by Deryn Lake
‘It is but we must. There is no way in which we can wait until later.’
‘I suppose you want me to run?’ asked the Goldsmith with a sigh.
‘It is a straight choice between that or staying with the body.’
‘I’ll run,’ said Samuel hastily.
Together they found the stage door which John left open, partly to let in more light, partly so as not to feel cut off from the world outside. This done, he went back to the properties room, having found a candle and tinder box on the way. There, with greater illumination and without Samuel lurking in the background, he made a more thorough examination of the mortal remains of poor Will Swithin.
He had choked to death all right, and sufficiently long ago to render John’s attempts at resuscitation useless. Whoever had killed the boy had obviously waited until the theatre emptied after The Merchant of Venice and then returned to silence the unhappy child. Holding the cold, pale corpse in his arms, John thought what a waste everything was. Here was a young creature starting out on the adventure of life, courageously doing his best to make his way in the world. Now there was no hope for him. He had been despatched because he knew too much.
‘God bless you, sad soul,’ said John, and kissed the icy forehead.
It was in that moment, almost like a flash of lightning, that Will’s true parentage was suddenly revealed to him. Mr Fielding had guessed at it yet had refused to commit himself, but now the time had come to prove it. As Samuel crashed back in through the stage door, John, having covered the corpse with a theatrical cloak, ran to meet him.
‘Are they on their way?’
‘Yes,’ his friend panted. ‘Mr Fielding is getting dressed, as are two of the Beak Runners.’
‘What about Joe Jago?’
‘He lives in the Seven Dials area. Someone has gone to fetch him.’
‘Samuel,’ said John earnestly. ‘Do you think you could go back and divert one of the Runners to bring Mr and Mrs Martin here? Their presence is vital, I believe.’
The Goldsmith rolled his eyes in his head, still puffing. ‘Must I?’ he gasped.
John nodded. ‘It’s very important. Really.’
With a look of total resignation his friend said no more, heading out of the theatre at a strained trot, his face a picture of despondency.
‘I’m sorry,’ the Apothecary called after him, ‘but we must find the boy’s killer.’
Samuel’s receding figure quickened its pace as John, his expression grave, returned to keep his vigil with the newly dead.
* * *
Within half an hour all the officers of the law were present. The physician had examined William and confirmed John’s diagnosis of death by strangulation, caused by murderous hanging. But then, contrary to normal practice, the body had not been removed to the city morgue. Instead, at Mr Fielding’s instruction, it had remained in the properties room, still covered by the cloak.
By now all the chandeliers that normally lit the stage and theatre had been illuminated, so it was possible for a thorough search of the gallows and the surrounding area to be made. It had not surprised John greatly when a woman’s glove had been found abandoned not far from the scene of the murder. But what had shaken him to the core had been the fact that it smelled distinctly of the perfume worn by Coralie Clive.
‘But that’s impossible,’ he exclaimed to the Blind Beak, shortly after the discovery had been made. ‘I was with Miss Clive last evening. We dined with the Comte and Comtesse de Vignolles. Later we were joined by Miss Kitty who arrived at about eleven o’clock. Coralie’s movements can be completely accounted for.’
John Fielding had raised the glove to his nose and sniffed it thoughtfully. ‘Sarah Delaney’s bow and now this. It would seem that the murderer is definitely trying to incriminate a woman.’
‘He’s made an error this time!’ John replied triumphantly. ‘I suppose he thought that the glove belonged to Sarah and by placing it in the properties room he was drawing her into the net more tightly.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ the Blind Beak answered. ‘Think of the play, my young friend.’
‘The play?’ John repeated, surprised.
‘Do not Polly Peachum and Lucy Lockit become united by misfortune at one stage? Surely there is a line which Polly speaks, “Let us retire, my dear Lucy, and indulge our sorrows”? Having no one else to turn to, do they not console one another?’
‘Are you saying that the killer is trying to lay the blame at the feet of both Coralie and Sarah?’
