Death at the Devil's Tavern

by Deryn Lake

  Mr Fielding stood up, putting out his hands. ‘Take me to her, Joe. Mr Rawlings, you wait here.’

  ‘May I listen at the door?’

  ‘Of course.’

  As it transpired, the conversation was well worth overhearing. From the library, the Apothecary could clearly catch the Blind Beak’s booming tones and Lady Hodkin’s disgruntled replies.

  ‘If you do not agree to speak to me, Madam, you will leave me no option but to take you to Bow Street, by force if necessary, and there charge you with impeding the course of justice, for which several months’ imprisonment is the usual punishment,’ thundered the Magistrate.

  ‘How dare you …’ the hag huffed in reply.

  ‘I dare because I’m right,’ retorted Mr Fielding. ‘Now, which is it to be, Madam? Will you talk or will you go to Newgate?’

  A chorus of cajoling voices could be heard, all trying to persuade Lady Hodkin to behave herself. Then there was the sound of stamping feet crossing the hallway. Rushing to his post behind the table, John attempted to look calm and unruffled as the door was flung open and Lady Hodkin appeared. She gazed at him angrily.

  ‘I will not utter a word in the presence of that horrible young man.’

  John Fielding loomed large behind her. ‘You will not refer to my assistant in that derisory manner, Madam. And you will speak in front of him as I instruct you. By God’s wounds, do not try my patience any further or you will rue the day.’

  ‘I feel faint,’ she answered, grasping her heart.

  ‘Then Mr Rawlings will attend you. He is an apothecary.’

  Lady Hodkin glared from one to the other. ‘What is it you want to know?’ she said between gritted teeth.

  ‘Where you were on the night before your son-in-law was to have married. That is all.’

  She sat down heavily. ‘How would I remember after all this time?’

  Mr Fielding took his seat. ‘Let me help you. You went to play cards with neighbours – or say you did. You returned home very late. Did you, in fact, I wonder, go to Redriff in your carriage and there put Sir William Hartfield to death?’

  The old beast exploded. ‘How can you say such a thing? I played whist with Lady Dimity Thrush. She will vouch for me.’

  ‘It has been said that you came back in a strangely excited mood. Why was that?’

  ‘Because I had won,’ Lady Hodkin answered defiantly.

  ‘So you tell us,’ snarled the Magistrate, looking thoroughly ill-tempered. ‘Jago, make a list of all those persons whose whereabouts need to be checked and put Lady Hodkin at the top of it. Now, Madam, Lady Dimity’s address if you please.’

  Probably for the first time in her life, the elderly creature became suddenly subdued and gave the information about her neighbour quite meekly.

  ‘Now you may go,’ said John Fielding. ‘And be so good as to send in your daughter. Good day, Madam.’ He bobbed up from his chair as politeness decreed. ‘No time for discussion,’ he continued in a hiss, ‘we will talk over all they say when we return to Bow Street.’

  Hesther came in almost at once, as if she had been waiting by the door. Without preamble, the Blind Beak asked her exactly the same question as he had her mother. She coloured a little.

  ‘I went out on my own to consult a fortune teller in Mile End. I took one of the carriages and went straight there and back. The gypsy can confirm this, as can the coachman.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Fielding expressionlessly.

  Hesther drew in a breath. ‘I expect you want to know why I did such a thing and there is no point in beating round the mulberry bush. I have been feeling unsettled, more than a little unhappy, and I wondered if she could be of any help to me.’

  ‘I believe you were very fond of the late Sir William. May I ask if that fondness had recently turned to hate?’ the Magistrate enquired calmly.

  ‘In a way it had,’ Hesther replied. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘I could not tolerate his association with that wretched girl. But since his death I have realised that it is pointless to carry a hatred beyond the grave.’

  ‘Did you kill your brother-in-law?’ Mr Fielding asked, as casually as if he were enquiring the time of day.

  ‘No,’ Hesther answered levelly.

  ‘Then tell my clerk where the gypsy can be found, and you may go. Good day, Madam. Could you ask Mrs Maud Hartfield to step inside.’ And in this businesslike manner, Mr Fielding dismissed her.

