Death at the Devil's Tavern

by Deryn Lake

  Hoping, perhaps, to steal a march on its competitors, Marble Hall was opening the assembly season of 1755, and taking into consideration its peerless location, John felt sure there would be a great demand for tickets. With this in mind he had sent Nicholas Dawkins to Essex Street to buy two almost as soon as Juliette had left his shop. So, it was feeling very pleased with himself for having organised such an exciting occasion so quickly, that John went to call for Miss Hartfield at St James’s Square on the following evening as. arranged.

  Dressed to the hilt in midnight blue and silver, John was somewhat disappointed that he was forced to lower the tone and travel by hackney carriage. But true to his word, Sir Gabriel had already departed for Kirby Hall and the coach, which his father would have been pleased to lend him for such a stylish engagement, was therefore not available. Wishing that he had his own equipage with which to make an impression on such a gorgeous young woman, John paid off the driver and went inside.

  Juliette was already waiting for him in the library and immediately saved the Apothecary from any embarrassment by saying, ‘I do hope you came by hackney because Julian has decided to take one of the carriages. Do you mind if we travel with him?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ John answered, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief.

  ‘Then I’ll tell him you are here.’ And she pulled the bell rope.

  Unconventional though she might be about mourning, Juliette was none the less wearing black taffeta, the skirt drawn back over two enormous hoops to reveal a silken petticoat below. Discreetly woven into this were tiny flowers, the faces of which were represented by little winkers which sparkled as Juliette moved. On her head, Miss Hartfield wore a most unusual cap, formed in the shape of a black butterfly with outstretched wings, these edged in brilliants to match those on the petticoat. Taken as a whole, the entire ensemble was one of the most eye-catching John had ever seen.

  He bowed. ‘Miss Hartfield, you look exquisite, if I might be permitted to say so.’

  ‘Please call me Juliette, Mr Rawlings. And yes, you are permitted to pay me compliments, the more the better.’

  ‘Really, you are quite shameless,’ said a voice from the doorway, and they both turned to see that Julian had come in.

  ‘Do hope you don’t mind me joining you,’ he said.

  ‘Not at all. It will be a pleasure.’

  ‘Once there I shall go my own way. I have an assignation, d’ye see.’

  ‘Of course,’ the Apothecary answered, and thought that whoever the lady was she was certainly going to get a handsome escort, for Julian, also in deep black, his satin waistcoat trimmed with jet, looked better than John had ever seen him.

  ‘Then shall we be off?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  During the high season the beau monde travelled to Vaux Hall and Marble Hall by water, it being considered de rigueur to do so. But on chilly nights carriages were taken to the rural area beyond Lambeth Palace leading to the pretty village of Kennington, where coaches could be left at the corner of Kennington Lane. From there it was but a short distance on foot to either destination. Aware that she would have to walk, Juliette had taken the precaution of carrying her dancing shoes with their four inch heels, in a box under her arm.

  As soon as they were within sight of the pleasure garden, Julian put on his mask and strode ahead of the other two, obviously eager to get there. Intrigued, the Apothecary wondered who was the object of the twin’s affection and whether the answer might possibly shed any light on the matter of Sir William’s death. So once inside, having handed his cloak to an attendant and covered the upper part of his face with a mask, John took a good look round. And it was then that his heart stopped beating, or he thought it did. For in the corner of the room, gazing directly at him, incapable of being disguised by any domino ever made, was the woman whose effect on John he did not care to admit, even to himself. In the company of the Duke of Richmond, Miss Coralie Clive, the young actress in David Garrick’s company whose star was most certainly in the ascendant, had come to the first assembly of the season.

  Thinking that at any moment Juliette would rejoin him from the Ladies Retiring Room, where she had gone to change her shoes, John felt momentarily flustered, afraid that Coralie might assume the beautiful twin to be his sweetheart. Then he took himself to task. After a certain closeness at the end of the previous year, a closeness that had not gone far enough for John’s liking, the actress had made it clear that she wished to concentrate on her burgeoning career. They had ceased to see one another, and this coolness had been followed by rumours that Richmond was keen to make Coralie his Duchess.