‘It is a possibility, you must agree. One had been his mistress, the other expects his child. These two women, as far as we know, were Jasper’s most recent conquests.’
‘I don’t quite follow you, Sir.’
‘If jealous revenge was the motive for the original crime, then why not get rid of his two sweethearts by leaving clues that point to both of them?’
‘As if the women were working in collusion?’
‘Exactly.’
John sat silently, considering the idea. ‘On the other hand, Sir, he – or she – could have mistaken the glove for Sarah Delaney’s.’
‘Indeed, they could. The entire case is surrounded by bewildering possibilities. And speaking of women, could a female have strung that poor boy up?’
‘Quite easily. He weighed little and could have been subdued without difficulty. There’s nothing that points directly to a man as his killer.’
‘As I thought,’ said Mr Fielding, and sighed deeply.
Samuel came over to join them, his expression one of dismay. ‘The Martins have arrived and apparently she is creating a scene fit to burst her skin.’
And indeed, into the relative quiet of the stage area burst the most fearful commotion, Clarice Martin’s voice rising to a crescendo above all other sound.
‘How dare you bring me here at this hour of the night? Are honest citizens no longer allowed to sleep peacefully in their beds? What is going on? That is what I would like to know.’
In one powerful movement, the Blind Beak lunged off the stool on which he had been sitting and loomed to his full height of six feet and three inches. His vast shoulders shook, though not with suppressed mirth, and his expression was merciless. John, who had seen the Principal Magistrate gentle as a lamb with his adopted child, Mary Ann, trembled despite himself.
‘Bring her to me,’ roared John Fielding, drowning the din from the stage door. ‘Bring that damnable woman to me and tell her if she utters one more word I’ll charge her with impeding the course of justice.’
The hubbub ceased as abruptly as it had begun and across the stage, very red in the face and accompanied by Joe Jago, foxy hair on end and minus a wig, came the perpetrator of all the din.
‘Stand before me, Madam,’ said the Beak commandingly, ‘and utter not one word until I have finished speaking.’
‘Now see here …’ she began, though somewhat halfheartedly.
‘I cannot see,’ he retaliated, his voice harsh as a whip, ‘that is why I wear this black bandage. But I can see in my imagination and I have built a very clear picture of you, Mrs Martin. You are a spoilt and selfish woman who has spent her entire life besotted with one ignominious creature, for whom you have sacrificed both your husband and your child. But now your deserts have come. That very child whom you ordered your poor wretched spouse to abandon at the Foundling Hospital, though it broke his heart to do so, tonight met his end at the hands of a murderer. As his natural parent I thought you should be informed, it even occurred to me that you might wish to make your farewells.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked the actress hoarsely, her flushed face suddenly the colour of frost.
‘I am saying that William Swithin, your son sired by Jasper Harcross, whom your husband adored, having lost his own child through a tragic accident, was hanged tonight, presumably by the same hand which took the life of his father.’
‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, though John, looking for genuine signs of distress, could see few
.
Yet the same could not be said for James Martin, who now came to join them, his small orderly features already contorting with grief. ‘Will is dead?’ he asked in a hoarse, unrecognisable voice.
‘Yes, Mr Martin,’ answered the Magistrate unremittingly. ‘I know it is grievous news but there is no other way of breaking it.’
‘Murdered, you say?’
‘I fear so.’
‘Oh my poor little boy,’ James muttered brokenly, and started to weep silently.
Very gently, John Fielding took him by the arm. ‘But he wasn’t really your little boy, was he?’
Mrs Martin interrupted, her voice surprisingly subdued. ‘No, he was my son by Jasper Harcross, as you correctly guessed. We had had a child, James and I, but he died in his cradle. So when I became pregnant by my lover I tried to deceive my husband into thinking this next baby was also his. But as soon as Will was born, James seemed to guess the truth. It was uncanny, for the poor creature did not resemble Jasper in the least. After the facts came out I could not and would not tolerate the situation. As James began to dote on the lad so I turned more and more against him, to the point where I could not bear the baby to be under the same roof.’
