Death at Apothecaries' Hall (21 page)

And dislike him, John thought. He put on his ingenuous face. ‘He must be tremendously rich to live in a place of such splendour.'

‘I would call it tasteless grandeur.'

‘You've been inside, then?'

‘Several times, both before Cruttenden bought it and after. The house used to belong to old Mr Harman who made a fortune from importing rare goods. When he died his children sold it on and the Liveryman bought it.'

‘How long ago was this?'

‘Twelve years or so.' Harriet paused and drank from her wineglass. ‘As I told you, I was brought up on the south bank. My father was a furniture maker, quite a successful one, but before he became established, my mother, in order to help out, worked as a servant for Mr Harman. I had the run of Pye House when I was a child. In fact his children and I were playmates.'

‘And after he died?'

‘Both Mother and I continued to work as servants there. That was until I married.'

‘So Master Cruttenden was your employer?'

Harriet nodded. ‘He was indeed.'

It was on the tip of the Apothecary's tongue to ask her opinion of the man, but he held back, aware that he already had the answer. Her earlier change of expression had told him everything he wanted to know. Harriet Clarke disliked the Liveryman intensely. He changed the subject again.

‘How old is your son?'

‘Matthew? He's eleven. Poor little soul, he cannot lead a normal life, because people hate and revile those who fall and have fits.'

‘They do indeed,' said Dr Hensey joining in their conversation. ‘That is why my old tutor did all the research he could, to try and redress the balance.'

Harriet turned on him, her face suddenly radiant. ‘When can you come to see him?'

‘The day after tomorrow. Now tell me where you live exactly.' He started to make notes in a pocket book and Michael Clarke took this opportunity to talk to John.

‘Have you heard that Griggs has gone missing?'

The Apothecary nodded. ‘I fear the worst.'

‘Surely you don't think …'

‘I believe he saw something on the night the flour was poisoned.'

‘And was done away with as a result? Oh, my God, I pray it isn't so.'

‘So do I,' answered John, but even as he spoke an inner conviction was growing that anyone connected with the poisoning at Apothecaries' Hall stood in ever-increasing danger from a killer who regarded human life as little more than an expendable commodity.

The energy of Sir Gabriel Kent never ceased to surprise his son, who felt fractionally tired after entertaining company for the entire evening. His father, on the other hand, presumably boosted by the fact that he had won handsomely at whist, was sky-blue bright and ate rather more than his usual sparing breakfast.

‘My child, I am going to Kensington for a few days,' he announced as he peeled some fruit.

‘Today?'

‘Yes, as soon as I have made a toilette. I want to see how the labourers are progressing in our new residence.'

‘Woe betide them if they have been slacking.'

‘I am quite certain that they are working with a will,' Sir Gabriel replied urbanely.

‘Unfortunately,' said John, attacking a slice of beef, ‘I shan't be able to join you. Tonight I have to dine with Mr Gill and his obnoxious daughter – all in the line of duty, you understand – and tomorrow I am going to an Assembly with Coralie. The day after that, being a Sunday, I thought of going to call on the Alleyns.'

‘And Miss Emilia in particular?'

‘Yes,' John replied, ‘a hundred times yes.'

‘Is it wise,' said Sir Gabriel, drinking from a bone china cup, ‘to continue to see both young ladies simultaneously?'

‘It is very unwise and soon I am going to have to do something about it.'

‘Yes, you are, my dear.' Sir Gabriel picked up his newspaper. ‘Um, how odd.'

‘What's that?'

‘There's a report here that spying continues unabated in London. That despite the efforts of the Secret Office to smoke them from their dens, the French are still obtaining undercover information with apparent ease. Damme, but these people have their nerve.'

‘One can't help but admire their daring.'

‘True enough, but it is hardly aiding our effort in the war.'

‘I'm prejudiced,' said John. ‘The only French spy I ever met was such a lovable rogue that I can't find it in me to dislike the breed.'

‘You'd change your tune if you were staring down a gun barrel.'

‘Yes, I probably would.'

