Death at the Devil's Tavern

by Deryn Lake

  Nor did the walk by the riverside help to clear his teeming brain. Striding along by the wharves and warehouses, then through fields and market gardens, John hardly saw the colourful scenery, and remained oblivious to his surroundings until he practically fell over the entrance to The Angel. He stepped back to look at it.

  Just as the mudlark had told him, this ancient den of thieves and smugglers stood directly facing Execution Dock and did, indeed, have a balcony running along its water frontage. Furthermore, the size of the building indicated that it was a place where travellers stayed. Hoping that he was about to get the information he so desperately needed, John went in.

  Like all others of its kind, The Angel had reserved a parlour for gentry folk but John headed for the other bar, certain that this was where he would hear gossip. But even his stout spirit quailed at the sight of the custom already present. So rough a bunch of rogues was gathered there that the Apothecary doubted anyone could put up much of a fight should the mood turn ugly. Raising his hat politely, he beat a tactical retreat and ended up sitting by a pleasant fire in the snug, alone but for a jolly young fellow who introduced himself as a general workhand.

  ‘And will you be requiring a room for the night, Sir?’ this bright spark enquired, having fetched John a meal and some claret to keep him going.

  ‘Alas, no. Not on this occasion. Perhaps next week.’

  ‘I take it you come from London, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, but my business brings me here from time to time.’

  The workhand was obviously not that interested but said politely, as he had no doubt been taught, ‘Oh? And what business might that be, Sir?’

  ‘I,’ John answered dramatically, ‘am a Runner, acting on behalf of Mr Fielding.’

  The young man’s face underwent a series of interesting changes. ‘You’re not going to investigate them as sometimes comes here, are you, Sir? You see, I really wouldn’t advise it. We keep them well away from the other folk because that’s best all round.’

  Deducing that he was talking about the smuggling fraternity, John answered, ‘No, I haven’t come about them. As a matter of fact I’m here to ask about somebody else. I just wondered if you might have seen either, or both, of these people.’

  And he launched into an accurate description of both Sir William and his daughter-in-law, Lydia, ending with the words, ‘Their family name is Hartfield, by the way. And I believe they might have stayed here about twelve nights ago.’

  ‘I know Sir William,’ the workhand answered promptly. ‘But I never saw him on the night you mean. He was booked to stay here but didn’t appear. His bed was not slept in and it was Mr Randolph, he works for Sir William and is a resident of Redriff, who settled the bill in the morning.’

  ‘And the woman I described? What about her?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure she was here. She came in late, very disturbed and flustered, said that a hackney had dropped her in Redriff and she had no idea where she was. She walked to The Angel apparently, alone and in the darkness.’

  John’s eyebrows danced. ‘Did she and Mr Randolph come across one another? He called here that particular night, didn’t he?’

  A shutter came down over the workhand’s face. ‘I really wouldn’t know about that, Sir. I was busy serving food and drink and saw little of those who were staying. The girl dealt with them, and she’s gone to market.’

  John nodded slowly, an idea taking shape. ‘I understand,’ he said. And he thought he did – a great deal. He drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Two o’clock. I must get back to London. What is the tide doing?’

  ‘Coming in, Sir.’

  ‘Then I’ll be off. Thank you for your help.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more.’

  The Apothecary smiled. ‘Please don’t apologise. I can assure you that one way or another I feel I have learned a very great deal.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Despite the fact that it was six o’clock in the evening, John was amazed to see that light was shining from the courtroom attached to the Public Office in Bow Street, and there was a general air of bustling activity about the place. Realising that the court must be in late session, the Apothecary crept inside, only to find to his amazement that all seats reserved for the public were full and there was standing room only. Even though it was a fashionable pastime amongst members of the beau monde to come and watch a blind man administer justice, John would have thought that this clash with the dining hours might have emptied the place, though clearly not. Then he looked towards the dock and saw that over thirty people stood there, surrounded by Beak Runners, all severely armed, and realised that something untoward must have occurred.

