by Deryn Lake
‘I’m lucky to be here at all,’ John answered, setting his bag and the great stick down on the floor. ‘By God, things have become horribly ugly.’
‘Come through to the back and sit down,’ Nicholas answered anxiously. ‘You look fit to drop. Here, I’ll prepare a concoction to restore you.’
‘Do you know how?’ John asked, his whole manner melancholic.
‘You showed me last time we were together, don’t you remember?’
‘I’m sorry, no. So much has happened.’
‘Do you want to speak of it?’
‘Not at the moment.’
Nicholas nodded but did not answer, busying himself with various bottles and jars and finally returning with a glass of extremely potable liquid which John, not caring whether he was being imprudent, gladly consumed. After he had drained every drop, the Apothecary asked what was in it.
‘It is your recipe, Sir. Honey, sweet wine, and powder of dried feverfew, gathered and stored last year. Then I put in a special ingredient of my own.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Apparently my Russian great grandfather swore by corn poppy. So I chopped some and put it in.’
John smiled. ‘Do you want me to fall asleep?’
‘No, just to be more relaxed.’
‘That’s going to be difficult. I need to see Mr Fielding to give him this stick, then I have to talk to my father. And all I really want to do is go somewhere quiet and mourn for a girl who was being cruelly choked to death while I sat in a hostelry less than a mile away, enjoying myself and doing nothing to save her.’
‘But how were you to know?’
‘I think perhaps I should have guessed.’
‘You’re not a gypsy fortune teller, Sir. Meanwhile, may I make a practical suggestion?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s that you go to Bow Street, now, by hackney coach, and take the stick with you. Meanwhile, I will run to your home with your bag and ask Sir Gabriel to join you at the Public Office. Then all the right people can be together at the same time.’
John held out his glass. ‘Mix another decoction and I’ll go. I’m starting to feel a little better. It must be the corn poppy.’
‘That’s good news,’ said Nicholas seriously, and started to bustle about his mixing once more.
An hour later, the Muscovite’s plan had come to fruition. John sat in the Blind Beak’s salon awaiting Mr Fielding’s return from court and being cosseted by Elizabeth, who thought privately that she had never seen him look more grey. Meanwhile, the wheels of Sir Gabriel’s coach could be heard on the cobbles below, followed shortly by his firm tread and Nicholas’s limping gait ascending the stairs. And no sooner was John’s father settled than Joe Jago hurried into the room to say that the Magistrate was on his way.
At that, Nicholas put his head round the door. ‘Shall I serve punch, Mrs Fielding?’
Elizabeth fluttered. ‘I don’t like you acting as a servant, my child. Not now that you have found employment with Mr Rawlings.’
‘But I couldn’t just come and sit with you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because until I’m apprenticed somewhere I’m still the boy you rescued from the streets.’
‘A hint I believe,’ said Sir Gabriel with an amused smile as the door closed behind the Muscovite. He turned to his son. ‘My dear child, as soon as Mr Fielding comes you must tell your story and then let me take you home. You look fit to drop.’
‘It has been a very extraordinary few days, I must admit.’
‘Clearly a great deal has happened.’
They got no further. The door opened once more to admit the Blind Beak, his arm tucked through Joe Jago’s.
‘My good young friend,’ he said, his manner direct. ‘What has occurred that you are so distressed?’
‘How did …?’
‘Joe said it is writ on your face for all the world to see. Now, unburden yourself.’
It was a command and John obeyed it, telling everything that had happened from the moment he and Samuel Swann had arrived at The Devil’s Tavern till the terrible discovery that very morning, and its aftermath in the constable’s house. When he had finished speaking, there was a moment of horrified silence, until John Fielding broke it.
‘This killer has to be stopped before he or she strikes again, at you, Mr Rawlings.’
‘But why should he do that?’
‘The murderer may fear that he silenced Kitty Perkins too late. That she might have already revealed to you the name of the man she saw in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘So the guilty party is definitely one of the five men involved in the fight?’ asked Sir Gabriel.
