by Deryn Lake
Lydia had told them everything – or had purported to do so. According to her, she had followed Sir William’s hackney coach to Redriff but by the time she had alighted and paid off her driver, had lost her quarry. ‘Just as if he had vanished from the face of the earth,’ she had said in rather a chilling phrase. Then, so the widow’s story had continued, she had wandered around looking for her father-in-law and had eventually run into Valentine Randolph, leaving The Spread Eagle and making for The Angel along the riverside path.
‘So you still do not know the identity of the blackmailer?’ John had said.
‘There was no one about at all. Redriff was like a deserted village. I cannot imagine where Sir William and the person he was meeting could have got to.’
‘A rum tale,’ Joe had said thoughtfully.
‘Do you believe it?’ John had asked.
‘I’m not sure. You see, it occurs to me that the blackmailer might not exist,’ Mr Fielding had said harshly.
‘But why should Lydia make that up?’
‘What cleverer way to throw dust in our eyes than to invent an evil extortionist who has his being only in the mind of a murderer.’
‘So you think she might have killed Sir William herself?’
‘She and her lover between them.’
‘What we need now is a stroke of good fortune. To come across something that will lead us straight to the killer,’ John had said.
‘What we need now is to find that great stick,’ Mr Fielding had answered. ‘It is a unique piece of evidence, the importance of which cannot be underestimated. Obviously, it didn’t show up today – but then I hardly thought it would.’
‘Reckon it’s been done away with,’ Joe had put in forthrightly. ‘Burnt to a cinder fit for a garbler.’
The Magistrate had shaken his head. ‘I’m not so sure. When would the killer have had time to consign it to flames? No, if it’s anywhere, it’s either gone out to sea or ended up on a mudflat.’
‘I think I’ll have a search round,’ John had answered.
‘The traditional needle in a hay stack, I fear. Yet a hunt would certainly do no harm.’
‘Samuel and I will go tomorrow.’
So now they were on their way, in a small wherry, about to enjoy that dangerous pastime known as ‘shooting the bridge’. Laughing uproariously and temporarily dismissing the complexities of finding Sir William’s murderer, Samuel and John bobbed like corks as their craft mounted a cataract and cascaded down the other side, soaking all three of its occupants to the skin. The Goldsmith guffawed, the child in him never far from the surface. While John removed his coat and dabbed at his shirt with his handkerchief.
They had entered the Pool of London and a forest of masts, reminiscent of a scene in Amsterdam, spread before them. Amongst these great ships, many queuing at the Legal Quays to unload their dutiable cargo, buzzed the bumboats which serviced them. All craft vying for space with the barges bearing produce and colliers carrying coal.
John stared round, his eyes reflecting the blue of the river. ‘I would like a house by the water one day.’
‘With Coralie Clive also in residence?’ Samuel asked saucily.
His friend smiled sadly. ‘Did I tell you that I saw her recently?’
‘Yes.’
‘She still exerts a powerful hold on me, Sam, and I have a strange feeling that she always will.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
John shook his head. ‘There’s not much I can do. She is determined to become as famous an actress as her sister Kitty, if not more so. At the moment men feature in her life only as companions.’
‘Can’t you remain that until she is ready for more?’
‘No, I don’t think I can,’ John replied seriously. ‘I’d be wanting to sweep her off to bed, take her to the church on the hill, laugh and cry with her, get her with child. I don’t think Coralie and I are cut out for friendship.’
Loyal Samuel said, ‘Then she’s a fool not to realise what she’s missing.’
The Apothecary sighed. ‘One day, perhaps, something will happen to bring her to my side.’
‘I hope so, if that is what you want,’ the Goldsmith answered.
It had been John’s plan to spend a pleasant evening in The Devil’s Tavern, where he and Samuel would then stay the night, before devoting the whole of the next day, dressed in extremely serviceable clothes, to a search of the riverbank and mudflats for the great stick with the fox’s head. This idea his friend had agreed to with alacrity, so it was with the prospect of an enjoyable time ahead that the two of them climbed Pelican Stairs and made their way to the, by now, familiar confines of the riverside hostelry.