  ‘What’s been going on?’ John whispered to the Runner who stood guarding the courtroom door.

  ‘A riot at Drury Lane last night, Sir. The galleries got out of hand. It took every man we had to quieten ’em down. You’re seeing the tail end of it.’

  ‘Just as well I was out of town,’ answered John wryly.

  ‘It was an ugly scene,’ the Runner replied with feeling.

  ‘Shush,’ said somebody close by, and both of them stopped speaking as they realised that John Fielding was about to pass judgement. Joe Jago shouted, ‘Silence,’ and there was a ripple of response as the Magistrate cleared his throat.

  ‘It is my solemn duty to pronounce sentence in this case, though before I do so I would like to make certain comments. Of late, several persons have been detected at both the Theatre Royal and Covent Garden Playhouse, scandalously throwing things out of the galleries into the pits, not only contrary to law, but to common sense, nay to common humanity. These actions have contributed to the disturbance, annoyance and danger of the rest of the audience. Last night, being authorised by the management of the Theatre Royal to put an end to such rumpus, certain members of its staff did enter the galleries in order to restore order. Thereupon, those persons who had been responsible for this injurious comportment set upon those who had come to calm the situation in a manner that can only be described as barbarous. Further, those foolish and immature enough to make capital of the situation, responded with equal bad behaviour, and I refer in particular to young Lord Dartmouth. This last was seen to jump from a stage box and assault an actor when the fighting began. I therefore have no hesitation in committing the prisoners to Newgate for the term of a whole year. Let me make it quite clear that I will spare no pains to punish to the utmost extremity of the law, all those who shall be found guilty of thus distressing fellow members of the audience.’

  There was a huge murmur of support from the beau monde, quelled by Joe Jago shouting, ‘All rise.’ Everyone shuffled to their feet as John Fielding, the switch he used to guide him into court twitching before him, left the premises.

  ‘He’ll be very tired,’ murmured a voice in John’s ear, and he turned to see that Elizabeth Fielding had slipped into the back of the court and was standing directly behind him.

  The Apothecary kissed her hand. ‘Should I not call to see him?’

  She smiled. ‘No, no, John would hate that. Come now, this very instant. While he is still fired by the day’s proceedings, fill his mind with your story and ask him any question you like. Later, when all he wants to do is rest, it would be cruel to disturb him.’

  ‘Are all wives as splendid as yourself?’ John asked.

  ‘Very few,’ Elizabeth answered, laughing.

  ‘Then remind me to find a model made in your image, Madam.’

  ‘Flatterer,’ said Mrs Fielding, and they proceeded out of the courthouse and into the main body of the building.

  A few minutes later, seated in the upstairs salon, cosy against the cold as ever, John heard the footsteps of Joe Jago preceding those of his superior up the staircase, and was glad that the brain of this remarkable individual, who conversed as easily in cant as he did in everyday tongue, was to be added to the discussion of events. Indeed, so pleased was he, that the Apothecary sprang from the chair in
which he sat opposite Elizabeth, and shook the Magistrate’s clerk warmly by the hand.

  ‘My dear Sir, I am so glad to have a chance to talk to you.’

  ‘Rum affair, Mr Rawlings, rum affair.’

  ‘You mean the riot at Drury Lane?’

  ‘I do, Sir. I do. There were agitators in amongst ’em, if you want my view.’

  ‘You mean that the gallery mob was encited?’

  ‘Oh yes. Small doubt of it.’

  ‘But by whom?’

  ‘A certain Mr Wilkes, Sir. Young yet but bound for trouble ahead, mark me.’

  ‘I do not know the name, Mr Jago.’

  ‘You will, Sir. You will. A man who lacks good birth, who lacks looks, humility, kindness. A man who lives a life on the edge of politics. We will hear more of him, there’s no doubt of it.’

  ‘Why was he not tried in court today?’

  ‘I did not say that he lacked cunning, Sir.’