  Hugh’s wife entered the room almost unassumingly, her eyes cast down and her hands clasped in front of her. Looking at her hard, picturing her pacing in the gardens of Kirby Hall, John wondered just what thoughts teemed behind her docile facade and whether her demeanour concealed a guilty secret. However, Maud’s calm manner was abruptly shattered by Mr Fielding’s opening gambit.

  ‘I have received certain information, Madam. Information which leads me to believe that on the night of your father-in-law’s murder, which is also the night before his proposed wedding, you were seen in the grounds of Kirby Hall behaving in a most suspicious manner. As if you were expecting someone or something, so it was related. Would you care to explain your actions.’

  Maud’s cheeks flushed and her mild expression vanished. ‘And who told you all this, may I ask?’

  ‘I’m afraid you may not,’ the Magistrate answered. ‘Intelligence received at the Public Office is always treated as confidential.’

  ‘Then all I can say is that your informant was mistaken. I was merely taking the air after supper. It is my habit to get a little exercise before I go to bed. It helps me to sleep better.’

  ‘So what of the statement that you hid behind a tree when a carriage came up the drive?’

  ‘Fiddlesticks is my reply, Sir.’ She was a tough little creature, there could be no doubt about that.

  ‘Lying to a magistrate is a serious offence, you know,’ the Blind Beak said, trying to alarm her into telling the truth.

  ‘So I am aware.’

  ‘Then I will give you one more chance to reconsider your words.’

  ‘Your informant needs spectacles,’ Maud snapped back sharply.

  ‘Good day,’ snarled the Blind Beak, losing patience.

  She stared at him. ‘Am I finished with?’

  ‘For the time being, yes. Send in Mr Roger,’ John Fielding answered tersely.

  The beau’s story was somewhat garbled. Apparently, he had been away from home for several days, staying with friends, and had not returned to St James’s Square until the morning of the wedding.

  ‘And these people will vouch for you?’ the Magistrate asked.

  ‘Well yes, but the matter is a little delicate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Actually it’s a friend, in the singular. I would not like to cause this person any harm.’

  ‘Mr Hartfield,’ said the Blind Beak, a note of exasperation in his voice. ‘Do stop mincing words. Are you talking about a married person and a possible scandal?’

  Roger nodded, looking suitably repentant.

  ‘I can assure you that if we need to contact the lady concerned it would be with the utmost discretion.’

  ‘It isn’t quite like that. You see, my friend is her husband.’ Realising that he might be treading on dangerous ground, Roger burst into a torrent of explanation. ‘I mean, there is nothing untoward between us, my dear Sir. It is all in the mind of this jealous creature he took as wife. However, I would not like to get him into difficulties. People might jump to the wrong conclusion even though our friendship is completely innocent.’

  Joe Jago let out a growl that could have been a laugh. Mr Fielding, however, remained calm and John, to his credit, kept his features impassive.

  ‘My dear Sir,’ the Magistrate said. ‘I’m afraid that I must insist that you give my clerk the name of your intimate. His wife need never know anything about it provided people behave discreetly and do not become hysterical. Now, Mr Hartfield, are your sticks and canes in the house?’

  ‘I have put t
hem with the others brought by my brothers.’

  ‘Very good, a neat rhyme. We will examine them later. Now if you would be kind enough to send in Mr Hugh.’

  A moment later the third Hartfield brother came into the room, his tanned face bearing a miserable expression.

  ‘What’s all this about Maud?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘I don’t understand you, Sir,’ answered Mr Fielding.

  ‘She’s up to something, isn’t she? There’s another man involved, I feel certain of it. I’ve had my suspicions for quite some while. Every time I go abroad on business I come back to find things are not quite as they should be. Why, even my own father hinted as much.’ Hugh stopped abruptly.

  ‘Go on,’ the Blind Beak said softly.

  There was a moment’s silence, then Hugh answered, ‘It is of no importance.’ He cleared his throat and continued a little nervously, ‘There’s nothing that you know about Maud, is there? Nothing that might prove me right.’

