by Deryn Lake
‘Ah well!’ said the Apothecary wistfully.
‘Obviously someone must have come back to the theatre in the small hours, managed to force an entry, then sawn the planking through, or almost through.’
‘Could a woman have done that?’
‘By all means. It would require little strength.’
‘How surprising that the noise did not awaken the theatre boy.’
‘He sleeps soundly, the young rogue. But then, he works long hours.’
‘Yes,’ said John, considering.
There was a tap on the door and the little seamstress, whom John had seen earlier altering Coralie’s costume upon her, put her head round the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Mr Weatherby is required on the stage urgently.’
She gave an anxious smile and bobbed a curtsey and John got the impression of rather a tragic young person, who had been much put upon by life. Dick looked at the Apothecary enquiringly.
‘Will that be in order?’
‘Oh certainly. We can’t have Mr Garrick flying into a passion.’
‘Indeed not,’ Dick replied, heading briskly away. ‘If you want me for anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact me,’ he called over his retreating shoulder. ‘You know I’ll do all I can to help.’ The door closed behind him.
So that was it. Only Mrs Delaney left to see and John had spoken to everyone connected with the case. Yet he felt no nearer to solving the crime than when he had started. It seemed that Jasper Harcross, like a handsome but unpleasant spider, sat in the midst of a web of intrigue, the strands of which spread everywhere, often to quite the most unexpected places.
Consulting his handsome watch, a present from Sir Gabriel to celebrate his twenty-first birthday, the Apothecary realised that he just had enough time to slip into the Public Office and inform Mr Fielding of the latest developments before he made his way to visit Mrs Delaney in the early part of the evening. Picking up the notes he had made during the various interviews, together with the precious parcel, John put on his cloak and made his way out of the stage door for the second time that day.
Chapter Eleven
It being rather dark and cold by now, turned five o’clock as it was, John, unable to find a hackney yet too tired to walk after his earlier jaunt to the Foundling Hospital, called a sedan and bade the chairmen take him to the Public Office on the run. Somewhat reluctantly, they broke into an ambling jog which, for all its faults, still got John to his destination within fifteen minutes. Deposited before the tall, thin house in Bow Street, the Apothecary tipped his carriers handsomely and sent them away with a smile on their faces.
Entering briskly and going to the desk, John Rawlings enquired after the Principal Magistrate but was dismayed to hear that both the Beak and his clerk, Joe Jago, were still in court, which today was sitting late. With an exclamation of extreme disappointment, the Apothecary turned to go, still clutching his parcel and papers, tired but none the less prepared to venture forth once more and call on Mrs Delaney at her home in Berkeley Square. It was then that he was stopped by a voice that came from directly behind him.
‘My dear Mr Rawlings, is that you?’
He spun on his heel to see both Elizabeth Fielding and Mary Ann standing there, each giving him a wide and utterly artless smile. Instantly falling under the spell of their charm, John bowed and said, ‘Alas, it is.’
‘Alas?’
‘I have come to see your husband but he is still in court, which is a great pity. The fact is that I think I might have discovered something very important and can’t wait to discuss it with him.’
Mrs Fielding looked housewifely, an adorable expression which John could have hugged her for.
‘Then you must stay and let me give you some refreshment before dinner. For which you will be joining us, I trust.’
The Apothecary spread his hands, indicating that his time was not his own. ‘Sadly, Madam, I have to call on Sarah Delaney, the actress, before the hour becomes unsociable. She is the last person in this extraordinary affair of whom I have to ask a few further questions.’
‘She can wait!’ said Elizabeth firmly. ‘You look to me, Sir, if you will not consider this personal, as if you could do with some relaxation.’
‘I must admit it has all been a little tiring. So, Mrs Fielding, I will gladly step above for a while. Do you think your husband will be engaged in court much longer?’
‘No, my boy tells me that he will not be above half an hour.’
‘Your boy?’
‘Not our son, sadly. Nature has not blessed us so far. No, it is a child I employ to sit in the court and report back to me as to what time the meals can be served.’