  ‘Hang an arse!’ swore John forcefully, aware at that moment that the actress’s merciless attraction for him had not diminished over the passage of time as he had hoped it might.

  She had recognised him, mask or no, that much was clear, for Coralie waved a hand and smiled, then turned to Richmond and muttered something. The Duke looked across the room and grinned hugely, and John realised to his horror that they were coming over to speak.

  ‘Isn’t that the Duke of Richmond?’ said Juliette’s voice from beside him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And who’s that with him?’

  ‘Coralie Clive, the actress.’

  ‘Oh, is it? I saw her in La Belle Espagnole last month at Drury Lane. I thought she was very good.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘I think they’re coming to talk to you,’ Juliette continued. She shot him a sideways look. ‘How intriguing.’

  But further discussion was out of the question. With a hoot of laughter, Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond, was upon them, his face disguised by a mask representing a grinning red devil, his own mouth lengthened with crimson paint beneath. The Duke seized John in a bear hug.

  ‘Rawlings, my favourite man of herbs,’ he bellowed. ‘Haven’t seen you since Christmas. Where have you been hiding yourself, my dear fellow?’

  Acutely aware that Coralie was running her eyes over Juliette, assessing her from top to toe, and that the actress’s glance kept switching from him to his dancing partner in a manner that could only be described as icily curious, John forced a smile.

  ‘My lord …’

  ‘Charles, please. By God, we’ve been through enough together to be on friendly terms, I believe.’

  Coralie broke into the conversation. ‘All of us have. Good evening, John. How are you?’

  He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘I am well but extremely busy. And you?’ Before she could reply, the Apothecary continued, ‘May I present Miss Juliette Hartfield? Juliette, this is His Grace the Duke of Richmond and Miss Clive of Drury Lane.’

  They saluted one another respectfully but through the peepholes of the cat’s mask that Coralie was wearing, John could see her green eyes glinting. It occurred to him that she was none too pleased to find him with such an attractive girl and instantly decided to play the situation for all it was worth.

  ‘Indirectly, I met Miss Hartfield through Mr Fielding,’ he went on conversationally.

  ‘Are you working for him at the moment?’ Coralie asked.

  Juliette answered on John’s behalf, cooing like a dove. ‘Mr Rawlings has been investigating a crime that has brought much sadness to my family. However, the presence of so charming and delightful an enquirer, has done much to alleviate our suffering.’ She slipped her arm through John’s in a companionable way.

  Did he imagine it, the Apothecary thought, or did Coralie’s eyes actually flash?

  ‘Well, it sounds like a fine business all round,’ said Richmond. ‘If I had to assist John Fielding and met such charming persons as yourself, Madam …’ He bowed to Juliette who shot him an impish smile from behind her mask, shaped like a butterfly to match her cap. ‘… I’d consider myself damnably lucky. Now champagne all round, for who could be in the company of two such charming ladies and not propose a toast to love?’

  And he had whisked them off to the refreshment room before anyone cou
ld argue.

  Within half an hour, Mr Hart was calling for the first dance of the evening, a formal minuet to start the proceedings off graciously. He then insisted that the custom of the ladies throwing down their fans upon a table, the gentlemen advancing and taking one up, then inviting its owner to be his partner, should be performed.

  ‘Though only for the opening two dances, ladies and gentlemen, so that the company may become thoroughly introduced.’

  This remark was greeted with groans and laughs, but everybody set about enacting the ritual with much good humour. Watching carefully, John saw Julian pick up a golden fan which he obviously recognised. Then, suddenly, it was his turn. The Apothecary advanced to the table and could hardly believe his luck. For there, on top of a pile of others, was the black feathered fan belonging to Coralie Clive. Without hesitation he snatched it up and went to join the other gentleman forming into a line, holding the fans above their heads so that the ladies might see and identify their property.

