Death at Apothecaries' Hall (33 page)

‘But what about yourself? You are more than capable.'

‘I trust nobody more than you, Sir.'

‘Then I would be honoured.' They bowed to one another.

‘I am closing the shop at noon.' Michael continued.

‘Are the Liverymen intending to be present at the funeral?'

‘In force, Sir.'

‘Despite Gill's quarrel with the Society?'

‘They are too big for such pettiness,' Michael answered simply, and John felt a huge surge of pride that he was a member of such a great and powerful body that put minor disagreements behind them and rose to an occasion without rancour.

‘In that case I'll be on my way. I intend to greet the Backlers before I wait on the deceased.'

‘Then I'll see you in church.'

Crossing the courtyard, John proceeded to the Butler's pantry and there found Jane Backler, dressed all in black and looking most becoming. She smiled her wide-toothed smile. ‘My dear Mr Rawlings, Sotherton and I were discussing you only the other night. Where have you been? And what has happened about the poisoning? Are you any nearer the truth? Everything has gone so quiet.'

Very taken with how charming she looked, the Apothecary kissed her hand. ‘Madam, we are near the answer indeed. In fact we have it.'

The eyes widened and the great grin also. ‘You know who did it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well?'

He smiled disarmingly. ‘I cannot tell you, not yet. Mr Fielding has still to make an arrest. So I would ask you to keep the knowledge that we are close to a solution to yourself for the moment.'

‘But what about Sotherton?'

‘Yes, what about him?' said a voice from the doorway, and they both turned to see that the Beadle stood there.

His wife immediately adopted a conspiratorial look which John found faintly amusing. ‘Nothing, my dear,' she said – the least likely phrase to put someone off the scent.

He came into the room, his rounded belly leading. ‘Mr Rawlings.' Sotherton inclined his head, the gesture of a superior to one of lesser status.

John responded with a full blooded bow. ‘Sir, I trust I find you well.'

‘You do indeed. Now what was it you were saying?'

Jane turned to him. ‘Mr Fielding is close to the truth, but neither you nor I are to breathe a word.'

Sotherton looked pompous. ‘I trust no one we know is involved.'

John shook his head. ‘I cannot expand, Sir. I simply cannot.'

‘Just tell me it wasn't poor mad Mr Smith,' said Jane anxiously. ‘I always felt so sorry for that man. Oh Mr Rawlings, tell me it wasn't him.'

‘I have said too much already,' the Apothecary answered, wishing he had never gone to see them.

The Beadle became even more grandiose. ‘Jane, you ask too many questions. Mr Rawlings, here, is clearly ill at ease. Now I must go and put on dark weeds. We are about to lay a fellow apothecary in the earth.'

Pretentious old beast, John thought, as with effusive politeness Sotherton Backler bowed his way out of the room.

At two o'clock that afternoon, in the church of St Dunstan's in the East, at which Tobias Gill had been a regular worshipper, a strange notion for such a bitter man, the murdered apothecary was finally put to rest.

The Liverymen were true to their word, waiting outside in the bitter December cold until the funeral procession, consisting only of Clariana, like a dark vixen in her stark black, and one elderly man who could have been Gill's brother, walked in behind the coffin.

Amongst their number trooped Francis Cruttenden, his long black robe swirling about him, his face drawn and serious. It was hard, John thought, seeing him in that context, to imagine him killing at will. Yet was it? His expression was so closed, his demeanour so suave, that any wickedness could have been hidden.

As they took their seats in one of the hard wooden pews at the back, Joe nudged him. ‘The Master's all for clapping him in irons now,' he whispered.

‘If only we could.'

‘We daren't. Our case is too flimsy. What did Miss Clive say to you?'

‘She'll do it, tomorrow night if possible.'

Joe rubbed his hands together. ‘The sooner the better.'

‘I insist on being there to protect her.'

The clerk's light blue eyes shot him a look that spoke volumes yet said nothing. ‘I'll pass that on to Mr Fielding, Sir.'

‘I shall be at Bow Street first thing tomorrow morning to receive my instructions.'

