Death at Apothecaries' Hall (12 page)

An amazing range of expressions flitted over Samuel's face.

‘Are you saying, John, that you won't wait for her for ever?'

The Apothecary sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.'

‘But you've always loved her.'

‘I know, I know. And I still do. It's just that …' The worst happened, rather as he had feared it would. A picture of Emilia Alleyn, sharp as reality, came into his mind. ‘Oh God, Samuel,' John said miserably.

‘My dear old chap,' answered the Goldsmith, putting an arm round his shoulders. ‘Tell me everything.'

And with a great sense of relief, John did.

When he had finished, Samuel breathed out gustily. ‘I had a feeling this might happen one day.'

‘That I would tire of the situation, do you mean?'

‘That, together with your meeting someone else.'

‘But I hardly know Miss Alleyn. We've been introduced, that is all.'

‘Your face when you speak of her is enough.'

‘But Sam, I really do love Coralie, you know that.'

‘Yes, I do. But still I have often wondered if she is the right woman for you.'

‘Because of her attitude?'

‘Precisely that.'

‘I think,' said John very seriously, ‘I might drink rather too much wine tonight.'

‘If I were you,' Samuel answered equally seriously, ‘I think I might too.'

And with that they solemnly toasted one another and the ladies of the town and set about forgetting everything that was troubling them.

It was, inevitably, a very grey dawning. It seemed to John, who had woken himself by snoring, that the fog which had lain heavily over London and its river all the previous day, had now entered his head. He came to consciousness through wads of it, struggling for air, and when he caught sight of himself in the mirror hanging by the bed, he nearly lost it again. To say he looked ghastly was an understatement. His hair, usually a curly, sprightly, springing mop, difficult to control unless kept short, hung limply round his face, which was an unattractive shade of whey. His eyes, frequently a dazzlingly bright blue, had vanished into two slits out of which peered ugly red marbles.

‘God!' said John Rawlings, and stuck out his tongue at his image. It was yellow and he hastily put it back again.

Equally loud snoring to his own, could be heard from the bedroom across the landing. Carefully getting out of bed, the Apothecary padded over and looked within. Samuel slumbered hugely, his large frame occupying the entire bed, his arms flung wide.

‘Oh dear,' said John, and returned to his room and slept for another hour.

When he woke again it was to hear cheerful noises from below. Peering down the stairwell the Apothecary saw that Ezekiel and Mab, the only servant Samuel could afford at this stage of his career, were chatting together in the passageway outside the kitchen.

‘Could you bring me some hot water?' he called down to her. She looked up, round face startled. ‘Oh, it's you, Mr Rawlings. I'll fetch it directly, Sir.'

‘Thank you. And could I have a cup of tea as well?'

‘Certainly, Sir.'

From the kitchen came the pleasant smell of cooking breakfast, always reassuring to John, who considered it the most important meal of the day. As the door opened to allow Mab in, the Apothecary caught a glimpse of Samuel wielding a pan. It was very much an egalitarian household, with the Master and apprentice taking an equal share of duties with the maid, a concept that was a million miles from Sir Gabriel's formal and fashionable approach, but one that John rather liked. Hurrying back to his room he dressed and, as soon as the ewer of hot water arrived, shaved and washed. He eventually went downstairs, feeling considerably restored.

‘Recovered?' asked Samuel, serving a large mess of eggs.

‘Was I very drunk?'

‘You sang a great deal.'

‘I apologise.'

‘The songs were of an amorous nature.'

‘Oh, God save us.'

The Goldsmith added a vast quantity of fried herrings to John's dish. ‘You did not seem quite certain of the dedications.'

‘Could you explain that?'

‘Coralie and Emilia were becoming confused. In the end I think you were singing simultaneously to both.'

The Apothecary rolled a regretful eye. ‘Let us be thankful that only you witnessed this.'

Samuel adopted a solemn visage. ‘My advice, dear friend, is to be very careful when in the company of either young lady. It would not do at all for you to call her by the wrong name.'

‘Hold your peace, rum guts. It's not going to come to that.'