It was still early evening but already the bar was beginning to fill with the vivid flotsam and jetsam of waterside riff-raff. A sailor with two crimson parrots in a wooden cage was pestering a lady of quality for a sale; a blind man with a begging bowl wandered from table to table asking for alms; two blisteringly large seamen, obviously candidates for the bare knuckle fight, glared at one another pugnaciously. While a pedlar with one eye, a terrible scar in the cavity where the other had been, exhibited a tray of strangely carved objects brought from the Indies.
‘What a place!’ said John in admiration. And it was then, as he looked round for somewhere to sit, that he saw the three Hartfield brothers, together with Valentine and Luke, occupying a settle and two chairs by the fire. ‘Well, well,’ he murmured to Samuel.
His friend followed the direction of John’s eyes. ‘Here to discuss the future of the business?’
‘More than likely. Oh dear, just read their faces.’
Samuel grinned, for Roger was stifling a yawn and Julian examining his fingernails, while Hugh held forth. Valentine, on the other hand, was attempting to look interested, though Luke was not bothering, glaring at the floor as if it had done him a disservice.
‘I wonder if we can get near enough to listen without being seen,’ John continued in the same low voice. ‘The settle where they’re sitting has another backing on to it. If we squeeze into that …’
‘If! Have you seen the size of the man occupying it?’
‘He must weigh at least a ton and a half.’
‘I don’t think I could stand the strain,’ said the Apothecary, but at that moment the man they were staring at, an enormous Oriental complete with pigtail and long trailing black moustaches, heaved himself to his feet and waddled away. Under cover of his more than adequate screening, John and Samuel took their seats.
‘… can leave the day-to-day running to me,’ Hugh was saying. ‘I mean, I was practically in charge while Father was alive.’ Someone cleared his throat, and the speaker added, ‘With Valentine’s help, of course.’
‘Well, I couldn’t bear to go into the beastly place too often,’ Roger’s voice replied. ‘You can take over the entire administration as far as I’m concerned, Hugh.’
‘One moment,’ put in Julian. ‘I don’t think we should release too much control, Roger. I think we should see all the documents daily.’
‘That would cause an unwarrantable delay,’ Hugh answered cuttingly. ‘By the time you’d recovered from a night’s gambling and were sober enough to look at the papers, we would probably have lost a day’s important business.’
‘Decisions are hardly that quick,’ Valentine remonstrated. ‘A twenty-four-hour deferment would make little difference.’
Hugh started to protest but Julian shouted him down. ‘Listen, Hugh, the company belongs to all of us under the terms of Father’s will. You were given the management, not total authority.’
‘You’ve become a regular tongue-pad, young man, if I might say so.’
Luke spoke for the first time. ‘This is just the sort of thing Sir William dreaded might happen.’
‘Which is no doubt why he made a new will. But he never signed it, did he? Much to your regret, my dear Luke.’
‘Yes, I do dislike the fact that Miss Lambourn has been left pen
niless,’ the secretary answered angrily. His tone was decidedly nasty and John hazarded a guess that Luke had consumed a great deal of alcohol.
‘Oh, you’ve always had a soft spot for the silly slut,’ Hugh remarked carelessly.
‘Oh dear!’ muttered Samuel, as there was the sound of a chair scraping back and somebody jumping to his feet.
‘Don’t insult the lady,’ growled Luke, between gritted teeth.
‘For the love of God …’ shouted Valentine. But too late. There was the crunch of a fist making contact with bone, followed by an angry roar and the crash of two bodies as they hit the floor.
