Death at Apothecaries' Hall (30 page)

‘And the purpose of their visit?'

John looked vague. ‘I believe Mr Fielding is interested in buying a property somewhere round here.'

‘And wants to meet the Marquis into the bargain?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘Then I shall see what can be arranged,' said Sir Gabriel, and looked wise.

They dined on simple country fare, extremely well prepared by a woman who came in to do the cooking, and after dinner the three men set forth, armed with lanterns and sticks, to make the short walk to the Blind Beak's hostelry, where they found him comfortably installed in a suite of rooms overlooking the King's stables on the other side of the High Street. After the usual cordial greetings, during which Mary Ann made much of flirting with all three of the new arrivals, the gentlemen repaired with a bottle of port to the Magistrate's private dining room.

Sir Gabriel opened the conversation, addressing himself to Mr Fielding. ‘I believe you seek acquaintance with the Marquis of Kensington, Sir.'

The Blind Beak nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Did John tell you of the strange attack on an individual named Cruttenden?'

With a shock, the Apothecary realised that this was the first time the Magistrate had ever referred to him by his Christian name and wondered whether, after all these years, their relationship was about to become less formal.

‘He did. I am hard put to it to find an explanation.'

‘Jago did a little research on the Marquis before I left town,' Mr Fielding continued. ‘It seems that he was not in line for the title at all, being the child of a youngest son. However, his father was killed in battle leaving him and another boy, child of the deceased middle brother, as possible heirs. Then the hand of fate struck. The eldest brother, holder of the title, died of a fever shortly before he was due to be married and the immediate heir, child of the middle brother, followed him to the grave a few weeks later. Thus, the present incumbent took the title.'

‘For him a fortunate series of misadventures.'

‘Indeed.'

‘What has all that to do with the attack on Cruttenden?' asked Samuel.

‘Absolutely nothing,' the Blind Beak answered, ‘except that I like to have the background details of those under investigation.'

Sir Gabriel spoke. ‘He's a decent fellow, though damned addicted to gambling. He's always desperate for whist players, so I might suggest that I take the three of you along.'

‘It's a pity Serafina is not here,' John commented. ‘She would give him a run for his money.'

His father sighed. ‘Our sweet friend. It seems an eternity since I have seen her. How is she these days?'

‘Extremely pregnant. Her child is due in February I believe.'

Samuel chuckled. ‘Not that that's ever stopped her. Do you remember the twins connected with The Devil's Tavern affair, John? She soon sorted them out and she was big bellied then.'

‘That's true enough.'

‘Anyway, to the present,' said Mr Fielding. ‘You have heard, Sir Gabriel, that we are absolutely no further forward with the Apothecaries' Hall poisoning and that another apothecary has been murdered?'

‘Yes, I have. Are there simply no leads whatsoever? It seems extraordinary to me.'

John took advantage of the fact that he knew everyone present extremely well, and thought aloud. ‘The stumbling block for me is that Master Alleyn died.'

‘What do you mean?' asked the Magistrate.

‘How was it done? It means the poisoner must have been close to him in order to ensure that he was given more arsenic than everybody else. Did the Runners' investigation of all those Liverymen present reveal nothing?'

‘Nothing that we could act upon.'

‘But he
must
have a hidden enemy,' John said emphatically. ‘He simply
must
.'

‘I suppose,' said Sir Gabriel mildly, ‘that you have looked through his private papers?'

Everybody stared at him, even Mr Fielding turning his bandaged eyes in the direction of the speaker.

‘To be honest, no,' the Magistrate answered eventually. ‘Truth to tell, having been assured that the only person with a grudge against him was Garnett Smith, a man whom it now appears seems highly unlikely as a suspect, we did not look any further.'

‘I think you should,' John's father continued imperturbably. ‘Also those of the other dead man. Perhaps you will find a foe common to both.'

‘What papers I could discover at Tobias Gill's have been delivered to the Public Office,' John said. ‘However, his appointment book was missing.'

‘Very significant,' boomed Samuel, determined to get a word in. ‘I'm sure the murderer's name was written in there and it was removed to conceal their identity.'

