by Deryn Lake
John stared at it in the light of the dying sun, noticing the wide entrance to the courtyard behind it. ‘Is the place a coaching inn by any chance?’
Unkle chuckled. ‘Of course it is, Sir. That’s where the stage and flying coaches from the Kent coast bring their passengers to catch the ferry to London.’
‘Oh God’s sweet life!’ said John, and clutched his head.
‘What is it?’ asked Unkle, perturbed.
‘It’s the answer,’ shouted the Apothecary, his voice ringing out in sheer exhilaration. ‘Oh, my dear sweet man, it’s the answer to the whole damnable mystery.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Blind Beak sat in total silence, his puissant profile etched against the light coming in through the window, his extraordinary ability to remain utterly immobile never more clearly marked. Behind him, taking notes, was Joe Jago, his endearingly craggy face expressionless as he wrote down all that the Apothecary had to say. There was a stillness everywhere, the distant buzz of the household and the Public Office below it, strangely hushed, just as if the entire place was listening to the Apothecary’s account of how Sir William Hartfield and Kitty Perkins met their death.
‘And that, in my belief,’ said John eventually, ‘is how the first murder was done and why the oyster girl had to be disposed of.’
Mr Fielding remained still a moment longer before finally nodding his head. ‘Yes, it all seems to fit. In any event, it is a strong enough argument to put to the test. Joe, can you get letters out calling all those involved together?’
‘Certainly, Sir. But there’s rum coves amongst ’em, some who won’t be willing to oblige.’
‘Threaten them with contempt, especially Lady Hodkin. In fact I think we should get Rudge to go to Bethnal Green and fetch her. By the way, where’s Luke Challon living now that he has lost his situation?’
‘I believe he’s in lodgings in Redriff. But Valentine Randolph is bound to know. He was helping him find somewhere.’
‘Good.’ The Magistrate gave one of his melodious laughs. ‘You’d best invite Samuel Swann to be present, too, or else he’ll be mightily put out.’
‘Indeed he will,’ answered the Apothecary. ‘He was out of town and missed Kitty’s funeral, which made him very upset. But being there at the end of the story, so to speak, should restore his spirits.’
Joe made a note. ‘Is there anyone else?’ he asked.
‘Don’t forget Amelia Lambourn,’ said the Blind Beak, and laughed once more. ‘I can’t wait for you to describe the family’s faces when they discover the truth about Sir William’s betrothed and his eldest son.’
‘Who turned out to be more Roger than Molly,’ put in Jago, guffawing.
His laugh was so infectious that the other two simultaneously put their heads back and joined with him, so that for several minutes there was total chaos. Then Mr Fielding calmed down.
‘Pray do ask your father to escort Miss Hesther Hodkin to the family gathering, my young friend. I would like him to be present. Incidentally, I find his habit of rescuing ladies in distress quite enchanting. I well remember how he once helped poor Mrs Harcross.’
John smiled. ‘He did that very same thing for my mother and myself, many years ago.’
The Magistrate nodded. ‘There is an innate kindness in Sir Gabriel Kent that his fellow men would do well to emulate.’
‘Question, Sir,’ said Joe. ‘When do you want this gathering to take place? And where? And when?’
‘Tomorrow at noon, and no later. We must not let the bird fly the nest. Call them to The Devil’s Tavern, which I feel would be a fitting venue. Ask the landlord to reserve the cockfighting room. Let us complete the circle where it all began. Besides, I feel the need to quit Bow Street for a while and should much enjoy a journey by water.’
The clerk stood up. ‘Then I’ll get to it right away. I presume you’ll want to sign the letters personally?’
‘Indeed I will.’
Jago nodded and left the room.
‘A great man, that one,’ said the Magistrate as he heard the door close behind his assistant. ‘My right hand. He has made himself indispensable to me, in fact I cannot contemplate a life without him.’
‘A life without Joe,’ John answered seriously, ‘would be a colourless thing indeed.’ And he sat in silence for a few moments, not even wanting to imagine such a thing.