  Mr Hart clapped his hands. ‘Are we all done?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the general reply.

  ‘Then ladies forward if you please.’

  There followed several minutes of general scurrying about and giggling while the females went in search of their fans.

  ‘Mr Rawlings, what a surprise,’ said Coralie, as she curtsied to him.

  ‘Miss Clive, I had no idea,’ John answered, bowing politely. ‘I presume you have no objection to my leading you out?’

  ‘None at all,’ she replied coolly, putting her hand in his.

  Though they were both gloved, the touch was enough to set the Apothecary’s blood pounding. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, as the opening bars of music played.

  ‘Really? I would have thought you had found yourself a very pretty companion and thus been preoccupied.’

  ‘Miss Hartfield is the daughter of a man who has been brutally killed. I invited her here this evening to take her mind off the tragedy. But what of you? Is it true that you are to marry Richmond?’

  Coralie burst out laughing, despite the fact that they had started to dance. ‘I am married to the theatre, Mr Rawlings,’ she said grandly.

  As had sometimes happened in the past, he suddenly lost patience with her. “Sblud, Coralie, you sound like some prating school marm. Tell me, will the theatre warm your bed for you? Will it tell you how fascinating you are? Would the theatre die for you if it had to? Do me the honour, please, of answering a straight question. Are you and Charles betrothed?’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ she replied angrily, ‘and we have no intention of becoming so. He and I are great friends and there’s the beginning and end of it. And how dare you lecture me when you come here with one of the prettiest girls in the room.’

  ‘She is very beautiful, of course she is. But Juliette and I are as I described to you. Both involved in a savage case of murder.’

  ‘Are you trying to say you have not flirted with her?’

  ‘Spare me, I beg you! Of course I have. I thought you had decided not to continue our acquaintanceship. What else did you expect me to do?’

  ‘Poor John,’ said Coralie.

  ‘Don’t patronise me, please,’ the Apothecary answered furiously.

  From behind her mask, he saw the brilliance of the actress’s emerald eyes regarding him. ‘I would never do that,’ Coralie said softly. ‘I hold you in too high a regard.’

  He pulled her close to him, following the steps of the dance. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ The tension between them was tangible.

  ‘You are not trifling with me?’

  She moved away from him very slightly, even more than the sideways steps called for. ‘That is the difficulty,’ she answered quietly. ‘I find myself unable to do so.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That though you may scoff, in one sense I am wed to the theatre.’ The glowing gaze was looking at him earnestly through the cat mask. ‘I love my profession, Mr …’

  ‘You know my name is John,’ he said harshly.

  ‘And I have no wish to let anything come between me and my chosen path.’

  ‘Are you implying that I would?’

  ‘Shall I simply say that I could never deal with you lightly, as I do Charles Lennox. That is why, for the time being at least, I feel it more sensible to see less of you.’

  Not knowing whether to weep or laugh, John bowed low as the dance ended. ‘It seems we are committed to a second bout,’ he said, ‘or would you prefer to step into the gardens?’

  ‘But what about Richmond and Miss Hartfield?’

  ‘They are dancing together, did you not notice?’

  Coralie smiled. ‘No, to be perfectly honest with you, I didn’t.’

  ‘Then if you have not seen them, surely they won’t see us. Come, the company is forming up for the next dance.’

  Outside it was cold, a March evening wind blowing in across the Thames. Coralie shivered. ‘Do you remember the circumstances of our first meeting?’

  ‘Vividly. You saved my life as I recall.’

  ‘And a girl died in the dark waters out there. I shall never forget that.’

  ‘Nor I. Strangely, I haven’t been back to Marble Hall since.’

  The actress smiled in the faint light. ‘I, too, have kept away till now.’

  ‘Perhaps it was fate that we should both be here tonight.’