  ‘Mr Hartfield,’ said the Magistrate weightily, ‘what is told us in confidence remains so, you must realise that. But let me just say that I believe your fears regarding your wife are most likely unfounded.’

  The two sharp lines above Hugh’s eyebrows eased considerably. ‘Thank God,’ he murmured. He looked round brightly. ‘Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Simply tell us the names of the ship’s Captain and officers who accompanied you on your recent trip to France, Sir,’ said Joe Jago.

  ‘Certainly. Anything else?’

  ‘No, that will be all for now. Will we find them at the Legal Quays, these men?’

  Hugh nodded vigorously, appearing to be much relieved. ‘Yes, you most likely will.’

  Joe smiled affably. ‘Thank you, Sir. Now if you could just tell me who they are.’

  Hugh began to dictate and John, out of the corner of his eye, saw the clerk making one of his famous lists. He turned to Mr Fielding. ‘May we save Lydia till last?’ he murmured. ‘There are several questions I would like to put to her.’

  ‘By all means,’ answered the Blind Beak. ‘But now let’s have Luke. Mr Hartfield, would you ask your father’s secretary to step in please.’

  Hugh bowed politely and left the room and a minute or two later, the secretary came in, looking thoroughly wretched, John thought. Mr Fielding did nothing to help by adopting his sternest tone.

  ‘Mr Challon, I know a great deal about your movements on the night that Sir William died, so please do not deny what I am about to say. I am aware that you had been at Kirby Hall during the day and were meant to return there that night, which you did not do. I also know that you fetched Miss Lambourn from her home in Queens Square and took her to The Devil’s Tavern in Wapping where she was to spend her wedding eve. May I ask what you did with your time after that?’

  ‘Having seen her comfortably settled I went into the bar and got blindingly drunk,’ Luke answered miserably.

  ‘Is that because you were in love with the bride?’

  ‘Partly. And partly because I was heartily sick of the whole damnable situation.’

  ‘Did you speak to anyone during this time?’

  ‘No. I sought my own company.’

  ‘That is a great pity.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, Mr Challon, we now believe that Sir William was murdered in Redriff, a short row across the river. What could be easier than to slip across the water, kill your employer, then return to The Devil’s Tavern and play the part of drunkard?’

  All the colour drained from Luke’s face and he shot to his feet. ‘That is the vilest accusation I have ever heard. I’ll not stand for any more of this.’ So saying, he slammed from the room, crashing into Julian who was waiting outside the door.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the twin, gazing at Luke’s departing back. ‘Am I about to be upset like that?’

  ‘Not at all,’ answered Mr Fielding jovially. ‘All you have to do is tell me where you were on the night before your father’s wedding.’

  ‘Oh, out and about the town,’ Julian replied cheerfully.

  ‘Did you go anywhere specific?’

  ‘No, I can’t say that I did. I called in various taverns and clubs. Went to see Freddie Framlingham late. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Was he at home, your friend?’

  ‘No, gone to White’s, lucky devil.’

  ‘So there’s no one who can vouch for your whereabouts?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Then you must go away and think hard, Mr Hartfield,’ said the Blind Beak seriously. ‘Try and remember where you went and whom you saw there. It is very important that you do.’

  Julian grinned. ‘That’s all right. I’ll ask Jul …’ He stopped speaking abruptly, then added after a pause, ‘… iette to come in.’

  John and Joe Jago exchanged a glance and Mr Fielding shifted in his chair. ‘Yes, please do.’

  ‘What was that concerning?’ asked the Beak as soon as the door closed.

  ‘I think I know,’ answered John, and told the others his idea.

  Mr Fielding frowned. ‘I’ve a mind to inform his twin that we don’t want to see her. That should give them something to think about.’

  ‘Good plan,’ said Joe firmly. ‘There’s no call to be bamboozled by a pair of gemini gigs. Such a game as they play could be dangerous.’

  ‘Then let us call Lydia,’ said the Magistrate, and John picked up his list of questions.

  In the event he did not use it, so determined to get the truth out of her at last that he had no time to refer to notes. Having asked the widow to take a seat, the Apothecary started to speak.