It was like a signal. Instantly, every inhabitant of the long low room stopped what they were doing and looked over in the direction of the fight, while the landlord, with simply amazing agility, leapt clean over the pewter bar and advanced on the argument. As he did so, the two enormous sailors grappled and started to knock hell out of each other, while the seaman with the parrots put down his cage and hit the man standing next to him. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, John and Samuel climbed up onto the settle from where they had a commanding view of the entire proceedings.
Immediately in front of them, Luke and Hugh were rolling on the floor, punching furiously, Hugh getting by far the worst of it. Valentine and Julian, meanwhile, were attempting to separate them, while Roger had slumped in a faint into a large oak chair. The lady of quality had also risen to stand on a table and was busy throwing plates at the fighting sailors, while her escort seemed on the point of drawing his sword.
‘Cor,’ said a voice beside John, ‘what a lovely mill.’ And a small hand was thrust into his as Kitty Perkins, the oyster girl, clambered up to join them. She peered over the back of the settle. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Do you remember me telling you about Sir William Hartfield, the man who was killed on the night we first met? And how I found his body?’
‘Yes, may his soul rest in peace. He always said good day whenever he saw me. A proper gentleman he was.’
‘Well, that’s some of his family down there.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve seen them before. Not that they come to this part of the world very often. Too lowlife. They’re fighting over the money, I suppose.’
‘Something like that.’
Kitty peered closely, taking everything in, then her expression changed. ‘That’s funny,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I saw that one the other night and thought at the time he didn’t ought to be there …’ And she pointed vaguely in the direction of the fight.
In her excitement her voice soared over the general rumpus, clearly audible to all. But Kitty got no further. The vast Oriental had returned from wherever he had been and was now laying about him with a series of strange throws and kicks that sent anyone who approached him flying through the air. With a grunt, he picked up the settle, shaking off its occupants as if they were so many rag dolls. Lying in a heap where he had landed on the floor, John saw the massive piece of furniture whirl high then crash down onto Hugh and Luke, stopping their fight for good and all. A violent desire to laugh was strangled at birth by the sight of all the missing teeth and blood which covered the flagstones right next to where he lay. Searching madly for his bag, John staggered to his feet in order to do his duty and tend the wounded.
An hour later he was finished and the scene in the Devil’s Tavern had changed yet again. The Oriental sat by the fire like the Emperor of China, plied with drink and congratulations. The warring sailors had removed with their various entourages to the room upstairs, where they could punch in peace. Valentine had taken Roger and Luke away, or so John was informed by Samuel, while a very angry Julian, not looking in the least effeminate and scowling thunderbolts, had removed Hugh. The man with the parrots had made a sale at last, the lady of quality and her beau were drunk, and the pedlar well content, having disposed of the entire contents of his tray.
‘’Zounds!’ said John, wiping the blood from his hands and face. ‘Have you ever seen the like of it?’
‘Wasn’t it exciting though!’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Do you think Luke will be dismissed from his post?’
‘I’m certain he will. Poor soul. And all for love of an amorous jade who wouldn’t look twice at him.’ The Apothecary gazed down at his bloodstained clothes. ‘I think I’d better go and change.’ He stared round. ‘Where’s Kitty gone?’
‘She had to leave with the tide. She asked me to say farewell and that she’ll see you tomorrow. There’s something she wants to tell you.’
John lowered his voice. ‘Yes, she recognised one of the scrappers from somewhere.’
‘Do you mean Hugh and Luke?’
‘Either them or one of the other three. I don’t know which.’
‘I wonder what she wants to say.’
‘I have simply no idea.’ John straightened himself. ‘Come along, Samuel old friend. I shall clean myself up and then I suggest a brisk row across the river. I think it’s high time you met that merry imp, the mudlark.’
They borrowed one of the boats belonging to the inn, the landlord considering himself heavily in John’s debt for services rendered on the battlefield, and set off across the darkening Thames in the direction of The Spread Eagle. Samuel, built like a windmill and pleased to show his superior strength, did the rowing while John leaned back and let the delights of watching the river at dusk, flow over him. Yet even the Goldsmith, strong as a shire horse, found the going a little hard and the negotiation of a small craft through the lines of great ships not as easy as it looked. Somewhat relieved but refusing to say so, Samuel was delighted when John shouted out, ‘Those are Church Steps,’ and he was at last able to ship his oars and bring the boat neatly to the bottom stair and tie it to one of the many mooring rings provided.