‘We shall see,' said Samuel portentously.

A large breakfast consumed, somewhat surprisingly in view of his delicate state, John Rawlings left Samuel's house on Puddle Dock Hill and, accompanied by his stalwart friend, went on foot into the City of London. The fog had rolled away in the night and though bitterly cold the day was crisp and clear with a fine wind blowing in off a waterway that only the night before had been wreathed with clammy tendrils of creeping mist.

Looking towards the Thames from the street named after it, one of the longest thoroughfares in London, the Apothecary marvelled at the river's wild reaches, bright blue beneath the sparkling sky, and planned that when he lived in Kensington he would make regular expeditions to Chelsea and there sit by the waterside and stare at nothing and everything as the day and the ships went by.

On the previous evening he had learned from Sotherton Backler that the shop of Tobias Gill, the disgruntled apothecary who no longer wished to associate with the Worshipful Society, was situated in Pudding Lane, that most notorious of alleyways where on the first of September, 1666, the Great Fire of London had broken out. Not considered a good address, with such a stigma attached to it, it seemed that times were hard for Apothecary Gill.

Thankful yet again that Sir Gabriel had bought him premises in Shug Lane, Piccadilly, John turned to his companion. ‘Do you think I should tell him I'm an apothecary or not?'

Samuel jutted his lower lip. ‘I'm not sure. He might take against you just for being a Yeoman of the Society. On the other hand it would give you mutual ground for discussion and break any ice there might be.'

‘It might be better to wait till I see him and make my decision then.'

‘Good plan.'

In the event, all schemes went awry. Walking into the shop, squeezed unattractively between a butcher's and a pieman's, both John and Samuel were amazed to see a comely young woman step forward to serve them.

‘Can I help you, gentlemen?' she enquired, lips smiling, eyes observing.

Forced to say something plausible, John struggled for words. ‘I had actually hoped to have a word with the Apothecary, discussing the merits of certain herbs and so on.'

A gaze bright as amber beads examined him shrewdly. ‘My father is out at the moment, Sir. Are you an apothecary yourself?'

John was cornered. ‘Yes,' he said lamely.

Samuel decided to enter the arena. ‘Mr Gill is very highly spoken of, of course. That is why we came to see him.'

The brilliant eyes changed direction and the Goldsmith was treated to an appraising look. ‘Really? By whom?'

‘By everyone,' he answered, then chortled as if he had said something amusing.

The girl flickered a smile. ‘How very odd. He is, in fact, not well liked by his fellows.'

Oh God, thought John, searching for a clever reply.

She was blazingly beautiful, with a cloud of red hair, pale skin, and those amazingly arresting topaz eyes. It seemed to be a time, the Apothecary reflected, for meeting lovely females, not the easiest thing for a susceptible creature like himself.

John heard Samuel give a convulsive swallow, indicating that he, too, was far from immune to the charms of the ravishing Miss Gill.

John came to a decision. ‘This I know,' he said.

‘That my father is not well liked, you mean?'

‘Yes. And for that very reason it is imperative I speak to him.'

The acute expression, which had never really left her face, returned fully. ‘Why? What has happened?'

‘I can save you the trouble of answering that,' said a clipped voice from the doorway, and the two men swung round to see that Apothecary Gill had returned. ‘There's been trouble at Apothecaries' Hall of which I am suspected of being the perpetrator,' the newcomer continued, marching into his shop. He went behind the counter, then turned to stare at them. ‘That's correct, is it not?'

‘I wouldn't put it quite as strongly as that,' John answered levelly. ‘The facts are that white arsenic was mixed with the flour kept in the kitchen at the Hall. It seems that this was done the night before a Livery Dinner. As a result all the Liverymen were taken ill, and one of them, Master Josiah Alleyn, subsequently died. Questions have been asked about those with a grudge against apothecaries and it seems that you fell out with the Worshipful Society some years ago. That is as far as the matter goes. You most certainly have not been accused of committing any crime.'

‘I should hope not indeed,' said the redhead forcefully. ‘My father was treated badly by the Society, but revenge is not in his capability.'