‘So,’ said the Magistrate briskly, breaking the mood. ‘What are you going to do with yourself until tomorrow, Mr Rawlings?’
‘I am going home to write a letter and then I intend to call on the Comtesse de Vignolles. Tonight I am in the mood for a little gambling and sincerely hope that she will be pleased to accompany me.’
‘Ah ha! Do I detect a plot to clip a pair or two of foolish young wings?’
‘You most certainly do,’ John replied, and once again both of them laughed, only this time more gently.
Having returned to Nassau Street and written his letter, John hailed a hackney coach and delivered the note personally to the Hartfields’ house in St James’s Square.
‘You will make quite sure Mr Julian gets this as soon as he comes in,’ he asked the footman, as he handed it through the door.
‘Certainly, Sir.’
‘And say that I look forward to seeing him at White’s this evening and simply will not take no for an answer.’
The footman bowed. ‘Very good, Sir. Will that be all, Sir?’
‘Yes, for the present,’ John said cheerfully, and returned to the hackney which had been waiting for him outside. ‘To number twelve Hanover Square,’ he instructed the driver, and felt the usual thrill of pleasure that the prospect of seeing Serafina always aroused in him.
Despite the fact that she was now in the seventh month of her pregnancy, this day the Comtesse radiated excitement as she stood at the top of the graceful staircase, waiting to greet him.
‘My dear,’ she called as John climbed upwards. ‘I heard this morning that Sarah Delaney has given birth to a baby boy. Lord Delaney is said to be fit to burst with joy and is inviting the entire beau monde to celebrate as soon as the mother is fully recovered.’
‘And does the baby resemble its father?’ John asked, and winked an eye.
‘According to my informant it is a fine child. Very dark and well made.’
‘Enough said I think,’ answered John, and arriving at the top, kissed her on the cheek.
‘Now you are not to be naughty,’ said Serafina, then laughed. ‘Poor old fellow. I’m told he’s as puffed with pride as a bull frog.’
‘And Sarah? Is she well?’
‘Sailed through her travail like a ship with the wind behind it.’
Serafina put her hand to her body. ‘Let it be hoped that I can do the same.’
‘Of course, you will,’ said John. ‘You have a robust attitude to life and that is half the battle, believe me.’
‘Yes, Apothecary. Now, my dear, tell me about yourself. Have you solved your mystery yet? And have you seen anything of Coralie Clive?’
John smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, to both. I believe the murderer is found, though that is yet to be proved. And the lady and I have met, only to part with no plans to meet again.’
Serafina smiled, her elegant face animated by her private thoughts. ‘Give it time, my friend. As I told you once before, you and Coralie encountered one another too soon in your lives.’
The Apothecary sighed. ‘Do you think we will ever become lovers?’
‘Who knows? Fate has such strange twists and turns that one can never be certain of anything. But yet I do not believe that destiny has played its full game with the pair of you.’
John nodded. ‘I hope you are right.’
‘Now you are growing sad,’ Serafina stated reprimandingly. ‘Kindly raise your spirits and tell me why you have come to see me. There is a look about you that denotes mischief.’
The Apothecary brightened at the thought of the evening ahead. ‘Well, there is a little game
I want to play that only you can help me with.’
‘Tell me of it,’ ordered the Comtesse, and her twinkling smile deepened as John explained his plan. Then she sighed. ‘You know how much I would adore to take part but, alas, I am so large I have withdrawn from public life.’
‘Oh surely not.’
Serafina’s smile ascended to her cheekbones. ‘Almost but not quite. I shall put on a gown big as a tent and sally forth.’
‘Will Louis accompany us?’
‘Nothing would stop him once he hears what’s afoot.’
‘Then shall I call for you at nine o’clock?’
‘No,’ answered Serafina impetuously, ‘go home and change then come to a late dinner. I intend to make this my last excursion until after the baby is born and I want to enjoy it to the full.’
‘I think I can promise you an evening of fine play,’ said John.
‘Till seven o’clock,’ answered the Comtesse, as they kissed and parted company.