The Blind Beak’s wig swung as he shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. I recall a conversation that you overhead at Kirby Hall, Mr Rawlings. If my memory serves me correctly, it was between a man and a woman whom you believed to be the twins. But just suppose it was two others, the killer and an accomplice.’
‘But why could it not have been the twins?’ said Joe Jago. ‘Those two geminis play rum games.’
‘They could quite easily be responsible for the crimes,’ Fielding agreed. ‘I am merely throwing into question the possibility of two people working together. A thing not unknown to us.’
John laughed harshly. ‘Indeed not.’ He handed the great stick to Joe Jago, pulling it out from under his chair. As he did so he turned to the Blind Beak. ‘Sir, I think I may have discovered the murder weapon. The mudlark I told you of found it washed up on the morning after Sir William’s murder. Its head is identical to the imprint that I saw on the dead man’s forehead.’
‘Have you examined it?’
‘No, Sir. I was too preoccupied I fear.’
‘Leave it here, then, and we’ll let Joe take a look. If any trace of anything remains after the ravages of time and tide, he will find it.’
Jago, who had been carefully removing John’s improvised protective covering, let out a whistle. ‘It’s a real beauty, Sir.’
‘Expensive?’
‘Very.’
‘Does that rule out the two employees, Challon and Randolph?’ asked Sir Gabriel.
‘Not if the stick were a gift,’ John answered. He steeled himself for one last effort to absorb information. ‘Were the stories the family gave you at St James’s Square checked, Sir?’
Mr Fielding rumbled a laugh. ‘In the manner of a farce, yes they were. Listen to this. Lady Hodkin left her neighbour’s house a good hour before she returned home, but we have got no further in discovering where the old wretch went in that time. The gypsy woman, whose clairvoyance Hesther sought, is no longer in residence, supposedly having sailed away with her husband. Maud’s story that she was merely exercising is proving hard to dispute, though some seem to believe she has a lover. We sent a Runner to The Devil’s Tavern, knowing that you would be busy with other matters, but nobody could recall seeing Luke there once he had delivered the blushing bride to her chamber. That same Runner crossed the river to Redriff and was able to confirm that both Valentine Randolph and the widowed Lydia were indeed prowling about the very spot where Sir William met his death, and at the correct time. And, further, that they spent the night together at The Angel. He also went to the Legal Quays and to Sir William’s Wapping office, to try to discover the whereabouts of the captain of the ship that brought Hugh back from France, only to find that the man has returned to sea and therefore the account cannot be checked. Roger’s man friend denies all knowledge of seeing him at the relevant time. And as to the twins, their versions of what they did on the night of the murder are as full of holes as a sieve. Incidentally, I did question Juliette merely to hear what she would come up with.’
‘And?’
‘The creature is a devious minx.’
John gave a deep sigh. ‘So we are no further forward at all.’
‘On the contrary. The killer has made a mistake, the death of the oyster girl proves that. Now all we have to do is discover what it is.�
��
‘How?’
‘By watching them all closely, Mr Rawlings. I intend to put Runner Rudge, whom you know of old, together with a carriage, at your disposal. That is, my dear friend, if you are willing to spare just a little more time from your shop.’
The Apothecary smiled wryly. ‘Nicholas is excellent, there is no doubt of that, but he cannot prescribe for nor treat the sick.’
Joe Jago gave a small chuckle. ‘If you will forgive my impudence, Mr Rawlings, I have approached one of your brotherhood who has recently given up his work due to advancing years. He has reason to be grateful to the Public Office for a favour we rendered him during the days of Mr Henry Fielding. Consequently, he has agreed to oversee your shop until you return.’
The Blind Beak interposed. ‘He was contacted only as a precaution. I do not want you to feel you are under any obligation to continue with this search.’
‘To give up now would be ridiculous. In fact I shall not rest until this vicious killer is brought to book.’
Sir Gabriel’s voice cut across John’s. ‘My child, that is one of the most extraordinary remarks I have ever heard. Rest is the very thing you must do. If you do not get some sleep, urgently, you will make yourself ill and then the mystery will never be solved.’
