Death at Apothecaries' Hall (22 page)

‘Her employer at the time,' Michael answered, his tone abrupt.

‘Do you mean Francis Cruttenden?' John said, a very strange notion just beginning to dawn on him.

‘Yes, him,' the shop manager replied, and refused to be drawn any further.

Pudding Lane by night was even worse than Pudding Lane by day. Wading through sodden mounds of rubbish, avoiding the dark shadows, both animal and human, that slunk in the blackest corners, and elbowing one hopeful cutpurse so hard in the privy parts that he left the man wheezing, John finally came to his destination. With plummeting heart, having no real wish to see either Mr Gill or the truculent Clariana again had he the choice, he rang the bell.

In common with many shopkeepers, Tobias lived above his premises, and while John stood on the step, hoping that no one else would approach him, the sound of descending footsteps, followed by the drawing back of bolts and the turning of locks, was distinctly audible. Eventually the door to the shop opened, and Tobias, complete with candletree, ushered him within.

‘My dear young man, how kind of you to come. I had half thought that you might not appear.'

‘I've been looking forward to it,' lied John stoically.

‘Clariana has too,' Mr Gill answered with a hint of waggishness in his voice.

Thinking that he would believe that when he saw it, the Apothecary plodded up a spindly staircase in Tobias's wake and entered the apartment above.

Considering the terrible area they were situated in, the rooms were very spacious and pleasant. Rebuilt after the Great Fire, Mr Gill's home was large and gracious, with delightful windows, presently covered by curtains. Decorated in tasteful colours and lit by many candles, the apartment proved an excellent background for Clariana, who was dressed in sea green, a colour that greatly enhanced her flaming hair. Her face, however, was pinched and angry. If she was pleased to see the Apothecary, Tobias's daughter was concealing it very cleverly.

Longing to wipe the supercilious expression off her smug face, John made a florid bow, glad that beneath his sensible cloak he was dressed to kill.

‘Miss Gill.'

‘Mr Rawlings.'

‘How kind of you to invite me to dine.'

‘The invitation was extended by my father, not by myself'

‘How gracious of him.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘A pity that the same courtly behaviour does not extend to you.'

Clariana glowered. ‘I will not be insulted in my own home,' she hissed.

‘Then step into the street and I'll do it there.'

‘You insolent pup.'

‘Steady, girl. You'll ruin your looks with all this ill temper.'

She made an involuntary move, as if she were going to strike him. Smiling pleasantly, the Apothecary caught her wrist and raised her hand to his lips.

‘Charming,' he said loudly.

Mr Gill, who had been busying himself at a tray of drinks and had therefore missed the whispered exchange, handed round glasses of sherry. ‘So pleased you two young people are getting on,' he commented genially.

‘Miss Clariana is difficult to resist,' John answered.

She narrowed her eyes but said nothing, smiling through gritted teeth. Sighing resignedly, the Apothecary decided that at least the evening was not going to be boring.

An hour later he was beginning to revise his opinion. Clariana, seething with sulks, had obviously decided on a policy of silence and merely chomped at her food, fixing her eyes firmly on her plate. Mr Gill, clearly uncomfortable at this but unable to do much about it without causing an unwelcome scene, manfully tried to fill the gaps with small talk. It was an excruciating situation, and John cast about in his mind as to the best way of dealing with it. Finally he decided on shock tactics. Giving Tobias an encouraging smile, in an attempt to reassure the older man, he turned to Clariana.

‘I believe you are a great friend of Francis Cruttenden,' he said.

Her gaze shot up and she eyed John ferociously. ‘Who told you that?'

‘No one,' he answered pleasantly. ‘I just happened to observe you with him in the street the other day.'

‘How do you know him?'

‘You forget that I am an apothecary and he is a Liveryman of the Worshipful Society. I do have a particular interest in him, however. I am friendly with the Alleyn family, the head of which was so recently and so brutally poisoned, and Master Cruttenden is also a friend of theirs. That is why I noticed him.'

Tobias Gill gave John a look of eternal gratitude for not telling the truth, a look which Clariana fortunately did not notice. However, her red hair was not for nothing.