White’s gambling club in St James’s had started its life as one of London’s exclusive chocolate houses, the place in which the beau monde assembled to discuss the topics of the day. But it had not been long before its reputation as a meeting place for gamblers and spendthrifts had overtaken its other, more innocent, character. Eventually, the serving of coffee and chocolate had become of secondary importance, and White’s had emerged as the place in which riches were lost or won, where suicides as a result of a night’s gaming were a commonality, where great fortunes and estates changed hands at the turn of a card or the roll of a dice.
Yet White’s had one eccentricity to which some diehards objected. In this all male preserve there was one solitary female who was allowed to enter and play. Serafina, Comtesse de Vignolles, who only a year previously had kept her identity concealed and had been known to fashionable society simply as the Masked Lady, had by her enormous flair and skill as a gamester, won herself a place at the tables at any time she wished. And this fine April evening with the place crowded by the noblest in the land and stakes running high, it was rumoured that her carriage had drawn up outside.
Just for the briefest moment, all play ceased, and every head turned towards the doorway. Then the Earl of Carlisle, an impetuous young blood, rose to his feet and applauded, leading the way to a standing ovation, as the lady herself, clad in a flowing scarlet robe and concealing her features with a domino of matching silk, entered on the arm of her handsome French husband, followed by an elegant but strange young man who was believed by many to be nothing more than a common apothecary.
Several of those present invited the Comtesse to honour them with her presence but she smilingly declined and made straight for the table at which sat a slight young man called Julian Hartfield, famous already for his ability to lose enormous sums with no hope of regaining his money.
‘God help the fellow,’ whispered Sir John Bland, the member for Luggershal, to his companion.
‘This will probably finish him for good,’ came the reply. Then everyone chuckled, some with sympathy, others with malice, as the Masked Lady and her party took up the dice for a game of hazard and invited the poor unfortunate to join them.
‘My dear Julian,’ said John, as he picked up the dice box, ‘it seems an age since I’ve seen you. When was it now? Oh yes, I remember. We were both at Cuper’s Gardens.’
Julian flushed. ‘No, I think not. We last saw one another aboard The Folly.’
‘Of course, how foolish of me.’ The Apothecary lowered his voice. ‘You do realise who my companion is, don’t you?’
Julian shook his head. ‘No, I’m relatively new to White’s.’
‘Then you’re in for an enormous pleasure. She is the famous Masked Lady whom you admire so much. The woman known the length and breadth of London as the finest and luckiest gamester of them all.’ John rattled the dice and threw. ‘You see, whenever she is present good fortune eludes me.’ He handed the box to the twin. ‘I sincerely hope that you fare better.’
Julian paled, threw, and lost.
‘Let us raise the stakes,’ said Serafina sweetly, pulling in the rouleaus of fifty guineas which had been wagered on the last throw. She looked at Julian. ‘Sir, I am sure you will be willing.’
The twin gulped. ‘Of course,’ he answered, his voice feeble.
He was like a fly, caught in the net of a brilliant, glittering spider, terrified but unable to resist. In the end, everyone else at the table gladly dropped out of the game, leaving only Serafina and Julian to stare at one another over the dice box.
‘One final throw,’ she said. Then she laughed. ‘I’m in a generous mood so let us play deep. My home in Hanover Square and all my jewels. What will you stake?’
Nobody moved and Julian’s voice croaked into the silence, ‘My house in St James’s Square.’
‘Is it yours to wager?’
‘Yes,’ Julian lied.
‘Very well.’
The Comtesse threw the dice and a double six rolled out onto the cloth. There was a gasp of indrawn breath as Julian picked up the box, knowing that unless he drew equal all was lost. He shook, and a six and a four were revealed. The twin plunged his head into his hands and sobbed.
Serafina leaned across the table and said, very quietly, ‘My dear Miss Hartfield, I have no intention of calling this wager in, but in return for my generosity I want you to honour two very simple requests. First, you must immediately stop masquerading as your brother and thereby causing no end of trouble; it is a dangerous game for any woman to play. And second, you must swear henceforth entirely to give up gaming for which, let me hasten to assure you, you have absolutely no talent whatsoever.’