John burst out laughing. ‘Women are wondrous creatures, Heaven be thanked. So full of beauty and charm, yet so resourceful and cunning.’
Elizabeth looked at him narrowly. ‘And would you still have this opinion once you married? Or would you want your wife tied at home, a meek housewife, only fit to do your bidding?’
‘God forbid!’ John answered seriously. ‘A female has as much talent and splendour to offer the world as any man. If my wife wished to continue with her career, then I would encourage her to do so.’
‘But what if children came?’
‘That would remain to be seen.’
Mrs Fielding smiled. ‘You are an advanced young man indeed. Now, no more talk. I’m sure you would appreciate a glass of cordial much more.’
‘Indeed I would,’ said the Apothecary with feeling, and allowed himself to be led by the arm to the light, airy room on the first floor used by the Fieldings as their parlour. Here, a potent but refreshing brew was swiftly brought and pressed into his hand and John, relaxing for the first time that day, stretched his legs in front of him, admired his silver buckled shoes, and hoped against hope that he would not fall asleep.
Fortunately, help was at hand in the shape of Mary Ann, who chattered a stream of amusing innocence which kept him laughing until, at last, he heard the familiar tap-tap of the Blind Beak’s cane and the heavy footsteps which signified his arrival.
Then the door opened and John Fielding was there, sniffing the atmosphere in that extraordinary way of his.
‘Mr Rawlings?’ he enquired, veering his blind gaze towards the exact spot in which the Apothecary was sitting.
As always, John rose and bowed politely, even though he could not be seen to do so. ‘Here, Sir.’
‘This is an unexpected pleasure which, I imagine, denotes a discovery of some kind.’
‘Your perception is as keen as ever, Sir.’
The Blind Beak patted his niece’s head, feeling for her with uncanny precision. ‘Mary Ann, be so good as to fetch a jug of cordial and another glass. Though I am anxious to hear Mr Rawlings’s news, I would none the less prefer to do so in comfort.’
She dropped a polite curtsey, replied, ‘Yes, Uncle,’ and went from the room, leaving John pondering on what it was about the Beak that made the whole world treat him as if he were sighted.
Yet again John Fielding performed one of the small miracles that were probably the explanation for this phenomenon. ‘Take a seat, my friend, do,’ he said, as if he could see that the Apothecary was still courteously on his feet.
‘Thank you,’ John answered, but never the less waited until his host had settled his great frame in his favourite chair, his legs stuck out before him in an attitude of negligent ease.
‘Now tell me,’ said the Blind Beak, ‘what is it you have discovered?’
While he was about it, the Apothecary gave him a resume of all the morning’s interviews, even discussing the extraordinary relationship between Melanie Vine, Jack Masters and Tom Bowdler.
The Magistrate rumbled his melodious laugh. ‘Well, well, a ménage à trois indeed.’
‘Well almost, yes.’
‘Now tell me more of your theory concerning the Egleton children.’
‘I just have this uncanny feeling that they are somewhere near at hand. Adam Veri
ty and his milliner sister fit the description best, but he was so open about running away from his foster home that I can’t believe it is him.’
‘An honest countenance is often the best way of disguising guilt,’ Mr Fielding answered drily. ‘Remember that. Now tell me about the boy.’
‘He was taken from the Foundling Hospital by Jasper Harcross, then he was cared for by James Martin. But, according to Will, he was picked randomly to go and work at Drury Lane. None of it made any sense to me and so, just because my thumbs pricked, I went to the Hospital this late morning.’
‘And?’
‘I discovered several things. The child was abandoned outside the gatehouse on St Swithin’s Day, 1745. He was healthy and about six months old. Attached to his basket was a note and dropped nearby was a man’s linen handkerchief bearing the embroidered initials J.M.’
‘James Martin?’
‘He immediately leapt to mind, Sir.’
‘And the note?’
‘I will read it to you if I may.’
