by Deryn Lake
“Yes, it is. Do you know his work at all?”
“Well, yes, now you come to mention it…”
They were off, conversing freely and fast about an architect of whom John knew little. He decided to sit back and let them talk, waiting his moment to return to the exchange. But it did not come and half an hour and two brandies later, he was still waiting. Eventually, the Apothecary decided that he must taken action. He made much of looking at his watch.
“Ah, I see that it is growing late, Samuel. We will have to think about moving on.” He turned to his hostess. “So, in your opinion, is the case now closed?”
She choked on her port. “Oh, excuse me please. I thought we had done with sad talk for tonight.” She dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief. “Yes, Mr. Rawlings, I do. I believe that it is all over. I think Montague poisoned Ariadne and then poisoned himself. He was on his way to Bow Street to come clean about the whole thing but, unfortunately, his frame was weaker than he thought and he died before he could confess.”
“I see,” said John. He stood up. “A very interesting theory. I shall report it to Sir John tomorrow morning. You will be around should he wish to interview you further.”
For the first time Jocasta looked put out. “Of course. I have no intention of returning to the country. Except, of course, for Montague’s funeral.”
“Quite so.”
Samuel, who had been happily imbibing, gulped down the remains of his glass and also stood up.
“Well,” said John, “it has been truly delightful in your company.”
“Oh yes,” Samuel repeated with enthusiasm, “it has been a marvellous occasion.”
Jocasta flashed him a smile of great sincerity. “Thank you for saying so. I do hope that you will call again one day.”
“I most certainly will,” Samuel answered with relish, and kissed her hand.
Afterwards, out in the street, he stood back to let a cart go by. “I say, John, what a charming woman. Don’t you think so?”
“I think,” John answered carefully, “that she is one who could do with a great deal of watching.”
Chapter Fourteen
It had been a working day just like any other. John had compounded and infused, laboured in the shop, gallantly lied to a lady that she looked scarcely a day over thirty, and generally got on with all the things he usually did in order to make the time pass quickly so that he could get back to Emilia and Rose. But at four o’clock everything had changed and after that there had been no let up until he had finally fallen through his front door, exhausted, tired and hungry but too far gone to do anything about it.
It had started when a messenger had come in from Bow Street; a tall good-looking young man whom John hadn’t seen before.
“Mr. Rawlings?”
“Yes, the very same.”
“Sir John says could you come, Sir. A body has been found and he thinks you should see it.”
“Very well,” John had answered, and removed the long apron he wore in the shop.
They had driven to Bow Street at quite a reasonable trot and there been picked up by Joe Jago, his customary grin for once removed.
“Who is it?” John asked when they were once more on their way.
“The last person in the world you would have expected to see.”
But further than that Joe had refused to go and led John towards the body which lay, guarded by a solitary constable, in a stony silence. They were in St. James’s Park, about a mile, no more, from Buckingham House.
She was lying face down, her green and black striped dress raised a little to show legs thicker and less attractive than John would have imagined. He still had difficulty in recognising her but as they drew nearer the constable raised her and turned her to face her visitors. John drew in a breath. For there, lolling in the constable’s arms, was Evalina Fenchurch, her face twisted into a paroxysm, her lips drawn back in a ghastly smile.
John felt himself recoil, horrified by what he was looking at, and realised that even the implacable Joe was tense.
“No poison here,” said John, almost to himself.
“No Sir,” Joe replied tersely. “Taken out exactly as her father was.”
“Beaten to death,” John answered, and then added, “What a terrible way to go.”
Joe approached the body and, after a second’s hesitation, put out his hand and felt the skin. “Only just cold,” he said.
“How long would you say?”
“About an hour, give or take fifteen minutes.”
“So she came to the park alone and there met her end. Is it possible it could have been an accident?”
“Anything’s possible, Sir.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, frankly, I don’t. I truly don’t believe that a woman comes to this remote part of the park and there, by no fault of her own, just happens to get in the way of a lunatic with murder on his mind. Do you?”
“Put like that, quite definitely not.”
“Then, Sir, I must ask you to examine the body. If you don’t care to, then Sir John will call in somebody else. But being as how you’ve been in on this one straight from the top. I’d ask you to continue to help him.”
And with that Joe Jago walked briskly away, pulled a pipe from his pocket, and started to smoke very rapidly indeed. Alone with Evalina, John began with the worst, forcing down an overwhelming urge to shout as he did so. With fingers that trembled as he moved them, the Apothecary started with the face.
She had died giving a smile, that much was obvious. But now the smile had become frozen in time and would remain like that despite the moulding of her features. The red mark, hidden by her hair as it was, still stuck out, livid in the afternoon air. While her eyes, as yet unclosed, had that extraordinary blank look that comes upon the dead as soon as life has departed. But it was to none of those that John’s attention was led. Instead, he looked at the neck, at the way that it hung in relation to her body. That it was broken was clear to see. Poor Evalina had been beaten, first one way then another, until life and hope had been knocked clean out of her.
