Death at the Devil's Tavern (2 page)

‘I see,' said John, and did not know whether to be pleased or annoyed.

They were fast approaching the bend in the river and the wherryman pulled with all his might, striving against the wind and tide as they approached Execution Dock Stairs, the place where pirates were put to death, their corpses left to dangle in the breeze as a warning to others. Thirty years before John had been born, in 1701, Captain Kidd had been hanged on this very spot. Apparently the execution had been so mismanaged that Kidd could quite easily have escaped but was so full of liquor, presumably imbibed in order to keep his courage up, that he was unable to move when the opportunity presented itself.

‘Is it much further?' the Apothecary asked.

‘No, Scholar. I'll land you at the sixth set of stairs from here. They are built right by the tavern and will lead you straight to it.'

John consulted the fob watch which his father, Sir Gabriel Kent, had given him for his twenty-first birthday three years earlier. ‘I see I'm somewhat early for my appointment.'

The wherryman gave an evil leer. ‘Then stroll about, Scholar. You're sure to find many things that will interest you. Wapping High Street, now, there's a place that might tickle your fancy.'

‘I've heard about it,' John answered, ‘and I think I'll wait until my friend joins me.'

The wherryman grinned, busy with his oars as he pulled into a landing stage from which rose a flight of wooden steps. Beside these steps and jutting out over the water was the place John had come to visit. The Devil's Tavern, once a timber-framed country house but now an inn frequented by river people, thieves and smugglers, loomed above him. Standing up, John reached for his purse and gave the waterman a generous tip on top of his fare. What he lacked in charm, the fellow had more than made up for by his tremendous effort.

The waterman bit the coin John had given him, then rumbled a laugh. ‘Take care, Scholar. There's much that's been lost within those walls. Purses, watches, jewels, virginity – even life.'

John smiled his crooked smile. ‘I'll guard everything that I still possess, never fear.' Then he set off to climb the rickety steps.

He had been bobbing like a seagull on the surface for so long that his land legs had deserted him, and he could still feel the motion of the river as he made the somewhat treacherous ascent. In fact so strong was the sensation that he had to lean against the wall of the inn momentarily in order to regain his balance. The feel of its surface was cold and clammy to his touch, obviously where the spume thrown by the tide had hit it, and it was as much as John could do to conquer a sudden moment of irrational fear. Telling himself not to be foolish, he shook his head and looked around to get his bearings.

To his left ran Wapping High Street, that infamous thoroughfare of vice, while to the Apothecary's right was a seedy alley called Fox Lane. Directly in front of him, however, John could see some gardens and a church spire. Though very far indeed from being pious, the Apothecary decided that a house of religion might well be the safest place in which to while away an hour's waiting time, rather than risk wandering alone through Wapping's festering streets. Guessing that the church must be the famous St Paul's, Shadwell, known even as far away as Nassau Street as ‘the Church of the Sea Captains' and therefore worth a visit, John felt in his pocket for his pistol, a necessary precaution in such a dubious locality, and strode out in the general direction of the spire.

Fox Lane widened out, turning from a mean alley to a sizeable walkway running beside both a cooper's and a timber yard. Then it grew positively pleasant and became a path between some gardens and the back of the churchyard. It was at this moment, as John walked on, enjoying the greenery, that the mighty wind, dormant for a while, gusted so heartily that the Apothecary found himself practically blown round the building and in through the pillared entrance. Rescuing his hat, attempting escape once more, John straightened his apparel and went inside.

Extremely interested in the church's maritime connections, the Apothecary stared about him, hoping to find evidence of the great mariners in their place of worship. He even took a few bold steps down the aisle, only to pull himself up short. For he was not alone in the church of St Paul's. Greatly to his embarrassment, the Apothecary saw that he had inadvertently interrupted a wedding. Somewhat flushed, he hastily took a place in a back pew on the left-hand side of the church, the side traditionally occupied by the family and friends of the bride, and attempted to become invisible, staring into his lap in an ostrich-like manner.