‘So you insisted that your husband leave him at the Foundling Hospital?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did you think about that?’ the Blind Beak gently asked the sobbing musician.
‘It broke my heart to abandon him. I loved him as much as if he had been my own.’
John Fielding’s tones became extremely solemn as he addressed Clarice Martin once more. ‘I am glad that it is you who must live with your conscience, Madam, and not I.’
The Apothecary broke in, anxious to ask a question. ‘I presume that Jasper Harcross knew who the boy was and that was why he brought him to Drury Lane to work?’
Mrs Martin shot him a baleful glance. ‘Naturally he knew. But I did not approve of Will coming here. I said it would make trouble and so it has.’
Her husband’s tragic voice interrupted their conversation. ‘May I see him please?’
John Fielding turned his head in the direction of the sound. ‘My young friend Mr Rawlings will escort you in a moment, but first let me ask you one more thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘Did Jasper consult you about bringing the boy here or was that kindly action all his own?’
‘I begged him to do it and as soon as the child was of an age, he agreed. I think it amused him to have one of his little bastards about the place.’
‘Who else knew that Jasper was Will’s actual father?’
‘Nobody, as far as I know. The child certainly didn’t.’
‘But is it beyond the bounds of possibility that Jasper joked about it to someone, perhaps even boasting of his virility?’
Clarice Martin spoke up, her voice bitter. ‘I am sure he mentioned the fact. I was never comfortable with Will around the place. I always felt that people were sniggering at me behind my back.’
‘Well, that won’t be a problem to you any more, will it?’ said the Blind Beak, and his voice was like shards of ice.
She blanched beneath the power of it so that now she seemed almost as pale as her pathetic son. ‘Oh poor Will!’ she said brokenly.
‘Too late now,’ snarled her husband. ‘The child was sacrificed to your enormous ego, in every sense.’ He turned his back on her. ‘And now, Mr Fielding, if I may say farewell to the boy.’
‘Of course.’ The black bandage shifted in John’s direction. ‘Mr Rawlings, if you would be so good.’
It was a bleak experience. John stood with his back to the room, staring out of the window at the dark street beyond, only too aware that behind him James Martin had lifted the cloak from Will’s body and was at present cradling the fragile form in his arms, speaking to the boy as if he were still alive.
Through the Apothecary’s mind rushed a torrent of thoughts: what evil being could possibly murder an innocent child; were there two murderers involved in this equation or had the same bloodied hand committed both crimes; was Mr Fielding right in thinking that the killer wished to implicate Coralie and Sarah together, or had an error been made in dropping Miss Clive’s glove?
He must have made some small sound or movement at this juncture, for James Martin spoke into the stillness.
‘What will happen to the body?’
‘I don’t know. I am sure Mr Fielding will release it to you if you so wish.’
‘Yes, I would like to see the lad given a decent funeral and not be put in some pauper’s grave. He had little enough in life, after all.’ Mr Martin paused. ‘Jasper is to be buried tomorrow, so I hear.’
‘I wonder where?’
‘In Kensington. I believe his widow wanted it to be a quiet affair.’
‘I think she will get her wish,’ John replied austerely. ‘I expect Mr Fielding will require everyone here for questioning.’
James Martin stood up, then gently laid the body back on the floor and covered it with the magnificent cloak. ‘Jasper wore this when he played Othello and now it shrouds his tragic son. What irony, what irony!’
‘Mr Martin,’ John said quietly. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you? Should I mix you a soothing potion of some kind?’
‘Perhaps you could see to it that Mrs Martin gets home safely.’
‘Will you not be accompanying her?’ the Apothecary asked, astonished.
James shook his head sadly. ‘I simply cannot continue with her after this.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That our marriage is at an end. I shall seek lodgings elsewhere.’