‘You’re right of course,’ his son answered, Sir Gabriel’s very tone suddenly forcing him to realise just how sick the shock of Kitty’s death had made him feel.
‘Rudge will bring the carriage round tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,’ said the Blind Beak. ‘And Nicholas will open the shop as usual. I shall send word to Master Gerard – he is the grandson of the author of Gerard’s Herbal incidentally – that his services will be required. Meanwhile, my young friend, I bid you good night and would like to say how grateful I am for all you have achieved.’
‘But I feel as if I have done nothing.’
‘Nonsense,’ Mr Fielding contradicted roundly. ‘I believe that you are on the point of the final solution.’
Chapter Twenty-One
In order to help him sleep that night, John Rawlings took laudanum, a derivative of the white poppy, which did, indeed, render him unconscious as soon as his head touched the pillow. However, it also produced an extraordinary hallucination. During the small hours, the Apothecary thought that he woke and saw Kitty standing in his room, the pallor of death about her but other than that very much as she had looked in life. She said three incomprehensible words, ‘The Belle Sauvage.’ Then the vision vanished and he went back to sleep. When morning came, John knew, of course, that he had suffered a drug-induced delusion, yet the memory of it overshadowed him and he did not feel balanced and ready for the day until he had consumed several cups of coffee, that well-known cure for opiate overdoses, to say nothing of headaches and gout.
Greatly restored, John was ready punctually at ten when Beak Runner Benjamin Rudge, that bluff character with the ingenuous sense of humour, arrived, dressed in the guise of a coachman. With the nasty feeling that he was there to act as bodyguard as much as anything else, the Apothecary, recalling another occasion when Rudge had snored his way through a time of immense danger for John and, indeed, for Coralie Clive, hoped fervently that all their current missions together would be in the daytime.
‘Good morning, Sir,’ the Runner said cheerfully. ‘I’ve brought the carriage up outside. Mr Fielding’s orders are that I am to act as your driver and general factotum. So where are we bound for today?’
John, busying himself with putting on his hat and cloak, thought rapidly. ‘Well, the Magistrate told me to keep watch on all of them so we may as well start with number thirty-two, St James’s Square. Would it be possible for you to wait somewhere nearby?’
‘Leave it to me, Sir.’
John stepped into the equipage, waved to Sir Gabriel, leaving the house for his morning perambulation, and they were off through the streets, this day freshened slightly by an early April shower. Leaning back against the upholstered interior, the Apothecary tried to formulate a plan. Questioning the Hartfields about their whereabouts on the evening of Kitty’s murder was certainly one possibility. Yet something made him shy away from the idea. Better, John thought, to pretend that he knew nothing of it. After all, the Wapping constable was hardly likely to report the death of an oyster girl to the Public Office in the normal course of events. Therefore to plead ignorance was perfectly plausible. So, if he could somehow trick the killer into an error, an error that would at last reveal his or her identity, that would be by far the better scheme.
‘I think I’ll try following them individually,’ he called up to Rudge, who sat on the coachman’s box, looking the part superbly.
‘What’s that, Sir?’
John stuck his head out of the window. ‘I believe we’ve got to start playing tricks with these people. Let’s track them one by one.’
‘A good idea.’
‘So whichever comes out first, we’ll trail. Then I’ll affect that I was at the same place by the merest chance.’
But even as he decided what to do, John wished that there was some far more positive action he could take to apprehend the murderer, and had the dread feeling that all he was really doing was wasting valuable time.
The carriage drew up near the garden at the centre of St James’s Square and Rudge loosened the reins as if he were allowing the horse to rest. John, meanwhile, kept discreet observation through the window. But their wait was to be of short duration. Within ten minutes the front door opened and Juliette appeared, dressed to go out. The Apothecary, narrowing his eyes, gave a small cry of triumph.
‘We’ll pursue this one, Mr Rudge. But take it slowly. I think she might be going to hire a chair.’