It was the sound of crying that first attracted his attention to the fact that all was not as it should be. Above the coughing and shuffling of the congregation, not very many to judge by the noise, rose the plaintive wail of a weeping woman. Raising his eyes, John allowed himself a good hard stare at the bridal party and was quite shocked to see that other than for the bride herself and an older woman, presumably her mother, he was the only person sitting on the left-hand side of the church. Of the bridegroom there was absolutely no sign, though a tall thin figure clearly dressed in his best suit, a fine affair in lavender silk, sat miserably crouched in the front right-hand pew, his head bowed and his hands clasped between his knees. This, John took it, must be the bridegroom's witness, also kept waiting.

The parson, meanwhile, very red in the face and obviously extremely flustered, was stationed before the altar, Bible in hand. In between frantic glances at the church door, he occasionally muttered soothing words to the hysterical young woman, fast disintegrating into an inconsolable heap of wretchedness quite incapable of going through a marriage service. With his expressive eyebrows dancing, John took a cautious glance round to see the effect of all this on the other guests.

Confirming his earlier impression, he observed that there was only a handful of people present, all sitting at the back, clustered together like an unkindness of ravens, clad in starkest black, looking as if they would be more suitable at a funeral than a marriage.

“Sblud!' he muttered beneath his breath, and would have studied these freakish visitors more closely, had not the sound of the priest clearing his throat attracted his attention once more to the front. The cleric, plainly much discomfited, had produced a fob watch from beneath his cassock and was staring at it with furrowed brow. He had obviously set himself some kind of time limit before he declared the ceremony null and void and sent everyone on their way. And now, it would seem, that time was up. Heaving a great sigh, the unhappy man shook his head in the direction of the bride and closed his Bible with a thump. Behind him, John heard the definite swell of a muted cry of triumph drown the pitiful sobs of the young woman as she rose to her feet and, leaning heavily on the arm of her attendant, made her way from the church, head bowed.

As she passed by where he sat, the Apothecary observed that despite the fact she was by now unattractively flushed and her eyes were both reddened and sore, the deserted bride was an extremely pretty girl of no more than twenty-five, her figure neat and pertly breasted, her hair a glorious colour, pale yet rich, the shade of wheat. Whoever had jilted her, John caught himself thinking, had to be mad.

The other guests, however, clearly did not share his opinion. No sooner was the unfortunate young creature outside the door than they burst into excited conversation, laughing heartily, one or two of them, whilst the others chattered away cheerfully. It would appear that they had won the day, that the non-appearance of the bridegroom – clearly a friend or relative of theirs – was exactly what they wanted. Still keeping his seat, the Apothecary watched them go out.

Leading the way and having much deference paid to her in the process, was an elderly woman leaning upon a stick, a middle-aged female, presumably a relative, fluttering at her elbow. Next came a monstrous beau, past his best as regards years, but for all that dressed within an inch of his life despite his sober black garb. As he went out he caught John's enquiring eye and flashed a sudden smile, adding a winsome wave of his fingers as if he had known the Apothecary for years.

A rugged young man, somewhat square of shoulder, followed, escorting a small bird-like woman, with darting brown eyes. Then came the last to leave, a redheaded beauty of striking good looks – or rather two of them! John stared in open admiration at a pair of twins, as alike as brother and sister could possibly be, and quite the most attractive couple of siblings he had ever set his eyes on. As soon as the last of this extraordinary black-clad party had gone, the gentleman in lavender scuttled out of the church, looking neither to the right nor left of him. John had one quick glimpse of a hawkish man with dark arresting features as the bridegroom's witness hurried past.

Outside, the wind was still gusting furiously, tugging at the garments of the poor little bride as she clambered into her carriage, lugged the older woman up after her, and set off at great speed towards the City. Meanwhile, the others were also getting into their conveyances, still laughing and joking as if they did not have a care in the world. The Apothecary, frankly amazed by the entire spectacle, stood and stared until the last of them had disappeared from his sight.

‘Well, that's a sorry business,' said a voice at his ear.