‘Isn’t that a little extreme?’
‘If I had done it years ago, Will might still be alive today.’
John froze with horror. ‘Exactly what are you saying, Sir?’
Mr Martin gave a tragic smile. ‘If you think I am accusing my wife of murder you would not be far off the mark.’
‘Did she kill him?’ John asked, thunderstruck. ‘Surely no mother, however harsh, would take the life of her own child?’
‘I don’t suppose that, in the sense you mean, Clarice murdered William. But she set the wheels in motion by sending him from our house.’
The Apothecary shook his head. ‘Don’t go down that twisted path, I beg you. Life is nothing but a series of “if onlys” and there is no point in torturing oneself by thinking about them. It would appear from the little we know that William stumbled on something which was highly dangerous to the killer. Though I cannot be certain, I imagine that that is why he was silenced.’
James Martin paused reflectively then echoed Samuel’s words. ‘I could forgive anyone for murdering Jasper, it would have been a true crime of passion. But the putting down of an innocent child is another matter. It is an act of pure horror, the work of a maniac.’
John nodded gravely. ‘Dreadful though the thought is, when one considers the members of the theatre company, I am afraid that you are right.’
Chapter Fourteen
There was to be no sleep for any of them that night. John Fielding having overseen the removal of Will Swithin’s body to the mortuary, pending further arrangements to be made shortly by Mr Martin, set a Brave Fellow to guard the theatre and the properties room. He then made his way through the darkness to the home of his friend, David Garrick, before going back to the Public Office. John Rawlings, meanwhile, having been bidden by the Magistrate to go home and change into something suitable for a funeral before returning to Bow Street, took a carriage provided by the Public Office back to his house. Samuel, somewhat exhausted after his exertions but proud to be of service, went with a wretched James Martin to find him a room in The Pillars of Hercules, a commodious coaching inn situated at Hyde Park Corner. Clarice Martin, very deflated and as silent as John had ever seen her, was escorted home by a Beak Runner, having refused to bid farewell to her son, saying that she wanted to remember him as he was. A remark that caused several cynical glances to be exc
hanged amongst the rest of the company present.
Creeping into the house at almost four o’clock in the morning, John did his very best not to disturb its sleeping occupants. But Sir Gabriel, who he was convinced slept with one ear fully alert, heard him and swept into his son’s bedroom, a satin turban upon his head and a gorgeous black nightrail covering his sleeping shirt.
‘My dear child,’ he said, clearly amazed to see John up and still in his evening clothes, ‘whatever are you doing coming home at this hour?’
‘I’m afraid there’s been another murder,’ the Apothecary answered harshly, and told Sir Gabriel everything while he changed into a suit of sombre black without embroidery.
‘Mr Fielding told me to prepare to attend a funeral which, I can only presume, must be Jasper’s,’ John said by way of explanation, seeing his father’s eyebrows rise at his sober garb. ‘I don’t quite know his reasons, but he no doubt will tell me. I am to return to the Public Office as soon as I am ready. There is a conveyance waiting for me outside.’
Sir Gabriel stroked his chin. ‘At what time is this interment?’
‘In Kensington, later this morning. Why?’
‘I’ve a strong notion to come and observe. Furthermore, I would like to see the divine Mrs Egleton again. How beautiful that woman once was.’
‘And still is in her way.’
‘Then I shall prepare myself to be at Kensington church at ten o’clock. The funeral will certainly be no earlier and if it is later, then I shall repair to a hostelry and await events.’
There was no arguing with his parent in this mood and John merely smiled and said, ‘Then I shall see you there, for now I must get back. Mr Fielding is opening up the Public Office as soon as he returns, and is calling in all his Fellows. By the time they wake up, every member of the Drury Lane company, including the great names, will have received a notification ordering them to the theatre to make a statement. The Beak is determined to leave nothing to chance.’
Sir Gabriel looked thoughtful. ‘The mentality of a child slayer is unique, I believe.’