‘Sir Gabriel is right,' said the Blind Beak. ‘As soon as we return to town, those papers must be gone through.'

The Apothecary cleared his throat. ‘It was my intention to call on Miss Alleyn in Chelsea tomorrow. I shall ask her mother's permission to search Master Alleyn's documents whilst I am there.'

‘Excellent,' Mr Fielding replied. ‘I trust you will be back in time to meet the Marquis.'

‘I shall certainly be back,' John answered. He looked straight at Sir Gabriel, his expression endearingly earnest. ‘And I would like to invite the Alleyn ladies to dine with us, perhaps tomorrow, if that is in order.'

He spent an amazingly comfortable night in his new bedroom, sleeping better than he had done for some days. Waking refreshed, John devoured a large breakfast, then, having left Samuel happily conversing with Sir Gabriel over the tea cups, made his way to a small but efficient livery stable situated not far from the King's own stable yard. There he hired a large competent-looking horse and went at speed back to Knight's Bridge, then down a serpentine path known as Sloane Lane by the locals, named in memory of Sir Hans Sloane, whose patients had included Queen Anne and a citizen named Pepys, and who had founded the Chelsea Physick Garden, much loved by all apothecaries. He had died in 1753 when John had still been an apprentice, living to the great age of ninety-two.

Now, proceeding down the path named after Hans Sloane, on his way to see Emilia Alleyn, a song of happiness rose to John's lips. Despite the circumstances of his visit, probing even further into her father's death, he felt carefree and young and in that divine state known as falling in love. The weather echoed his mood, the December sky a deep rich blue, the sun out and the ground hard with overnight frost.

Sloane Lane continued on its twisting way until it joined Jews Row, which John crossed, heading for Wilderness Row, which ran round the back of Ranelagh Gardens. From there it was but a short trot to the river and the house to which he had first escorted a dying Josiah Alleyn. Though I could have sworn I'd saved him, John thought. And at that an idea came that almost made him fall from his horse so sharply did it strike him. Clutching the reins to regain his balance, the Apothecary made a slower pace to his sweetheart's house as he considered every aspect of the sudden suspicion which had come to him.

It was customary to wear mourning for some time after the death of a member of the family, but today Emilia had adopted a very deep purple which suited her and enhanced her golden looks. Well aware and by now a little wary of the budding relationship between her daughter and the young apothecary who had tried so hard to save her husband, Mrs Alleyn, fond of John as she was, firmly acted as chaperone.

The two women received their visitor in a delightful parlour overlooking the garden and river.

‘My dear,' said Maud Alleyn, rising to her feet. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?'

John, extremely conscious that he looked rather fine in his riding clothes, made much of kissing her hand. ‘I am staying at my father's country house in Kensington and thought I would like to call. I trust you have no objection.' Knowing full well that she had only recently caught him embracing Emilia, he was very slightly on edge and determined to ingratiate himself.

‘Of course not. It is always a pleasure to see you Mr Rawlings. Will you take tea?'

‘I would very much enjoy that.'

Emilia came towards him, and he could not resist, mother or no mother, taking both her hands in his.

‘Do you have any further news of Clariana Gill?' she asked, looking up at him with those heavenly eyes of hers.

‘Yes, she's with the elderly lover, of course. And short shrift they gave me when I called. Cruttenden even offered to pay me for my services.'

‘You should have taken the money,' said Maud roundly, ‘he's got enough of it.'

The Apothecary seized the moment. ‘Interestingly, the matter of his wealth is under investigation at this very minute,' he said, telling half the truth.

‘Quite rightly so.'

‘In fact, Madam, in that regard I have a favour to ask of you.'

‘And what is that?'

‘That I might be allowed to look at your husband's personal papers. Please do not be offended. I have no intention of prying into Master Alleyn's affairs. The fact of the matter is that Mr Fielding believes there might, just might, be some reference to Master Cruttenden within them.'

Maud looked round the room, her expression none too happy. ‘I do not really relish the thought of Josiah's documents being examined by strangers.'