Exactly one hour later, a sobbing saddened Juliette had been returned to her home and a note left at St James’s Square for Julian to attend the Comte de Vignolles on a matter of the utmost urgency. Then, Serafina being utterly exhausted and having retired for the night, John and Louis sat up to wait for him, their manner not at all amused.
At just after midnight, there was a ring at the door, which they answered together.
‘Damme, what’s all this about?’ the young reprobate demanded languidly, only to be seized by the collar and dragged into the hall by a furious John Rawlings.
‘You ridiculous little man,’ the Apothecary shouted, his eyes bright with anger. ‘You deserve to be shot. By indulging in your stupid shabby masquerade, dressing up as your twin sister in order to have easy access to your lady love without the presence of a chaperone, you have placed Juliette in the greatest moral and physical danger. She wanders London dressed as a man, inviting all kinds of misfortune. Why, she could even be challenged to a duel. But her greatest peril is that she is totally addicted to gambling without the skill to go with it, and tonight came within a hair’s breadth of losing everything.’
‘I think,’ said Louis, sounding very French, ‘that a horsewhip is called for.’
‘By all means,’ the Apothecary answered him. He turned back to Julian. ‘I intend to call on your sweetheart’s father and tell him exactly how you managed to seduce his daughter in so despicable a fashion. No doubt, he will have his own methods of dealing with you.’
The twin looked so sick that John felt a momentary pang of sympathy for him. ‘Oh no, please don’t do that, I beg you,’ he pleaded, his voice near to sobs. ‘I promise I am going to do the right thing by her. We are running away to be married as soon as tomorrow’s meeting with Mr Fielding is over.’
‘Oh dear God spare us,’ said the Apothecary, rolling his eyes, ‘I do believe you have put her with child!’
‘Yes I have,’ confessed Julian, and burst into tears.
Remembering the knowing look on Lady Almeria Noel’s tough little face, John felt his fury start to subside.
‘That’s all very honourable I’m sure,’ he answered, slightly less harshly, ‘but think of the cruel thing you did to Juliette by allowing her out and about dressed in your clothes.’
Julian wiped his eyes. ‘I
thought she would be all right, that her gambling was only a game, a pastime. I thought she would meet a worthy man who would protect her. Someone like yourself.’
Louis interceded. ‘It is getting late and time that we concluded this conversation. Mr Hartfield, do I have your word of honour as a gentleman, that you will marry the woman who carries your child, and also that you will in future protect your sister not only from external dangers but those that she inflicts upon herself?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Julian in an earnest voice.
‘Then that is all there is to be said.’
The twin looked from one to the other of them. ‘I apologise …’ he began.
‘Save your words,’ answered John abruptly. ‘There’ll be enough explaining for you to do when you get before Mr Fielding tomorrow.’
On Louis’s insistence, the Apothecary took the de Vignolles’s coach home, but rather than ask the equipage to turn into the narrow confines of Nassau Street, he alighted from it in Gerrard Street and went the rest of the way on foot, hardly noticing in his tired state that a dark shadow had detached itself from a doorway and was following him. In fact, if it had not been for a sudden cry from Louis’s postillion, who had turned his head and seen the menacing state of affairs, the stick which crashed down within a few inches of his head might have hit its target and left John lying fatally injured. As it was, the servant jumped down from his place and gave chase while John recovered his wits.
‘Did you get him?’ the Apothecary asked, when the postillion eventually came running back.
‘No, Sir. He lost me in the back streets. But I caught a glimpse of him and he didn’t look like a footpadder or cutpurse to me. Too smart, if you take my meaning.’
‘I take it very well,’ John answered grimly. ‘Tomorrow’s meeting cannot come soon enough in view of this.’
‘You keep a watch on yourself,’ said the servant as he returned to the waiting carriage.
‘From now on I shall travel fully armed,’ the Apothecary assured him as he hurried into the safety of number two, Nassau Street.
Chapter Twenty-Six
