as the Apothecary refilled Mr Fielding’s cup and poured another for himself.

  ‘There are two wills, Sir. One of them unsigned.’

  ‘Can you explain that?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  The Blind Beak turned his head, listening intently, as John told him everything he had heard on the previous evening. ‘So that might be one reason why a man was put to death,’ the Magistrate said eventually.

  ‘You believe there could be others?’

  ‘It’s possible. Gain alone might not be the cause. But on the other hand it might. There’s a tangled mesh here, my friend.’

  ‘And several people with something to hide.’

  ‘One of whom is Miss Lambourn?’

  ‘I think so. Anyway, I shall know more shortly. This afternoon Samuel and I are due to visit Islington Spa and there find out a little more about her past.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ said John Fielding, emptying his cup and wiping his mouth, ‘I have a very busy day in court. By the way, Mr Rawlings, is it your intention to try and find the note that was sent to Sir William on the night before his wedding?’

  ‘It most certainly is. I shall go to St James’s Square tomorrow.’

  ‘Be sure to take your authorisation. Servants are always much more difficult to deal with than their masters.’ The Blind Beak chuckled. ‘If that fails, try a douceur. Greased palms have always opened locked doors.’

  ‘Alas, that I should encourage such lack of morality!’

  ‘But encourage it you will.’

  ‘Of course,’ said John, and bowed to Mr Fielding as they left the room together.

  First fashionable in the late seventeenth century, when a spring had been discovered in gardens growing opposite the New River Head in Clerkenwell, the Islington Spa had originally been known as Islington Wells, then New Tunbridge Wells, whose health giving waters it claimed to rival. However, in order to avoid confusion with its more famous neighbour, the Wells owned by Mr Sadler close by, the pleasure garden had finally changed its name to Islington Spa, though the earlier title still tended to be used.

  In addition to its chalybeate spring, its shady lime trees and romantic arbours, Islington Spa also possessed the more sinful attractions of a dancing room and a raffling-shop, where the pursuit of gambling could be enjoyed by those of such a mind. There were also the Walks, where beaux strutted with scarlet ribbons on their great sticks and ladies surveyed one another coldly, tearing reputations and fashions to pieces as they paraded. Yet perhaps the greatest attraction was the dancing, held daily after the public breakfasting, from eleven to three.

  Mindful of this draw, John and Samuel left Shug Lane shortly after noon and hired a hackney in Piccadilly to take them to Leicester Fields, then across various alleyways to Long Acre, then up Drury Lane towards Holbourn. From there the driver headed northwards, going up Hatton Garden, these days establishing something of a reputation for its jewellery, then picked his way via Clerkenwell Green to St John’s Street which led directly to the Spa. Tipping the man generously from the expenses he had drawn at the Public Office before he left, John bought two tickets costing eighteen pennies each, and he and Samuel made their way immediately to the ballroom. There they found themselves amongst very mixed company, the Spa having a reputation for allowing in the lower orders. Highborn ladies and good wives mixed with seamstresses and prostitutes, dressed to the hilt in their tawdry finery. Whilst country gentlemen and minor knights rubbed shoulders with lawyers’ clerks and shopkeepers, to say nothing of members of the criminal class, skulking amongst the crowd to see what pickings might be had.

  Much intrigued by this great social mix, the two friends decided to make the best of the hour and a half left before dancing ended and tea began, and whirled about with whoever would have them as partners. Fortunately, all the dance figures were of the country variety, either longways or rounds, constructed to a formula, and it was relatively easy to pick up any unfamiliar steps. Sweating and laughing and forgetting all about murder and violence, John and Samuel threw themselves into Rufty Tufty, Row Well Ye Marriners, Sellengers Round and finally Graies Inne Maske, a longways set dance for four couples which ended in a kiss, a salutation which Samuel very much enjoyed. Then it was time for business again and mopping their brows, the Apothecary and the Goldsmith strolled down one of the Walks towards the Well.

  With Amelia long since departed, the water was currently being served by a pert little creature with flaming red curls perched on top of her head beneath a pinner. While next to the Well sat a beldame taking the money, threepence a glass. Huddled as she was in a folding chair, there was still something familiar about the old woman and John turned to Samuel, suddenly wild with excitement.