Even though the rest of the body was fairly straightforward, John, having got the face over, took his time. Over his head the afternoon sun began to lose heat and then, finally, started to go downwards through the sky. But still he worked on and it was a good half hour before he finally let the victim go and got to his feet, brushing as best he could at the detritus and mess which clung to his legs, in particular his knees.
“There. I’ve done,” he said.
Joe Jago turned round and John could see at once that he was in a far more cheerful mood. “Ah, so you have, Sir.”
“She can be taken away now.”
“Right, Sir.”
And Joe signalled to a group of men standing by with what looked a cart but in fact was a vehicle for removing the dead to the mortuary.
“Come along, lads. The Apothecary says she can be removed.”
But still, even after he had attended to her, John found the last sight of Evalina, lifted high before being placed upon the cart, one arm still hanging down and swimming lightly on the breeze, extremely distressing, and had to force himself to stand and watch her go.
“All done, Sir?” said Joe in a cheery voice.
“Yes, all done.”
“Then I suggest we go back to Bow Street, Sir John wishes to discuss the matter with you and call out more men if necessary. It is time we had an end to it and that’s a fact.”
“Yes,” said John, but he saw again in his mind’s eye that arm of Evalina’s swaying on the evening breeze, listless and lonely, the last time she would ever wave at anyone.
In Bow Street, however, all was action. The Blind Beak was obviously riled and was allowing himself to be seen so. In his office he sat, dealing with correspondence being read out to him by a man that John had never noticed before. They both looked up as John and Joe knocked and the Magistrate bellowed, “Come in, come in, whoever you are,” thoug
h not before he had guessed who was visiting him. “Mr. Rawlings?” he continued in a similar vein, then paused momentarily and went ‘Humph’.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Take a seat over there, would you. I’ll be damned if I’ll waste a moment, so the niceties will have to hang fire.”
He gestured to a distant seat and went back to listening, something he did with an almost acute observation. After exactly half an hour, during which time both John and Joe had dropped off to sleep, he stood up, said, “Thank you Mr. Dodds. Now, gentlemen,” and led the way outwards. Joe and John hastily pulled themselves together and followed.
Marching up the stairs just as if he were sighted, the Blind Beak took a seat in his salon and sent for tea. Then and only then did he turn to his guests. “Well, gentlemen, how did she die?”
Realising that it was his turn to lead off, John launched into a vivid picture, sparing the Blind Beak nothing, telling him everything he possibly could wish to know.
“So she died with a smile,” said the Magistrate, and it was a mere statement of fact and in no way a reflection of the way things were.
Joe cleared his throat. “Mr. Rawlings did a very good job, Sir. I must say that I was proud to be seen working with him.”
“So you should, Sir. Anyway, gentlemen, what’s your verdict?”
John and Joe stared at one another in astonishment. It was fairly obvious that the Blind Beak was going for the kill.
“What exactly do you mean, Sir?”
“I mean, how many murderers do we have on our hands?”
“Two, Sir,” said Joe, neat as you please.
“Yes,” answered Sir John. “Yes, yes, yes. How much longer was I going to have to wait to hear it?”
“No longer than it took me to say it,” Joe replied sharply, and John hoped and prayed that he was not going to see one of their famous and almost legendary fallings out. However, all was calm and the Magistrate merely replied, “Just so.”
There was a momentary silence before John said, “So now that that has been agreed, where next?”
“We must make an arrest,” answered the Blind Beak.
“But who?”
“The Bussell brothers for a start.”
“And second?”
“I’m not so sure,” said the Magistrate thoughtfully. “Several of those horses are beginning to act most strange.” He sat up with interest as the tea tray came in. “Well, gentlemen, when we have refreshed ourselves I suggest we go to see Mrs. Jocasta. She probably hasn’t even heard the news yet.” He took a bite from a buttered crumpet.
“The news of her sister’s death?”
“That, and the fact that she is now legally and definitely head of the family.”
As is so often the way of things, Mrs. Rayner was out. And, to complicate matters even further, nobody seemed sure of where she was or what time she would be back. In the words of the Public Office, they had drawn a blank. However, this was not going to put off Sir John Fielding. Determined that his men should be allowed to hunt, he made his way to Belgrave Square and there, sitting very tall and somehow casting a spell of respect, the search began.
Within twenty minutes of their starting. Miss Milicent came back, her face to fall with alarm when she saw that six men had systematically started to look through their things, two men to each room. To break it up a bit Joe and John were not working together, but had started on their own in different rooms.
“Oh gracious,” the poor soul blurted out, “what a to-do. I don’t know what Evalina will say when she returns.”
“I think you had best come with me, Madam,” the Blind Beak had said solemnly, and had led her into a small sitting room and closed the door. From behind, the pair had heard his voice, though none around them had been able to identify a word. After he had finished speaking there had been silence, and then a terrible moan. Then had come the sound of the door being wrenched open and for one brief second Millicent had appeared. Then she had fainted, quite suddenly and without further ado, and that had been that. She had been carried into a room that had already been searched and there laid to rest on a bed, only a maid keeping her company. John could not help but worry what would happen when she regained consciousness.