‘Anyway, to other things. How does the Apothecaries' Hall affair progress?'

‘An interesting twist,' said John, and told his father of the Blind Beak's theory.

‘It makes perfect sense to me. A mass poisoning always seemed a far-fetched idea. I'm sure Mr Fielding is right. Liveryman Alleyn was the intended victim all the way along.'

‘But there's a stumbling block to that, and one that I personally have difficulty in getting past.'

‘Namely?'

‘How was the fatal dose administered? The amount of arsenic put in the flour was clearly only enough to produce sickness. How was it contrived to give Master Alleyn more?'

Sir Gabriel smiled. ‘That, my child, is where your powers of deduction come into play.' And he returned to his newspaper.

Rolling his eyes to heaven, John smiled wryly, finished his breakfast, kissed his father on the cheek, and set off for his shop.

‘Visitor,' said Nicholas, meeting him as John put his foot over the threshold.

‘Who?'

‘A young lady. Wouldn't give her name. Said she wanted to surprise you. I showed her into the back.'

At the very thought that it could possibly be Emilia, John's breathing quickened its pace, and it was with bright eyes and a heart full of expectation that he made his way into the compounding room. And there she sat, lovely eyes turned towards him, her mouth already curving into a smile.

John didn't say a word but simply raised her from her seat and took her in his arms. ‘I missed you.'

‘And I missed you,' she answered.

‘Was your mother very angry with us?'

‘No, she thinks the world of you. It's just that she was brought up in the old school. She believes that a young woman, particularly her only daughter, should never, ever be left alone with a young man.'

‘That could prove a bit awkward.'

‘Are you being rude?'

‘Very,' said John, and indulged in a long and hot-blooded kiss which could have left Emilia Alleyn in no doubt about his feelings towards her.

‘So how did you escape today?' he said eventually.

‘My mother is in town visiting her sister. I pleaded the need for a little air and set off for Shug Lane.'

‘What shameless behaviour.'

‘Yes. I hope you're not shocked by my lack of decorum.'

‘I am so shocked that I am thinking of taking an hour off and walking with you to act as your chaperone.'

‘Take me to the park,' said Emilia, ‘I would like that.'

‘At once,' John answered, and bowed. ‘Nicholas,' he called.

His apprentice appeared, attempting to look nonchalant and failing because of his broad grin. ‘Yes, Master?'

‘I am going for a stroll with Miss Alleyn. Look after the shop for me.'

‘Gladly, Sir.' He bowed to Emilia. ‘It's a great pleasure to meet you, Ma'am.'

‘I return the compliment.'

Nicholas was visibly seen to melt at one glance from her angel's eyes.

‘It will be cold in the park,' John said, feeling enormously protective, an emotion he did not often experience with Coralie, who was so very capable of taking care of herself.

‘My cloak is quite thick.'

‘And I'll stay close to you.'

There was a muffled sound from Nicholas which could have been a cough but might just as easily have been a guffaw suppressed.

The Apothecary stared at his apprentice severely. ‘I shall be about an hour or so.'

‘Very good, Master. What shall I say if anyone calls for you?'

‘That I have gone to see a patient,' John answered, and beetled his mobile brows at the Muscovite, who seemed to be having some difficulty in wiping the grin from his face.

‘Goodbye,' said Miss Alleyn, inclining her head politely.

‘I sincerely hope we meet again,' replied Nicholas, bowing himself almost in half.

‘Have a care,' put in John enigmatically, and left the shop with all the dignity he could muster.

‘Was that young limb laughing at us?' asked Emilia, blue eyes bright.

‘If we were to go back now we would find him convulsed.'

‘Why?'

‘It's the thought of me courting a young lady that he finds so amusing.'

‘But surely he must have seen that before. After all, he has been with you some years, hasn't he?'

‘Several, and yes he has.'

Emilia stared into the middle distance. ‘Is there a woman in your life at present, John?'

Dear God, had he ever felt so wretched? ‘Yes, Emilia, there is.'

‘Tell me of her.'