  ‘It certainly seems significant that our paths continue to cross.’

  ‘Despite,’ said John, taking her hand in his, ‘your strenuous efforts to avoid me.’

  ‘Obviously not strenuous enough,’ Coralie answered as they simultaneously swept each other into an excitingly carnal kiss. For a long moment their passion and their wildness mingled together, then they drew apart, well aware that should they ever finally make love, it would be the most profound experience of their lives.

  ‘It really is getting rather chilly, my dear Miss Hesther,’ said Sir Gabriel in a tone of concern. ‘Do you not think we should return to the house?’

  From beside him came a small sad sigh. ‘I would rather not, Sir. Mother is particularly tetchy this evening and, quite truly, the longer I can keep out of her company, the better it will be for me. Are you, then, getting cold?’

  ‘No, but I noticed you shiver just now. At least let us go and sit in the little pavilion. That will get you out of the breeze if nothing more.’

  Hesther gave him a grateful glance and Sir Gabriel bowed and offered her his arm. Then they walked together, the fitful moon throwing their shadows upon the ground, his enormously tall, the three-storey wig upon his head lengthened out of all proportion. Hers, short and dumpy, like a jolly mechanical doll. Judging his companion’s mood, Sir Gabriel walked slowly and easily, then, when they had finally reached the summerhouse, settled Hesther into a garden chair which was stored there. Finally, he sat down beside her and gave her a kindly smile.

  ‘You must miss Sir William,’ he said reflectively.

  ‘I suppose I always will,’ Hesther answered with a sigh.

  ‘It really is a most tragic affair. One simply cannot credit who would commit such a crime.’

  ‘Yet somebody did, and the Public Office seem convinced it was not the work of a common cutpurse.’

  ‘I am certain they are right,’ Sir Gabriel replied. ‘What thief would leave such valuable items on his victim’s body?’

  Hesther’s voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Do you really think it could have been someone William knew?’

  ‘It would seem very likely,’ Sir Gabriel murmured dramatically. ‘Tell me, Miss Hesther, where were the family and staff on the night before Sir William’s wedding? Can you remember? It might be of enormous help to Mr Fielding if you could.’

  She shifted in her chair and he wondered why Hesther was so uneasy. Then, after a pause, she said, ‘Roger, Lydia, and the twins were in London, of course, and Hugh in France.’

  ‘So who was staying here at Kirby Hall?’<
br />
  ‘Mother, myself, Maud and Luke. At least he was meant to be, though he never came back that night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He left in the morning saying he would return, but did not do so. The next I saw of him was at the church.’

  ‘I see. What about your mother and Maud? What did they get up to?’

  Hesther gave an extraordinary little laugh. ‘Surely, you don’t think …’

  ‘No, of course not. But it is a good mental exercise to remember such things. I believe it keeps the brain agile.’

  ‘Oh! Well, then I’ll try. Mother had, unusually, taken the carriage and gone out. She had arranged to play cards with some neighbours in Bethnal Green and was due to take a light supper with them. As I recall it, she was very late back and in a profoundly strange mood.’

  ‘What sort of strange?’

  ‘Elated and exhausted all in one. She went straight to bed without saying a word to anyone. She didn’t even snap at me.’

  Hesther gave an apologetic laugh and Sir Gabriel squeezed her hand in the darkness, an action which caused her to tremble slightly.

  ‘Go on, you have a wonderful memory. Tell me about Maud.’

  ‘She was in a regular fidget, simply couldn’t sit still during dinner. Picking at her food, gulping her wine. Anyone would think she was anxious about something. Then, later, when I came back …’ Hesther stopped abruptly.

  Sir Gabriel chuckled. ‘So you left the house too, my dear?’

  ‘Well, yes. I did go out in the small carriage for a spin.’

  ‘Anywhere in particular?’

  ‘I went to Camel Row in Mile End New Town,’ Hesther answered defiantly. She paused but Sir Gabriel remained silent. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’