  ‘No more did you,’ answered John, and they both turned as John Fielding entered the room.

  For once, and probably the only time, the black bandage was pushed up from the sightless gaze, and the Apothecary had a moment to study the Blind Beak’s face in its entirety. Despite the ardent mouth and large strong nose, the closed eyes gave his features a look of vulnerability, almost of tranquillity, as if their owner slumbered. It was unnerving to see a mask of such calmness concealing a brain so alert, so alive, that it was virtually impossible for its owner to rest. Strangely moved by what he observed, John fought against an urge to embrace John Fielding and tell him how much he respected him.

  Realising from the sounds in the room that he was in company, the Blind Beak slipped his bandage back into place. ‘Mr Rawlings, is that you?’

  ‘It is, Sir.’

  ‘Good, good.’ The Magistrate rubbed his hands together. ‘There is much to discuss, I feel sure of it. Elizabeth, my dear, if you would be so kind.’

  She nodded and pulled the bellrope but did not leave the room, obviously keen to contribute to any open discussion that might be about to take place.

  ‘So,’ said the Beak, taking his seat by the fire, ‘you were in court today?’

  ‘I came in late and stood at the back. The beau monde had filled all the seats.’

  ‘And so they should. There was much in my sentencing that was to their advantage. As you know, Mr Rawlings, the upper gallery is filled with servants, the lower with tradespeople. But last night there were those in Drury Lane of an infinitely more sinister stamp. On their way in, ladies had had their dresses slashed, gentlemen their cloaks. There were disruptive forces at work which I had to be seen to put down ruthlessly and at once.’

  ‘You certainly did that.’

  Mr Fielding sighed. ‘But, alas, I am but stemming the tide. There’s worse to follow, I feel sure of it.’

  ‘You mean this man Wilkes?’

  ‘He is but a fart in a thunderstorm at the moment, but he will grow into a hurricane, I feel sure of it.’ He took a glass from the tray brought in by a servant. ‘Elizabeth, gentlemen, are you served?’

  ‘We are,’ they chorused.

  ‘Then let me propose a toast to the downfall of Wilkes and all his kind.’ Everyone murmured approval and drank, then the Blind Beak moved his head in the direction of John’s voice. ‘Now, Mr Rawlings, tell me everything that has transpired since you went in search of Amelia Lambourn’s lover.’

  The Apothecary, anxious to hear other opinions, launched into his account with relish, reducing his audience to laughter as he described the legs disappearing through the young woman’s front door. After that, though, they listened carefully and grew silent when John handed Joe Jago the specks of congealed blood and the white hairs he had so carefully retrieved. Finally the Blind Beak spoke.

  ‘It seems to me that there is much still to be discovered about the whereabouts of various persons on the night Sir William was killed.’

  ‘There is lying and subterfuge, no doubt of it,’ John answered. ‘And when I catch up with my father I feel certain he will have more to tell me about the activities of those in Kirby Hall.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Fielding thoughtfully. He turned towards his clerk. ‘Joe, what do you think our next move should be?’

  ‘Call them all together and challenge them with the information you have, Sir. Otherwise you might remain buffle-headed, for they sound a bunch of rum maunds, and clever into the bargain.’

  The Magistrate nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think that is a good plan.’

  ‘And why don’t you,’ put in Elizabeth, ‘ask them to bring their great sticks with them? Somebody must own one with a fox’s head, though he’d be too clever to show you, I suppose.’

  ‘My mind has been running on those lines,’ John added. ‘I keep wondering where that stick is now?’

  ‘Disposed of into the Thames alongside the body, I imagine. Too bloodstained to carry away from the crime.’

  ‘You know,’ the Apothecary said thoughtfully, ‘I have a strong suspicion that Sir William was murdered in the churchyard, then dragged to Church Steps and thrown in.’