‘Please do.’ And the Blind Beak sat in silence while John read the simple message once again. ‘Care for this poor child, William. His mother cannot keep him with her. It breaks my heart’.
The silence continued and was only broken by Mary Ann returning with a well-filled jug and a glass, both contained on a tray which she carried with some difficulty. Seeing the two gentlemen deep in thought she behaved as her aunt had trained her to do, simply dropping another curtsey and quietly leaving the room. A child brought up in such an important place as the Public Office in Bow Street knew exactly how to conduct itself, as did all those born to parents who ranked amongst the great and the powerful.
‘Well, Sir?’ asked John eventually.
‘Obviously the note was not written by the mother.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But in that case, who did write it? The father, perhaps?’
‘I would have thought so. But, if we assume this to be true, why should James Martin give up the child? It would have been born in wedlock, after all.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said the Blind Beak.
‘What do you mean, Sir?’
‘Well, the way he cares for Will now, under a strict code of secrecy, suggests to me that Mr Martin is hiding something.’
‘Then, if the theatre boy is his bastard why did he send Jasper Harcross, of all people, to go and fetch the child to Drury Lane, particularly as Jasper had enjoyed a long-standing affair with his wife and James had much to hate him for?’
‘There you have me,’ Mr Fielding answered truthfully. ‘Unless, of course …’
‘Unless what, Sir?’
But the Magistrate refused to be drawn any further, shaking his head and saying that it was an ill-formed idea and one that he would rather not air until he had more evidence. Somewhat put out, John stood up, having first hastily consumed another glass of cordial.
‘Then I’ll be on my way. I must fit Mrs Delaney in before seven o’clock. If she is on stage tonight she will hardly appreciate my being any later.’
‘You are working very hard, my friend. I am extremely grateful for your assistance. I hope you realise that.’
‘Oh I do, I do,’ said the Apothecary, not mollified.
And with that he left, hastily bidding farewell to Elizabeth and Mary Ann, still hurt and upset by the fact that the Blind Beak refused to discuss his embryonic notions with him.
‘I should go out this evening and enjoy myself instead of wasting time asking even more questions,’ John muttered to himself as he hailed a hackney. But for all these rebellious thoughts he none the less directed the driver to number fifteen Berkeley Square, the address that Mrs Delaney had given him when he had first questioned her.
Despite his gnawing hunger, John enjoyed the drive down through the little streets towards The Strand, then on past the Charing Cross, into Cockspur Street and along Pall Mall, where stood so many beautiful houses, each of them lit by the golden glow of candles. Finally, though, the conveyance turned north up St James’s Street, left into Piccadilly, then straight up Berkeley Street towards their destination.
Much as John had suspected, fifteen turned out to be a grandiose building indeed, its frontage facing directly over the large green garden round which the square was built. Yet, to his horror, as he alighted from the hackney and paid the driver off, he caught a distinct glimpse of a man’s bewigged head passing through the candle-lit living rooms, presumably making his way to the library at the back. Praying that it was only a footman and that Lord Delaney was not yet home, the Apothecary knocked at the front door.
A servant answered, staring at John somewhat suspiciously.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘I have come to see Mrs … I mean Lady Delaney. If you could tell her that it is John Rawlings, I think she will receive me.’
‘Have you an appointment, Sir?’
‘I promised to call on her but have had no opportunity to do so until now. Would you tell her that?’
‘Certainly, Sir. Wait in here if you would,’ and he ushered the Apothecary into a small, elegantly furnished ante room in which a festive fire burned brightly.
A moment or two later he came back, appearing to be in something of a hurry. ‘Lady Delaney says she will see you at once in the salon, but please be quick.’
‘Why, is she going out?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say, Sir,’ the servant answered, returning to pompous vein. Scampering along the corridor behind him, John wondered if all the haste was being caused by the fact that Lord Delaney was at home.
And sure enough, as he followed the footman into a fashionable room, decorated in delicate pink and rose red, the actress got to her feet and hurried towards him, whispering, ‘You must not be long. My husband has returned early. If he gets wind of this terrible tragedy I tremble to think of the consequences.’