Meanwhile the search had continued, everyone working to the best of their ability in almost total silence. Then it had been broken by a cry.
“I’ve found something, Sir.”
The footsteps had run along the landing, down the stairs, and into the room where the Blind Beak sat alone.
“And what is it, Rudge?”
“This, Sir. A book, Sir.” Then the door had closed and there had once more been the sound of muted voices from within.
After a while it had opened again. “Work on, lads,” called the Blind Beak. “See if any of you can manage to come up with anything to equal this.”
But nobody had and eventually the Blind Beak had called them into the little room in which he still sat. “Gentlemen,” he said, “there has been a major discovery by Runner Rudge. I think it best that, in view of its importance, we leave now and that we don’t come back. Apparently Miss Millicent has returned to consciousness but is lying still. So all is as well as it will ever get.”
A voice spoke up. “May we all be present at the reading, Sir?”
“Yes,” said the Blind Beak, and for the first time that day he sounded glad to be alive. “You will all be there if you so desire.”
There was a cheer and suddenly, just for a second, John knew what it was like to be a member of a close-knit team.
But the mood had slightly died down by the time they returned to the Public Office and went upstairs. In short, the feeling of elation had gone but there was an enormous, tired satisfaction that they had come out of the day with something to show for it.
Sir John passed Joe the book and, having carefully put on his spectacles, the clerk started to read.
“I hardly know how to contain myself,” it started. “Today L.-I don’t know what I should call him but I shall choose the name Lancelot for his disguise - is coming and I feel sure that he loves me and is going to tell me so. Imagine my delight after all these years…”
Again, John saw that arm swinging so limply from the body as it was carried away, and he felt his heart plummet.
“…in knowing that somebody cares.”
Joe looked up. “All of it, Sir?”
The Magistrate looked up. “All of it, Joe.”
“The next entry is for a week later. It is as I dreamed - and more - because he cares and has told me of his feelings. He has asked me to go into the garden and he says that he will come to me. He didn’t come though. Anyway, the next bit is dated several days later.”
The wine and beer which they had ordered came in at this point and there was a natural break. Finally though, when everybody was reseated, Joe started to read again, his voice the only sound in that small close room.
“A week later. I was walking in the town with my youngest sister and there I met L. I was covered with confusion but my sister believed it to be the cause I had mislaid my gloves.”
So the sad tale went on, one of serious love on her part; on his, who could tell? Though John suspected that Evalina was drawn into the affair almost against her will, then, when all came to fruition, fell more madly in love than she had ever done anything before in her life. Joe read on and on and finally came towards the conclusion.
“Today was the day of Ariadne Bussell’s funeral. Oh, what a sad occasion.”
So she had clearly not suspected Ariadne of murdering her father, John thought.
“I was there and, obviously, so was L. He did not speak to me, as I supposed would happen. Still, I had hoped. But this night - thank God Foxfire Hall is as big as it is - he came to me and what I had known, or rather prayed, would occur, finally took place. I am married now in the eyes of God and thank the Lord that what will be, will be.”
Joe made a small coughing sound. He had reached the last page and w
as preparing to stop but yet found himself strangely moved by the thought of the large ugly creature so very deeply in love.
“L. wants me to meet him later today. I shall be off soon. How I love writing
“And what date does that entry have, Joe?”
“Why, Sir, it is today. Good gracious. This is the last thing she wrote - ever.”
“Yes, I think we can be pretty certain about that. Anyway, continue.”
“There’s hardly anything more. - writing this account of everything that passes between us. Lord be praised, but I am so happy. That’s it, Sir.”
“Yes, that’s it. Any ideas, gentlemen, who this extraordinary fellow might be. Lancelot, as she insisted on calling him.”
Without even wanting to, John found himself speaking up. “One of the Bussells,” he said.
“Very much as I thought,” answered the Magistrate. “Tomorrow we shall issue a warrant for the arrest of the pair of them. Till then, there is nothing further we can do.”
John got to his feet. “Then may I take my leave? Exhaustion is truly setting in.”
“Certainly,” said the Blind Beak. He lowered his voice. “And, Mr. Rawlings, may I take this rare opportunity of thanking you most sincerely.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said John, and despite the lateness of the evening left Bow Street in a warm glow of pleasure.
He crawled into bed extremely late and immediately had a dream about Evalina and L. In it, Lancelot kept his face hidden by a mask but Evalina was transformed by youth, strangely beautiful despite the devil’s mark on her cheek. It was John’s mission to tell them something of vital importance and he ran behind them down long, vast corridors, calling to them to wait for him, to stop for a moment so that he could deliver his message. But, in the way of dreams, they took no notice and ran ahead, chattering and laughing like children.
The dream changed course and now he was outside, back in the park. Yet the body lying on the ground was not that of Evalina at all but of another woman. She lay, face down, hair fluttering in the breeze. And then Joe Jago lifted the woman in his arms and John found himself staring into the face of Emilia. Emilia, his wife, mother of his child, lay there, cold and dead.