  ‘Mrs Hartfield, certain facts have emerged and it is only fair that I tell you exactly what they are. Firstly, it is known that you followed Sir William from this house on the night he was killed. Secondly, you were seen at The Angel in Redriff later on that same evening. Thirdly, you claimed that you walked alone and unaided from Redriff village to the inn. Do you realise that puts you in the very spot where it is believed Sir William was slain? And at the right time?’

  Lydia stared at him coldly. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘You can tell me if it’s the truth.’

  ‘Of course it is, every word. With one exception.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Somebody guided me to The Angel from Redriff. I was not solitary.’

  ‘I thought as much. Was it anyone you knew?’

  Lydia gave a bitter laugh. ‘What ever I say, you’re bound to discover the truth, so I may as well confess. The man who walked with me was my lover.’

  ‘Or destined to become so later.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It is my belief, Mrs Hartfield, that the night your father-in-law died was the first time you and Valentine Randolph shared the delights of the bedchamber together, though that, of course, does not clear either of you from the suspicion of murder.’

  She looked at the three men defiantly. ‘Yes, it was. The first but certainly not the last.’

  ‘That, of course, is a matter entirely for you,’ John answered without censure. ‘But there is still one vital matter we have not yet discussed. Tell me, why did you pursue Sir William to Redriff that night?’

  ‘Because,’ said Lydia, speaking very clearly, ‘I wanted to come face to face at long last with the wretch who had been making my father-in-law’s life a living hell.’

  ‘Who do you mean?’ John asked, thoroughly startled.

  ‘I am referring,’ the widow answered icily, ‘to the man – or woman – who had consistently and without mercy been blackmailing him.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘The trouble with this entire affair,’ said John reflectively, ‘is that everyone seems to have something to hide. I have never known such a devious bunch of people.’

  ‘Tell me,’ answered Samuel.

  ‘Well, the men are all strange. Hugh is clearly ambitious, Roger does not know whether to p
ursue dolly or molly, Julian is playing some pretty little game of his own. Luke is in love with Amelia and unrequited passion gnaws him up. While Valentine, whose heart was broken by a childhood romance, has once again found desire in the arms of the black-haired widow. As to the women, Lady Hodkin is a secret tippler, Hesther is frustrated, Maud is hiding something, Juliette is involved in her brother’s jest, Lydia is lecherous, and Amelia, pretty though she might be, has the scruples of a Covent Garden whore. And to add to all their other delights, one of the family is probably a blackmailer.’

  Samuel groaned. ‘What a charming crew!’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘John, remind me about those two wills again.’

  ‘The first one still stands and benefits everyone except Amelia. The second, unsigned and therefore not legal, leaves the bulk of the estate to her, small bequests to the family, whose extraordinary ways Sir William must have discovered long ago, and the business to Luke and Valentine.’

  ‘Why was that do you think?’

  ‘Taking the family firm away from his sons?’ The Goldsmith nodded. ‘Because he must have been heartily sick of the lot of them, I suppose.’

  Samuel sunk his chin into his hand. ‘Whoever killed Sir William must have known that they were about to lose everything.’

  ‘Unless it was an unpremeditated act of violence. Let us suppose, for argument’s sake, that Luke Challon, so sick with love that he lost his reason, went to Redriff and begged Sir William not to marry Amelia. The old man, quite naturally, refused to listen and Luke struck him with a stick, inadvertently killing him. Now it benefits Sir William’s secretary not at all, because the second will hadn’t been signed and he is only left a small amount under the terms of the first, but rage overcomes all other considerations. As I said to you before, the will alone proves nothing.’

  ‘Oh good, London Bridge,’ said Samuel, visibly brightening.

  ‘Hang on tight,’ answered his friend, and removed his hat as a precaution.

  It was early evening, the day after the gathering of the Hartfield family at St James’s Square, and John, for one, had been relieved to leave London and take to the river once more, hoping to clear his thoughts. At the meeting at Bow Street following the interrogation by the Blind Beak, he had been forced to admit that, if anything, he was now more confused than ever.