Sure enough, Juliette turned down towards Pall Mall and there hailed two chairmen to attend her. By dint of letting the horse plod along, the Public Office carriage kept the sedan within its sights, following it down Pall Mall, then The Strand, where its passenger alighted. Juliette, having paid the fare, promptly hurried down Salisbury Street, clearly heading for Salisbury Stairs and the river.
‘You’ll have to leave me here,’ John called to Rudge.
‘But Mr Fielding said I was to keep my eye on you.’
‘I can’t help that. I think she’s going by water. Meet me at Nassau Street.’
‘When?’
‘Later today,’ John said vaguely, and vanished in pursuit of his quarry.
Juliette was just stepping into a wherry as he caught up with her, but by dint of lurking in the shadows, unseen yet in earshot, the Apothecary overheard her say, ‘Cuper’s Gardens, if you please.’
Smiling to himself, John waited until the waterman had cast off, then stepped out of his hiding place to await the next hire boat that passed, delighted that Juliette was going to so public a place. For the Gardens she was about to visit were open to all. However they had enjoyed a somewhat checkered career in their time and it was still not considered bon ton for a young lady to be seen there alone with a gentleman, a fact which amused John considerably.
Originally started in 1691 by Boyder Cuper and situated on the south bank of the Thames in Lambeth, almost directly opposite Somerset House, Cuper’s Gardens had been taken over in 1738 by Ephraim Evans, landlord of the famous Hercules Pillars. Evans had made many improvements including the erection of an orchestra stand, but unfortunately had died in 1740, when his spirited wife, known generally as The Widow, had taken over the running of the place. However, accusations had been made that the premises were often host to scenes of low dissipation and, in 1753, The Widow had not been granted a licence to open. Nothing daunted, she had continued to trade as a tea garden in conjunction with The Feathers, a waterside tavern connected to the grounds. Now, or so John had been led to believe, evening entertainments were to be held once more, though only for subscribers. But during the day the public at large were admitted, to roam the pleasant walks and woodlands or to sit in the arbours and drink bottled ale. None the less, Cuper’s Gardens still maint
ained something of a seedy reputation and John felt highly intrigued by the choice of Juliette’s rendezvous, for that, he felt certain, was what it was going to prove to be.
As he boarded his own wherry, the Apothecary could just see hers coming in to land at the ornamental jetty, complete with a little rotunda built beside it in which passengers could sit to watch the view or wait for their transport. However, safely moored, Juliette ignored the pavilion, and the last glimpse John had of her was hurrying up the steps through the trees towards the entrance. Laying a small wager with himself about whom she was meeting, he followed at a leisurely pace.
Having paid his shilling entry fee, the Apothecary turned away from the main promenade, strolling the less well trodden walkways instead, and it wasn’t long before his intuition was rewarded. Walking hand in hand, earnestly engaged in conversation and coming towards him, though they had not as yet seen who he was, were none other than Juliette and her companion.
‘I was right!’ said John out loud. He swept his hat from his head and gave a bow that would not have disgraced a court ballroom. ‘Miss Hartfield, I do declare. And Lady Almeria, what a great pleasure. Why, I have not seen you since we were all at Marble Hall together.’ He twitched his brows flirtatiously and smiled in debonair fashion. ‘You’re in fine looks, Miss Juliette, if I may say so. In fact I would go so far as to say that you grow a little lovelier each time I see you.’ John’s brows worked at double speed and he gave the slightest suspicion of a wink. ‘I feel that it is high time we furthered our acquaintanceship. May I walk with you?’
Juliette flushed a deep angry red and when she spoke her voice was husky. ‘Alas, it is not convenient today, Mr Rawlings. Lady Almeria and I have much to discuss.’
The Apothecary ran his eyes over Julian’s sweetheart, taking in her determined mouth and tough little features.
‘My lady, I throw myself on your mercy,’ he said to her appealingly. ‘How can I ever press my suit with Miss Hartfield? She is always in the midst of a merry throng and never has time for me. And I so long to be alone with her.’