Joe chuckled softly, even though he was in church. ‘I see there'll be no dissuading you, Sir.'

‘There most certainly won't,' John answered, then was forced to silence as the funeral service began.

Knowing, because of the diamond button, that Clariana must be fully aware who had murdered her poor wretched father, John found himself studying the girl with a horrible fascination. That anyone in their right mind could so give themselves over to another human creature that they would allow a parent to be killed, then cover up for the murderer, was totally beyond him. So it was that as they processed to the graveside, something the Apothecary usually avoided, he allowed his expression to change briefly to a look of intense dislike. As chance would have it, that was the moment Clariana chose to glance up at him through the dark veils beneath her huge brimmed hat.

The Apothecary looked away upon the instant, but not before he had registered the fact that she had seen him stare at her, had interpreted his gaze correctly, and had returned a look of malice, so strong that it had caused him to shiver.

Strongly resisting the urge to call on Samuel Swann, whose shop and dwelling place lay directly on his route home, John made straight for Nassau Street after the funeral of Tobias Gill. There, having eaten a very light dinner, somewhat to the chagrin of Sir Gabriel's cook, who was heard to mutter openly about ‘country ways from Kensington', he ordered a hot tub and soaked in it for an hour, the water being topped up with steaming kettles at regular intervals. That done, John put on his nightshirt and retired to bed, only to have a confusing dream in which both Coralie Clive and Emilia Alleyn featured. Despite this, he woke at first light, dressed himself, and skipping breakfast altogether, a fact that sent the cook into a state of high alarm, headed for Bow Street to await Mr Fielding's instructions.

The Magistrate was still at table but welcomed the visitor with a wave of his hand.

‘Mr Rawlings, this is a familiar scene for us. How often have we breakfasted together, I wonder? Now take a seat, do. Will you join me in some ham?'

Mary Ann slanted her pretty eyes. ‘I'll carve it for you, Mr Rawlings.'

He glowered at her, Elizabeth having left the room. ‘I'll cut it myself, thank you, my dear.'

She flicked her tongue over her lips. ‘Oh, do let me.'

Narrowing his eyes to slits, the Apothecary said, ‘I alone know how much I want.'

Mary Ann looked at him most impudently. ‘I am sure I can guess what you would like.' Then, with a waggle of her hips, she left the room.

Thinking that one day he would be forced to slap her, John turned to his host. ‘Sir, Miss Clive is ready to go into action tonight.'

‘So Jago told me. I have already sent a letter to her requesting that she meet him in The Spaniards, close to The Tabard, at seven o'clock. I shall remain here as a blind man would only get in the way on such an occasion. In the meanwhile, my good friend, I would like you to go and see Mrs Clarke.'

‘I had already intended to. What do you want with her?'

‘You mentioned to me the night before last that she and Cruttenden had connections, that she once worked for him.'

‘True.'

‘I desire that you might ask her the best vantage points in that house where a man might hide unnoticed. Similarly regarding the exterior. If she can draw you a plan, so much the better. By the time Miss Coralie goes in to face Cruttenden, I intend to have the place infiltrated by stout men and true.'

‘I'm mighty glad to hear it.'

The Blind Beak moved his face close to that of John. ‘There is no question that this woman Clarke is still in love with the Liveryman? That she might betray our plan to him?'

‘I'd stake my life on the fact that she hates him.'

‘Then let us hope you are right, my friend. A great deal depends on her and the information she can give us.'

‘She will not let us down,' said John, and hoped most earnestly that he was right, knowing the contrary way in which women's hearts sometimes led them.

Because it was still early, the Apothecary decided to spend some time at his shop before he made the journey across river to Southwark. But as no apprentice worthy of the name would dare be at work later than his Master, he arrived after Nicholas, who was already dusting and cleaning and setting the place to rights before opening for the day.

‘Sir,' said the Muscovite in surprise. ‘I hadn't expected you in today.'

‘Oh, why was that?'

‘Because you had risen early and left the house as I was stirring, which usually means you are about Mr Fielding's business.'

‘Well, I have been but I am back for a brief while before I go off again.'

Nicholas's eyes gleamed. ‘Is there much afoot?'