  ‘It’s her, Sam. The one I saw in church. The person who was with Amelia on her wedding day.’

  ‘Is it really? Do you think she could be Miss Lambourn’s mother?’

  ‘Yes, I believe she very well might.’

  The Goldsmith clapped his hands. ‘How extremely fortunate.’

  ‘Let it be hoped that she agrees to speak to us.’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ Samuel answered, rubbing his thumb and fingers together in the age old sign for money, and simultaneously winking an eye.

  Ahead of the friends straggled a queue of elderly people, suffering with gout, nerves, weak knees, stiff joints and ineffectual bladders. Most of these tottered down the steps to the Well, which was surrounded by a grotto of shells supported on stone pilasters, groaning with every movement they made. As each one approached, the pretty server dipped a cup on a long handle into the brownish water, mixed the contents with ordinary water, then gave the sufferer a glass of the resulting concoction.

  ‘Why is she doing that?’ whispered Samuel.

  ‘It’s supposed to be too strong otherwise. It has a reputation for making the drinker giddy or sleepy.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t kill anyone. They all look fit to drop.’.

  ‘Now, now,’ said John severely. ‘You’ll be like that one day.’

  ‘No I won’t,’ his friend answered stoutly. ‘I intend to emulate Sir Gabriel Kent when I grow old.’

  Hearing his voice, raised with enthusiasm, the water server looked up and shot a ravishing glance in Samuel’s direction.

  ‘My goodness!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘I thought your heart had been captured by Miss Verity, at least it was last Christmas,’ John said, smiling.

  The Goldsmith looked sad. ‘It still is really. But, alas, my passion is unrequited. She is a dedicated business woman and has engaged her affections with another, more established than I. A better prospect all round than someone just making his way in the world.’

  ‘How fickle of her.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  The queue slowly moved on until it was John’s turn to take the waters. This he did with much relish, pouring a little of the undiluted original into a phial which he carried in his pocket.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’ asked the server, clearly astonished.

  ‘I want to analyse it. Water and its composition fascinates me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she answered, none the wiser.

  John lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘That old lady sitting beside the Well, would she be Mrs Lambourn by any chance?’

  �
�Yes, Sir.’

  Putting the phial away, John produced five shillings from his pocket, an enormous sum to a poorly paid individual. ‘Thank you for your help,’ he said.

  ‘But I haven’t done nothing.’

  ‘Yes you have, you told me her name. And anyway you look charming. That’s enough.’

  She blushed delightfully and a woman waiting her turn behind, called out, ‘Now, now, young man. There are people of condition here this season. We don’t want none of your lewd behaviour on these premises.’

  The Apothecary swept off his hat and bowed low. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘might I suggest a purgation of hellebore, excellent for dull and heavy persons.’

  ‘How dare you?’ she huffed.

  But John had beaten a tactical retreat to where Mrs Lambourn sat, counting the money before she put it in a leather bag attached to her belt. He bowed again.

  ‘Mrs Lambourn?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have a message from your daughter Amelia,’ he lied pleasantly.

  ‘What is it? Is she poorly?’ she asked, her voice anxious.

  Thinking quickly, John decided on a businesslike approach. ‘Madam, you are aware that Sir William Hartfield is dead?’

  ‘Yes, she wrote to me. I couldn’t read the letter, mind, but the Spa’s pastry cook did. Is it true the poor soul was done away wiv?’

  ‘I fear so.’

  The old woman’s chest heaved. ‘Oh my poor gal. How will she fare wiv no one to look after her?’

  The Apothecary decided to take a chance. ‘Oh come, she’s hardly on her own, now is she?’

  Mrs Lambourn shot him a look of immense cunning. ‘Well, that depends.’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Who did you say you were?’

  ‘The name’s John Rawlings. I’m a friend of Valentine Randolph.’

  ‘Who?’

  So either the office manager was not Amelia’s lover or her daughter kept a close secret, John thought.

  ‘Also of Luke Challon,’ he added.

  He hit home this time. ‘Oh, Sir William’s secretary. Oh well, that’s all right then. He always treated her decent did Luke. A very nice young man. The others called my girl names because she had relations with her intended before they was wed.’