‘Clariana, please.'

‘I mean it, Papa. They have no right to accuse you.' She glowered at John, reminding him vividly of a molten furnace.

‘No one has accused him,' he said patiently. ‘It is merely that Mr Fielding, the Principal Magistrate, who is investigating this particular case, insists that all avenues are pursued. Therefore, Mr Gill, as his representative I have to ask you whether you were at Apothecaries' Hall seven nights ago. Or to put it another way, were you on the premises the night before the Livery Dinner?'

It was a downright clumsy approach and the Apothecary knew it, but it seemed there was no other way out. He had been forced to reveal his hand far too soon and now could only make the best of it.

‘No, I most certainly was not. I haven't set foot in the wretched place for years.'

‘Get out,' hissed Clariana. ‘How dare you come here and bully my father? You have no right and no authority. Mr Fielding's representative be damned. You're just a prying busybody sent by the Master most like. Now go before I call the constable.'

Samuel drew himself up to his full height. ‘Madam, you are making a grievous mistake, and are also obstructing the natural processes of the law. You leave my friend no option but to report this matter to a higher authority.'

Tobias Gill sighed. ‘Clariana, he is right. It is best that this young man and I converse privately. He will soon see that I am innocent of any connection with this extraordinary affair.' The older man raised the hinged flap in the counter and beckoned John through. The Apothecary stood hesitantly, wondering what he should do about Samuel. ‘I did not come here alone, Sir.'

‘None the less, I wish to speak to you by yourself'

The Goldsmith bowed to Clariana Gill. ‘Would you mind if I remained in the shop?'

A strange look crossed the redhead's face and John felt that she was giving the matter far more consideration than it merited. Finally she said. ‘It would not be convenient, Sir. Some customers prefer to ask for their physick in private.'

Samuel stood up. ‘It seems that I will be
persona non grata
wherever I am. I shall go for a short walk, John, and will meet you outside in half an hour.'

Thinking that his friend was growing quite dignified with the passing of the years, the Apothecary followed Tobias Gill into his private quarters.

It was an hour before John emerged into the bright sharp light of midday, noticing that it had grown bitterly cold and wondering how poor Samuel had fared. There had been no sign of the Goldsmith as John had walked back through the emporium, past a cold-faced Clariana who had done no more than shoot a frosty glance in his direction. For no reason, this had annoyed the Apothecary so enormously that he had made much of bowing fulsomely and several times over at that. ‘A pleasure, Ma'am, to make your acquaintance. I do hope that we will meet again.'

Clariana's gorgeous amber eyes had given him a contemptuous glance. ‘I doubt that we shall.'

The Apothecary had adopted a cunning expression, as if he knew more than he was prepared to divulge. ‘Now that I wouldn't be too sure about. There's going to be many a twist before this skein is unravelled. Good day to you.'

He had swept out, jamming his hat hard down upon his head, allowing his eye to roam backwards to give her a final stare. She had been glaring at him so hard that he had been unable to resist winking, slowly and in a lunatic fashion, before be disappeared from her view.

He caught up with Samuel a few moments later, emerging from a coffee house in Little Eastcheap, looking well fed and warm.

‘I was worried about you. I thought you might have frozen to death.'

‘Not I, dear friend. I hurried in here and ate buns and watched the world go by. I also watched the exterior of Mr Gill's shop.'

‘And?'

‘And very interesting it proved. You had not been gone ten minutes when the ravishing redhead appeared, dressed for outdoors in a hat and cloak.'

‘Did you follow her?'

‘As a matter of fact I did. I slipped like a shadow. She did not see me.'

The Apothecary chuckled aloud at the mental picture. ‘What happened?'

‘She went up Grace Church Street and thence to Cornhill, where she met a man outside the Royal Exchange. I particularly noticed him because he was dressed all in grey.'

John's jocularity vanished on the instant. ‘Describe him.'

‘He was tall and thin with grey hair. He did not have a wig on, so I noticed it particularly.'

‘What was he wearing?'

‘A long grey cloak that rippled in the wind. He looked rather like a seal.'