‘A great deal.'

His apprentice took on a most solemn look. ‘Mr Rawlings, if there are to be doings after dark, Sir, please let me join in. Much as I enjoy studying with you, life has been just a shade dull since our adventures connected to the Peerless Pool. No reflection on yourself Sir. My apprenticeship is one of great interest, but …'

‘You're bored to sobs,' put in John.

‘I wouldn't state it quite that strongly.'

‘Nevertheless, you would like some adventure.'

‘I would indeed, Sir.'

‘Then be at The Spaniards in Southwark, close to The Tabard, tonight at seven. But Nicholas …'

‘Yes, Sir?'

‘I warn you that if Joe Jago does not want you involved in this enterprise he will tell you so and you are to abide by his decision without argument. Is that understood?'

‘It is indeed.'

‘Then be there, but say nothing of this to anyone.'

‘My lips are sealed, Mr Rawlings.'

‘In that case let us both do a good morning's work and say no more of it.'

They set to, opening the doors of the shop early to receive the sick and the suffering who had wreaked havoc upon themselves the night before.

A belle of fashion who had clearly not gone to bed, as it was far too early for a lady of the
beau monde
to be upon the town, came in looking somewhat green about the gills.

‘Madam, how may I help you?' asked John.

She leaned close over the counter, her expression ghastly. ‘Are you to be trusted?'

‘Certainly. All my patients are treated in confidence.'

‘Then give me something strong. I was indiscreet last night.'

John's brows rose but he said nothing.

‘With a footman at that. I was in my cups, of course.'

‘Of course.'

‘So what do you suggest?'

‘Common mugwort, Madam. I'll compound you an infusion straight away.'

‘Common? I don't think I care for that very much.'

‘Well, you don't have to have it.'

‘There's nothing else?'

‘None so effective. Drink the infusion twice a day and sit over it for six hours daily.'

The belle turned even greener. ‘
Sit
on it, you say?'

‘Indeed I did, Ma'am.'

Grabbing the parcel, the belle limped from the shop, and John went into the compounding room where he and Nicholas indulged in silent hysterics.

‘I thought ladies were only meant to sit over mugwort for a half hour or so,' whispered the apprentice.

‘They are, but I considered that might keep her out of mischief'

‘Oh, dear Lordy!' said Nicholas, and wiped his streaming eyes.'

The rest of the morning proceeded without incident and shortly after one o'clock John left the shop and walked briskly to the river, where he hired a boat to take him across to the south bank.

He landed at Cuper's Bridge, adjoining Cuper's Gardens, a pleasant site and one much favoured in the summer months, then set off past the timber yards and tenter grounds until he came to Upper Ground, from which he turned down into The Green Walk, then Bare Lane. From there it was a quick cut across to Bandy Leg, indeed the Apothecary was a fraction early for the appointed hour of three.

Dr Hensey had already arrived and was in discussion with Harriet, while Matthew played in the garden outside, well wrapped against the chill. They both turned as the cheerful servant showed John into the room.

The physician bowed, then held out his hand. ‘Mr Rawlings, well timed, Sir. I was just relaying the findings of my old tutor to Mrs Clarke.'

John produced paper and pencil from an inner pocket. ‘I am most interested in this. I intend to record all you say.'

‘Pray do, Sir. Professor Vallier is a leading authority on the falling sickness. Anyway, he maintains that prevention is better than cure and sufferers should adopt a daily routine which will minimise the chances of a fit.' As the Apothecary took notes, Dr Hensey continued. ‘He believes that the dried root of Pellitory of Spain should be chewed in the mouth three times a day, every day without fail. Further, he suggests that for thirty days Matthew should consume four ounces of the juice of Cinquefoil, then have thirty days without it, then thirty days with, and so on.'

‘For the rest of his life?'

‘Yes. There is no cure for the falling sickness as such but a regime like this will bring it under tight control.' The physician looked from one to the other of the two avid listeners. ‘And those, my friends, are his findings.'

‘Remarkable,' said John. ‘I would never have thought of such a combination. And the professor has had great success with this treatment?'