‘I have known her for four years. She is an actress, Coralie Clive. She lives with her sister, the famous Kitty. The relationship is going nowhere.'

‘And that is all?'

‘Yes, more or less.'

‘I presume you are lovers?'

‘I became her lover before I met you,' John answered truthfully.

He had said the correct thing. Emilia stopped walking and turned to look at him. ‘I really have no right to ask you these questions.'

‘What passed between us the other evening gives you every right.'

‘So what will you do, John?'

‘I will speak to her, of course.'

‘And say what?'

‘At this moment I really don't know,' the Apothecary answered, and the misery he was feeling must have sounded so clearly in his voice that Emilia said no more, simply taking his arm and walking in silence as they made their way to St James's Park.

He spent the rest of that day in a strange mood, half elated through having been in the company of Miss Alleyn, half weighed down with worry over how he was to conduct himself with Coralie. For truth to tell, his feelings for that young woman were very far from dead. He had walked too long and too close a road with her for all emotion to vanish overnight. As if sensing his Master's pre-occupied state, Nicholas ceased to grin and guffaw, and worked soberly and silently for the rest of the time they spent together.

Then at three o'clock John put on his hat and cloak. ‘I have to dine with Mr Gill and his daughter, so I thought I would combine the visit with a call on Mr Clarke. There is something I really must ask him.'

Nicholas said nothing but clearly longed to know what it was.

John put him out of his misery. ‘His wife was treated for sickness when she was pregnant and half believes that the apothecary concerned might have contributed to her son having the falling sickness.'

‘Was it Master Alleyn?'

‘That's what I need to find out.'

‘The poor man certainly had his enemies it seems.'

‘But how did they get to him? That's what I want to know.'

‘When you discover that you'll have the answer to the whole problem,' Nicholas answered cheerfully, a remark which did nothing to boost John's confidence whatsoever.

Just for once Michael Clarke was not in his shop, which was closed and bore a sign saying, ‘Back Shortly'. As there was no indication as to what time this had been posted, the Apothecary thought it futile and went marching off into Apothecaries' Hall to see if he could track his quarry down. Sure enough he found him taking tea with Jane Backler in the Butler's pantry. They both looked up as John came into the room, rather guiltily he thought, which made him wonder if they indulged in an occasional flirtation.

Michael got to his feet. ‘My dear John, may I say what a very pleasant evening Harriet and I had yesterday. We are most anxious to return the compliment.'

‘I should be delighted.' The Apothecary bowed.

Jane Backler, obviously feeling a great deal better than of late, said, ‘Sotherton and I would enjoy it very much if you all came to dine with us.'

Polite noises were made, though no actual date was fixed.

‘Now, is there anything I can do for you in the shop?' Michael asked. ‘I was taking a short break but am due to go back at any moment.'

‘Yes, there are one or two herbs I require.'

‘Excellent, let us walk together.'

They crossed the courtyard, went out into the street, then in through the shop's door. Michael removing the notice as he did so. He turned to John. ‘What can I get you, my friend?'

The Apothecary thought quickly. ‘I have a patient who is suffering greatly with morning sickness. I am considering recommending a caudle of balm, made with eggs, sugar, rosewater and juice. What's your view?'

Mr Clarke pulled a face. ‘I think you might be better just to give a syrup made with the juice and sugar. The tansy you are thinking of might possibly procure an abortion.'

‘Oh, surely not. I give a decoction of the root of butcher's broom to desperate young women. If that doesn't work, a decoction of the tops of centaury, together with the leaves and flowers, never fails.'

Michael looked glum. ‘Harriet nearly lost our child through taking such a caudle of balm. If I hadn't intervened, I do believe Matthew would have been voided.'

John contrived to look amazed. ‘Then I apologise for my ignorance. But obviously I am not the only one innocent of this. Whoever prescribed such a treatment for your wife must also have been unaware of the dangers.'

‘Yes,' said Mr Clarke expressionlessly.

The Apothecary cursed silently. He was being forced to show his hand. ‘Might I ask who it was?'