It seemed that by some most mysterious means, news of the sensational fight in The Devil’s Tavern had crossed the river to the south bank, and as John and Samuel walked into The Spread Eagle somebody bellowed, ‘That’s him. That’s the duke what patched them up.’ And a small cheer was raised.
‘So much fame,’ said John, attempting to look modest.
‘So much affectation,’ countered Samuel, as only an old friend could.
There was a tug at the Apothecary’s elbow and he looked round to see Fred, the mudlark, a broad grin splitting his face, a frothing tankard in each hand.
‘The landlord says you are to have these on him, Sir. Remember the riverman with the bleeding nose what you seen to? Well, that was his brother.’
John relieved him of the ale. ‘Thank him very much from me. Samuel, this is Fred, former mudlark. Fred, I’d like you to meet my friend, Samuel Swann.’
‘Happy to do so,’ said the potboy.
‘Former mudlark?’ queried Samuel. ‘I thought you were still very much a river lad.’
‘Oh, I am, I am. It’s just that I’ve given up me dishonest ways. But I still live by the water, up on the bank. Under an old wherry.’
The Goldsmith looked astonished. ‘Under a wherry?’
‘Yes, duke. It’s overturned, see. I made a little door in it and it’s big enough for me to stand up in. It’s a better home than most of the mudlarks have round here.’
‘I’d like to see it,’ said John.
‘Well, it’s about two hundred yards downstream, just beyond Redriff. You can’t miss it. Come when I’m not working.’
‘How about tomorrow?’
Fred frowned. ‘No, I’m busy. Make it the day after.’
‘I will if I’m still in the area.’
There was a loud call of ‘Boy, boy,’ and the mudlark glanced furtively over his shoulder.
‘I’m wanted. Best be off. Come and see me if you can.’ And he disappeared into the heaving throng.
Samuel stared after him, amazed. ‘Are there many children like that? Living by the river, completely on their own?’
‘There certainly are. Rag
ged, filthy, surviving on what they can thieve, ill-educated, neglected, and stronger than almost any other child in the kingdom.’
‘One could almost envy them.’
John looked thoughtful. ‘There’s certainly a lesson to be learned from it all.’
‘In what way?’
‘Consider the mortality rate amongst the pampered offspring of the aristocracy, then look at these healthy little water rats.’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting that rich but sickly children should be heaved bodily into the Thames?’
‘It might not be such a bad idea at that,’ answered John, and smiled at the incredulous expression on his old friend’s honest face.
Chapter Nineteen
Much as John had feared, the search of the riverbank had proved fruitless. He and Samuel had risen surprisingly early after an enjoyable evening in The Spread Eagle, from which, thankfully, one of the water people had rowed them back to The Devil’s Tavern. Then, having consumed a gallant breakfast, they had set forth armed with stout boots and even stouter gloves, to seek the implement which had ended the life of poor Sir William. Yet though they had found many things washed up by the tide, which had been high when they set out but was now steadily falling, nothing resembling the great stick had come to hand. By midday, with the water level still going down, and by dint of covering different areas separately, the friends had reached Ratcliff Cross, the point from which mariners of an earlier time had sailed forth for the unknown.
Samuel, having come across yet another dead dog, straightened his back. ‘This is hopeless. The thing could be anywhere.’
John sighed. ‘I know.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘Let’s get someone to row us across to the other bank and work our way back to The Spread Eagle. That will probably occupy the rest of the daylight hours.’
‘Oughtn’t we to stop for a little refreshment soon?’ asked Samuel hopefully.
‘Yes. But I think we should get over the river first.’