  Joe Jago, who had been examining John’s finds carefully, nodded slowly. ‘Then the lurching drunkards that the mudlark saw could have been the victim and his killer, the body pulled to the river in the least suspicious way of all.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said John, ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Everything fits in, certainly,’ the Blind Beak agreed. ‘Joe, could you get letters to the Hartfields out tonight?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Then call them to a meeting at St James’s Square on the day after tomorrow. Say that failure to attend will have the most serious consequences. Tell them, also, to bring all the sticks and canes that they possess.’

  ‘Are you going to include Lady Hodkin in this?’ asked John in awe.

  ‘I most certainly am. She is as answerable to the law as anybody else, as I shall take great pleasure in pointing out to her.’

  ‘Do you want me to be present?’

  ‘I expect both you and Joe to accompany me. He shall be my writing hand. And you, Mr Rawlings, as always, my sharp pair of eyes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said John, touched by the great man’s faith in him.

  Just as had been the case at Bow Street, the Apothecary saw lights on at number two Nassau Street as he rounded the corner from Gerrard Street, and guessed at once that Sir Gabriel had returned from his adventures in Bethnal Green. Hurrying in, he found his father partaking of a cold collation in the dining room and joined him with enthusiasm, not only delighted to see Sir Gabriel again but equally pleased to fill his stomach, by now rumbling with hunger.

  Chewing his way through a large chicken drumstick, John asked with some difficulty, ‘And did you find they had all been up to no good?’

  ‘On the night before the wedding which, I presume, is considered to be the time when Sir William died …?’

  John nodded but did not speak.

  ‘… Lady Hodkin was out, so was Hesther, while Maud paced the garden as if waiting for someone. Luke Challon, who was supposed to return, did not do so. The rest remained in London.’

  ‘And did the two ladies say where they were?’

  ‘Lady Hodkin was engaged to play cards with neighbours, Hesther went to consult a gypsy fortune teller.’

  ‘No doubt to discover her future with you.’

  Sir Gabriel shot his son a reproving glance. ‘Really, how you do run on! Anyway, tell me of your findings.’

  John did so between mouthfuls of chicken.

  ‘So,’ said his father eventually, ‘if Valentine Randolph is not Amelia’s lover, who is? Luke?’

  ‘I don’t think so. His performance as a man who loved his employer yet nursed a hopeless passion for the employer’s intended wife, convinced me. No, I believe we must look elsewhere.’.

  ‘I think the meeting at St James’s Square might well reveal something previously hidden,’ Sir Gabriel said reflectively.
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  ‘I sincerely hope that you are right,’ answered John in heartfelt tones.

  In view of the speed with which the gathering of the Hartfield family had been called, there had been no time for a response from any of them. Therefore, it was uncertain as to whether he would be speaking to one or a dozen people that Mr Fielding, complete with his entourage, set forth from Bow Street on the day arranged.

  Roger, somewhat grudgingly, had given permission for the grand salon to be used as the conversation room, whilst those waiting to go in could take their ease in the library. Accordingly, Mr Fielding, John, and Joe Jago, went into the salon first and stationed themselves behind a large table drawn up before the window, its sole purpose, apparently, to bear a display of flowers. Joe took out paper, pen and ink from a small case, John produced a list of questions which he had written the previous evening. Mr Fielding, who sat in the middle, turned to his colleagues.

  ‘Are you ready, my friends?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Then let’s see what we can do to trick a villain.’

  Joe pulled the bellrope and asked the servant who answered to show in Lady Hodkin, should she be present.

  ‘She is here, Sir,’ the footman answered, ‘but says that she will not be interviewed by anyone who does not have a title. Despite the protests of Miss Hesther, she is demanding to see Lord Suffolk.’

  The Blind Beak chuckled. ‘The Secretary of State, no less.’ He turned to his two companions. ‘What shall we do with her?’

  ‘Frighten the old mort,’ answered Joe crisply. ‘Tell her she’ll see the inside of Newgate if she refuses to cooperate.’

  ‘I agree,’ said John. ‘It’s high time that tyrant was given a lesson.’