‘My father does not care for me to see Master Cruttenden,' she stated boldly.

‘Clariana! This is hardly the place …' Tobias remonstrated, but she ignored him, fixing John with a glare and speaking directly to him.

‘He believes that Francis is too old to court me, but I don't think age matters when one is in love, do you Mr Rawlings?'

‘That depends,' he answered carefully. ‘If there is too large a gap it can lead to heartache in the future.' John laughed heartily. ‘But I don't suppose Master Cruttenden would agree with me on that score.'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because he clearly has a preference for the younger lady. I believe he was involved with Miss Emilia Alleyn for a while.'

Clariana became molten. ‘Mr Rawlings, you are a busybody and a gossip. I think you have come here to make trouble.'

The Apothecary shook his head. ‘No, Miss Gill, not so. You must look to yourself and question. If your trust of Liveryman Cruttenden is so unsure that the very mention of his past rouses you to anger, then your relationship must be built on sand.'

She shot to her feet. ‘I will not sit here and listen to another word of this.'

‘Go, then,' shouted her father, suddenly and surprisingly losing his temper. ‘Go to your room. But know this, Clariana. You have insulted a guest and shown yourself in an appalling light. Any hopes you might have cherished of marrying that evil genius Cruttenden have been finally dashed by your behaviour tonight. By God, even if I have to send you to your uncle in the country to get you away from him, I will not hesitate to do so.'

His daughter flounced from the table, weeping copiously.

Ashen faced, Tobias turned to John. ‘My dear young friend, I do apologise. I swear she has only been like this since she fell into Cruttenden's clutches. Underneath all, she really has a very sweet nature – or did have once.'

‘It is certainly a terrible situation,' the Apothecary answered with feeling. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘I shall forbid her to see him, and if that fails I will make good my threat. To the country she goes.'

‘Have you thought of talking to Cruttenden?'

Tobias Gill fumed. ‘Talk to that jackanapes? Why, he's everything I detest. A vile seducer of innocent young females, and a Liveryman into the bargain. No, Sir. I don't intend to waste my valuable breath on him.'

‘Then I wish you luck, Sir, for it's my view he's as slippery a fish as ever flipped out of the ocean, and not the easiest being to get the better of.'

‘He won't thwart me,' said Mr Gill determinedly.

‘I sincerely hope not,' John answered, and wondered whether Tobias's sudden show of temper had ever been focused on Josiah Alleyn, and if so, with what dire consequences.

If John had taken pains with his appearance on the previous evening, tonight he spared himself nothing. Well aware that the Assembly to which Coralie had invited him was being given by the Duchess of Northumberland, a great theatregoer and an admirer of the work of both the sisters Clive, the Apothecary dressed luxuriously. A suit only worn once and fastidiously cleaned after that wearing, was fetched from his clothes press. With much care John, who spent every available guinea he had on high fashion, his greatest weakness, put on a pair of silver breeches decorated with purple flowers and slipped an exactly matching waistcoat over his fine cambric shirt. The throat he had dressed open, as was the fashion, but there was an abundance of fine lace filling the gap, as good taste demanded. Having checked that there were no wrinkles in his white silk stockings, John put on a pair of purple Meroquin shoes adorned with sparkling buckles, and completed the stunning ensemble with its finest item, a white and silver velvet coat. Wrapping himself in a fur-lined cloak and putting on a hat adorned with silver lace, scolloped stiffly, the Apothecary was finally ready to leave the house.

Sir Gabriel having taken the équipage to Kensington, John had sent a servant to fetch a hackney coach to the door. Directing the driver to Coralie's home in Cecil Street, he leant back against the slightly worn interior, confident about how he looked but nervous as a cat about the evening that lay ahead of him.

It would not be fair, he had decided, to tell his mistress about Emilia until the Assembly was at an end. Knowing that Coralie would invite him back to spend the night with her, he thought that that might be the moment, when they were alone and quiet. Then he could go home and leave her in peace, realising that their long association was finally at an end.