Emilia spoke up, quite sharply, showing that there could be a bite in the angel's tongue. ‘Really Mother! John is hardly a stranger. He tried to save Father's life, remember. To deny him and the Public Office access to anything that might throw light on any aspect of the mysterious circumstances surrounding Papa's death would be utterly wrong of you.'

Mrs Alleyn looked contrite to the point that John almost felt sorry for her. ‘Of course, you're right. I shall unlock his desk and let you look through the contents. Forgive me. I still grieve for him you know.'

‘Quite understandably.' John paused, then said, ‘If it would not intrude on your mourning, I wondered if you and Miss Alleyn might care to dine with my father and myself tomorrow or the next day. After that I shall have to return to town alas.'

Emilia's pleasure was so obvious that it would have been a churlish mama indeed who could have put a stop to it. None the less, Mrs Alleyn hesitated.

‘My father could send his carriage,' John continued, hoping even as he said the words that Sir Gabriel would agree.

Maud gave in, laughing at his eagerness. ‘You are two very persuasive young people. Yes, Mr Rawlings. I should be happy to dine with Mr Rawlings senior.'

The Apothecary was so delighted that he bowed. ‘What excellent news. By the way, my father adopted me as a child and we have different surnames.'

‘Oh I see. So how shall I address him when we meet?'

‘As Sir Gabriel Kent,' John answered airily, and could not help but feel a slight sense of self-importance at the look of interest that suddenly crossed Mrs Alleyn's features.

It was not a pleasant task, going through a dead man's papers, the act smacking too much of robbing a grave. With as vague a brief as he had, namely to find a reference to anyone who might have been Josiah's enemy for however slight a reason, John felt obliged to look at everything, particularly personal letters. Further, Master Alleyn's bills and receipts had to be inspected as they might reveal a dissatisfied patient or a shopkeeper who thought he was owed money. Hating what he was doing, the Apothecary slowly and painstakingly sifted through it all. Tea was served to him twice, once by Emilia alone so there was a chance for a swift embrace. Yet though he toiled on, the task proved fruitless. There was one thing that puzzled him, however: a list of names with no heading and no indication of what it meant. Probably past patients, John thought. Yet one of those names was highly significant in view of the current investigation.

Taking the list to the window to take advantage of the daylight, the Apothecary read it again. ‘Mr Montague Bending, the Hon. Sophie Ebury, the Bishop of Bodmin, the Marquis of Kensington, the Prince of Castile.' It meant nothing to him but that one significant name was enough to make John fold the paper very carefully and slip it into an inside coat pocket.

‘Did you find anything?' asked Emilia from the doorway. ‘No,' said John, and went towards her, his hands outstretched. ‘I am so glad that you are coming to meet my father.'

‘I feel rather nervous. I didn't realise he had a title.'

‘He's a baronet. The whole thing will die out with him, as his only child was a daughter who died at birth.'

‘Why did he adopt you?'

‘He married my mother, who at one time was one of his servants. My real father was one of the Rawlings of Twickenham. I don't know any more about it than that.'

‘John, are you a bastard?'

‘Yes, does it matter?'

‘Not to someone who loves you,' answered Emilia, and went from the room as swiftly as she had come in, leaving John to touch the place on his cheek where she had planted a swift cool kiss.

He returned to Kensington in the dusk, just before the hour to dine, and, having delivered the competent horse back to its stables, went hastily on foot to The New Inn where Mr Fielding, still tying his cravat, most admirably John thought, emerged from his bedroom to meet the visitor.

‘You have news, my friend?'

‘Yes and no, Sir. There was nothing in the papers anywhere – and I went through everything – to reveal the identity of a secret enemy. All I could find was this most extraordinary list.' And John read it aloud to the Blind Beak, who sat in a chair opposite him, finishing the adjustment of his neckwear.

There was silence when he had finished, then Mr Fielding said, ‘The Marquis of Kensington again. Can this be a coincidence?'

‘I don't know, Sir. I simply don't know. I have no idea what the list means. Are they possibly Master Alleyn's patients?'