John, who had a range of suitable expressions which he assumed according to the occasion, put on his honest, puzzled face and turned round. Standing beside him, shaking his head as the last of the carriages vanished into the distance, was an individual whom the Apothecary took by his dress to be the churchwarden.

‘Indeed it is,' he answered in a sorrowful tone. ‘In fact I've never seen anything quite like it. I am but a visitor to this parish, Sir, and entered the church for its fame as the sea captains' place of prayer. So do please tell me what is afoot.'

The churchwarden shook his head once more. ‘It's a jilting, Sir, in plain language. The bride and her mother have been waiting this last hour but the groom did not appear. His witness knew nothing of his whereabouts, having arranged to meet him here. A sorry business for all concerned.'

‘Who is the groom? Do you know?'

‘A local ship owner I believe, born in the parish of Shadwell. I do not have his name. The wedding was arranged in something of a hurry and I was therefore not asked to assist.'

‘Is that common?'

‘When the ceremony is a quiet one, yes. There's many a runaway comes here before they sail for the Colonies.'

‘The priest does not object?'

The churchwarden sighed. ‘He must eke out his miserable stipend somehow or other.'

John nodded, thinking that St Paul's, Shadwell, no doubt provided its incumbent with a good living and that conducting runaway marriages would hardly be necessary to make ends meet. However, that was not the affair at issue.

‘Who were all those extraordinary people in black?' he asked, his look bewildered.

The churchwarden lowered his voice, though there was not another soul in sight. ‘The bridegroom's family, I believe. It seems they got wind of the match and came here to make unpleasantness.' He fingered his chin. ‘Perhaps that is why the groom did not appear. Perhaps he wanted to avoid a scene.'

‘In that case he would surely have informed his bride and witness.'

‘Yes, you're right of course. It is quite inexplicable.' The churchwarden raised his hat. ‘Well, I must be on my way. Good day to you, Sir.'

John returned his salute, clutching his headgear in a firm grasp. ‘Good day, Sir. It has been most enjoyable speaking to you.'

Turning up his coat against the wind, the churchwarden headed off in the direction of the path, now dark with shadow, and John, glancing upwards, saw that the sun had sunk low in the heavens. Looking at his watch, he realised that there was no time left in which to explore St Paul's, in fact he had only fifteen minutes to spare before his appointment with Samuel. Intrigued by all that he had seen and wondering how the poor bride was faring in the face of such a catastrophe, the Apothecary retraced his steps and hurried back towards The Devil's Tavern.

It was the noise that first struck John. Even as he left Fox Lane and crossed to where the door of the inn opened on to the street, a fierce discord of sound was already assaulting his ears. Several voices were raised in a song of some foreign tongue, distantly a woman was screaming, though whether with laughter or fear it was difficult to tell, while at the tops of their lungs two men were arguing ferociously. With a delicious mixture of trepidation and eagerness, John pushed the door open and went inside.

The downstairs area consisted of a long low room at the far end of which were two windows looking out over the Thames. The bar, or what the Apothecary could see of it for the press of bodies standing close by, appeared to be made of pewter and stood upon barrels. This highly unusual feature ran the length of the building and was attended by a rough looking fellow with a beard. Looking round for his old friend and simultaneously guarding his pocket, John took stock of his surroundings. The air he was breathing was thick with tobacco smoke, the smell of drink, of bodies, and above all the river. The light was dim, thrown by tallow candles. In a dark corner a sailor was making love to a slut. It was one of the most dangerous and exciting environments into which he had ever ventured, and the Apothecary relished the prospect of the wild evening ahead.

‘Over here!' called a great voice, and peering through the gloom John saw that Samuel had arrived ahead of him and had already secured a place, his powerful frame squeezed onto a settle beside some sailors, who were regarding him with a great deal of suspicion.

‘Coming,' John shouted in reply and made his way through the throng, still guarding his valuables, for beyond doubt thieves and pickpockets, eager for pickings, would be mingling amongst this crowd of riverside scum.