But was it? John tortured himself by asking. Could he ever really escape Coralie's profound hold on him? Did he really want to? Racked with cruel and painful indecision, John climbed the steps leading to Coralie's front door and rang the bell.

Almost as if she knew she was under threat, tonight the actress's beauty shimmered, her dark looks enhanced by her ice blue and violet ensemble, colours that brought out the very best in her.

‘You look lovely,' John said admiringly.

‘So do you. You'll even outshine the Prince of Wales.'

‘Is he going?'

‘He and the cream of high society. The
beau monde
is turning out in force.'

‘Are you sure that I am a suitable escort? Just a humble apothecary?'

‘Don't be servile, it does not become you.'

‘I'm sorry. But I'm partly serious. Couldn't you have found a more illustrious companion to be seen with?'

‘It's you I wanted to accompany me,' Coralie answered. And though John was gratified, his soul sank at the thought of hurting her.

Even though it was deepest November, the Duchess had ordered lights to be hung in the gardens of Northumberland House. A diamond necklace of lamps edged the lawns, swinging from one tree to the next, a most attractive sight to gaze upon through those windows before which rich and opulent curtains had not yet been drawn. Not to be outdone, the house was full of flowers and candlelight, with musicians dispersed throughout the various rooms, somehow contriving to play in harmony rather than discord. Liberal amounts of champagne were being served by white-wigged footmen, and even though the night was young there already came the sounds of laughter and high-pitched voices chattering animatedly.

‘Miss Coralie Clive and Mr John Rawlings,' called the major-domo, and there was a smattering of applause and delighted cries from the theatregoers present. Inclining her head graciously, Coralie joined her admirers.

This had been happening more and more of late, a sure sign that the actress was at last achieving the kind of recognition she so hungrily sought. And John, hovering in the background, was pleased for her that her ambitions were being fulfilled but sorry that Coralie was letting the rest of life pass her by.

‘Are you Miss Clive's husband?' asked an elderly lady, cupping her ear for the reply.

‘No, Madam, just her friend.'

‘That's as well, then, for I don't believe these great actresses should be married to anything other than their art.'

It was like a conspiracy, John thought, and fell to studying the pictures on the walls, leaving Coralie to greet her devotees, who buzzed around her like a swarm of bees circling the fabled honey pot. Being slightly removed from her also gave him a chance to look round, a pastime he had always enjoyed.

The place was populated by either members of the aristocracy, the very rich, or the famous. In short, all those who glittered in society. Of the professions and other more ordinary folk there were few representatives. There was consequently a certain decadence in the atmosphere, an effete exhaustion, a kind of hothouse lassitude. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and the feeling of incestuous gaiety was almost tangible. Wishing that Coralie would free herself of her entourage, John walked towards the musicians who at least were working for their living this night. And then he froze where he stood as the voice of the major-domo rang out.

‘Miss Clariana Gill and Mr Francis Cruttenden.'

The Apothecary wheeled round, never more astonished in his life. That Cruttenden was wealthy was beyond dispute, but that he mingled at this level of society was frankly astounding. Liveryman of the Worshipful Society or no, John would never have expected to find him in these distinguished halls.

Cruttenden was dressed in his usual grey, his coat of silk lined with pink, a stunning combination. Beneath it his grey satin waistcoat was embroidered with gold, a theme echoed by his superbly cut breeches, which ended at the knee in fine grey silk stockings. Pink shoes studded with gleaming diamond buckles completed the highly fashionable rig. And Clariana had not been outclassed, for she dripped jewels from hair, neck and fingers, obviously the gifts of her adoring lover. Studying the pair through critical eyes, John reckoned that at least thirty years must separate the couple.

Clearly at ease, Cruttenden stood a moment or two, surveying the company through his quizzing glass. Then his gaze fell on John and after shooting him a contemptuous glance, the Liveryman looked away, although not before whispering in Clariana's ear. Now it was her turn to glare daggers, and the Apothecary distinctly saw her mouth the word, ‘Upstart.'

‘Who are you staring at?' Coralie had come to join him and was standing at his side.