‘Do not distress yourself, Madam, please,’ John replied smoothly. ‘In your condition it really is not wise.’
‘Well, can we keep these damnable questions to a minimum? I told you as much as I could the other night.’
‘I am bound to ask you all that you did not give me time to say on that occasion. Further, wherever I go I hear consistent rumours that it is Harcross’s child you are carrying. I do realise I want for tact in phrasing the matter in that way, but I thought there was little point in beating about the mulberry bush.’
The actress hissed with rage and drew back her hand as if she were going to strike him. ‘How dare you, you miserable little beast!’
‘I think,’ said John, with as much dignity as he could muster, ‘that I had better go. I shall recommend to Mr Fielding that he interview you personally.’
‘Yes, go,’ answered Lady Delaney, spiritedly. ‘And may the devil take you and all of your kind.’
John bowed and turned to the door, and then an extraordinary thing happened. The actress, without any warning, burst into tears as swiftly as an April shower. ‘No,’ she sobbed, beckoning him back. ‘John Fielding would be worse, far worse, than you. ’Tis said that for a blind man he sees more of what is going on than anyone else in the kingdom.’
‘That, Madam, is completely true. Furthermore, he has a remedy for those who will not speak. He holds them in contempt of court.’
‘Oh merciful Heavens,’ sobbed the poor creature, sinking onto the sofa. ‘What shall I do?’
‘Trust me,’ said John, going down on one knee in front of her so that their faces were on a level. ‘Tell me everything and tell it quickly, in case your husband walks in.’
‘And if he does?’
‘Leave that to me to deal with.’
Sarah’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘This is Jasper’s child.’ And she laid her hand on her abdomen. ‘Of course, as soon as he discovered I was pregnant he abandoned me, a charming habit of his. I was frightened out of my wits and rushed into marriage with Lord Delaney, an old admirer of mine who had treated me to champagne and flowers over the years.
Three weeks after our wedding night I told him I suspected I was enceinte and the poor soul was overjoyed to imagine he had sired an heir at his age. Naturally, I feared Jasper, thinking he might tell Arthur the truth. But though he seemed to have taken great delight in informing everybody else, he kept away from here, thank God.’ She paused and wept further, then said, ‘Does he really have a wife?’
‘Oh yes, I saw her the other night. She, too, has suffered at his hands so don’t hate the poor woman too much.’
‘I pity her for sacrificing her life to that wastrel.’
‘Did you kill him?’ John asked quietly, gazing directly into her tear-filled blue eyes.
‘No, I swear it. Anyway, it would not have been easy for me in my state to have squeezed into the mobile and sawn the planking through.’
‘I admit that is certainly in your favour.’
‘And I didn’t, I didn’t,’ she added, her voice growing louder and a certain hysterical note becoming audible. ‘Much as I longed to do so, it wasn’t me.’
There was a noise in the passageway outside and Sarah gripped John’s arm in alarm. ‘It’s my husband. Oh, my God, how can I explain your presence?’
‘Lie down,’ he whispered urgently.
‘What?’ She stared at him in amazement.
‘I said lie down,’ and not waiting for her to comply, the Apothecary pushed Lady Delaney flat, simultaneously jumping to his feet and leaning over her. ‘Well,’ he continued in a loud professional voice, ‘the baby is certainly large for four months. It would not surprise me to see you give birth prematurely.’ He winked an eye at her, then proceeded to examine her rounding with an adept hand as the door flew open.
‘What’s all this?’ asked Lord Delaney, obviously shocked. John finished the examination and turned to bow. ‘Pray set your mind at rest, my Lord. I am John Rawlings, apothecary, of Shug Lane. Lady Delaney sent for me. She has been suffering from heartburn and wondered if my special compound might ease the pain.’
‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ his Lordship continued suspiciously.
Sarah Delaney sat upright. ‘I did not wish to alarm you, my dear. I asked the footman to show Mr Rawlings directly to me.’
