Death at the Devil's Tavern (32 page)

Samuel sunk his chin into his hand. ‘Whoever killed Sir William must have known that they were about to lose everything.'

‘Unless it was an unpremeditated act of violence. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that Luke Challon, so sick with love that he lost his reason, went to Redriff and begged Sir William not to marry Amelia. The old man, quite naturally, refused to listen and Luke struck him with a stick, inadvertently killing him. Now it benefits Sir William's secretary not at all, because the second will hadn't been signed and he is only left a small amount under the terms of the first, but rage overcomes all other considerations. As I said to you before, the will alone proves nothing.'

‘Oh good, London Bridge,' said Samuel, visibly brightening.

‘Hang on tight,' answered his friend, and removed his hat as a precaution.

It was early evening, the day after the gathering of the Hartfield family at St James's Square, and John, for one, had been relieved to leave London and take to the river once more, hoping to clear his thoughts. At the meeting at Bow Street following the interrogation by the Blind Beak, he had been forced to admit that, if anything, he was now more confused than ever.

Lydia had told them everything – or had purported to do so. According to her, she had followed Sir William's hackney coach to Redriff but by the time she had alighted and paid off her driver, had lost her quarry. ‘Just as if he had vanished from the face of the earth,' she had said in rather a chilling phrase. Then, so the widow's story had continued, she had wandered around looking for her father-in-law and had eventually run into Valentine Randolph, leaving The Spread Eagle and making for The Angel along the riverside path.

‘So you still do not know the identity of the blackmailer?' John had said.

‘There was no one about at all. Redriff was like a deserted village. I cannot imagine where Sir William and the person he was meeting could have got to.'

‘A rum tale,' Joe had said thoughtfully.

‘Do you believe it?' John had asked.

‘I'm not sure. You see, it occurs to me that the blackmailer might not exist,' Mr Fielding had said harshly.

‘But why should Lydia make that up?'

‘What cleverer way to throw dust in our eyes than to invent an evil extortionist who has his being only in the mind of a murderer.'

‘So you think she might have killed Sir William herself?'

‘She and her lover between them.'

‘What we need now is a stroke of good fortune. To come across something that will lead us straight to the killer,' John had said.

‘What we need now is to find that great stick,' Mr Fielding had answered. ‘It is a unique piece of evidence, the importance of which cannot be underestimated. Obviously, it didn't show up today – but then I hardly thought it would.'

‘Reckon it's been done away with,' Joe had put in forthrightly. ‘Burnt to a cinder fit for a garbler.'

The Magistrate had shaken his head. ‘I'm not so sure. When would the killer have had time to consign it to flames? No, if it's anywhere, it's either gone out to sea or ended up on a mudflat.'

‘I think I'll have a search round,' John had answered.

‘The traditional needle in a hay stack, I fear. Yet a hunt would certainly do no harm.'

‘Samuel and I will go tomorrow.'

So now they were on their way, in a small wherry, about to enjoy that dangerous pastime known as ‘shooting the bridge'. Laughing uproariously and temporarily dismissing the complexities of finding Sir William's murderer, Samuel and John bobbed like corks as their craft mounted a cataract and cascaded down the other side, soaking all three of its occupants to the skin. The Goldsmith guffawed, the child in him never far from the surface. While John removed his coat and dabbed at his shirt with his handkerchief.

They had entered the Pool of London and a forest of masts, reminiscent of a scene in Amsterdam, spread before them. Amongst these great ships, many queuing at the Legal Quays to unload their dutiable cargo, buzzed the bumboats which serviced them. All craft vying for space with the barges bearing produce and colliers carrying coal.

John stared round, his eyes reflecting the blue of the river. ‘I would like a house by the water one day.'

‘With Coralie Clive also in residence?' Samuel asked saucily.

His friend smiled sadly. ‘Did I tell you that I saw her recently?'

‘Yes.'

‘She still exerts a powerful hold on me, Sam, and I have a strange feeling that she always will.'

‘So what are you going to do about it?'

John shook his head. ‘There's not much I can do. She is determined to become as famous an actress as her sister Kitty, if not more so. At the moment men feature in her life only as companions.'

‘Can't you remain that until she is ready for more?'

‘No, I don't think I can,' John replied seriously. ‘I'd be wanting to sweep her off to bed, take her to the church on the hill, laugh and cry with her, get her with child. I don't think Coralie and I are cut out for friendship.'

Loyal Samuel said, ‘Then she's a fool not to realise what she's missing.'

The Apothecary sighed. ‘One day, perhaps, something will happen to bring her to my side.'

‘I hope so, if that is what you want,' the Goldsmith answered.

It had been John's plan to spend a pleasant evening in The Devil's Tavern, where he and Samuel would then stay the night, before devoting the whole of the next day, dressed in extremely serviceable clothes, to a search of the riverbank and mudflats for the great stick with the fox's head. This idea his friend had agreed to with alacrity, so it was with the prospect of an enjoyable time ahead that the two of them climbed Pelican Stairs and made their way to the, by now, familiar confines of the riverside hostelry.

It was still early evening but already the bar was beginning to fill with the vivid flotsam and jetsam of waterside riff-raff. A sailor with two crimson parrots in a wooden cage was pestering a lady of quality for a sale; a blind man with a begging bowl wandered from table to table asking for alms; two blisteringly large seamen, obviously candidates for the bare knuckle fight, glared at one another pugnaciously. While a pedlar with one eye, a terrible scar in the cavity where the other had been, exhibited a tray of strangely carved objects brought from the Indies.

‘What a place!' said John in admiration. And it was then, as he looked round for somewhere to sit, that he saw the three Hartfield brothers, together with Valentine and Luke, occupying a settle and two chairs by the fire. ‘Well, well,' he murmured to Samuel.

His friend followed the direction of John's eyes. ‘Here to discuss the future of the business?'

‘More than likely. Oh dear, just read their faces.'

Samuel grinned, for Roger was stifling a yawn and Julian examining his fingernails, while Hugh held forth. Valentine, on the other hand, was attempting to look interested, though Luke was not bothering, glaring at the floor as if it had done him a disservice.

‘I wonder if we can get near enough to listen without being seen,' John continued in the same low voice. ‘The settle where they're sitting has another backing on to it. If we squeeze into that …'

‘If! Have you seen the size of the man occupying it?'

‘He must weigh at least a ton and a half.'

‘I don't think I could stand the strain,' said the Apothecary, but at that moment the man they were staring at, an enormous Oriental complete with pigtail and long trailing black moustaches, heaved himself to his feet and waddled away. Under cover of his more than adequate screening, John and Samuel took their seats.

‘… can leave the day-to-day running to me,' Hugh was saying. ‘I mean, I was practically in charge while Father was alive.' Someone cleared his throat, and the speaker added, ‘With Valentine's help, of course.'

‘Well, I couldn't bear to go into the beastly place too often,' Roger's voice replied. ‘You can take over the entire administration as far as I'm concerned, Hugh.'

‘One moment,' put in Julian. ‘I don't think we should release too much control, Roger. I think we should see all the documents daily.'

‘That would cause an unwarrantable delay,' Hugh answered cuttingly. ‘By the time you'd recovered from a night's gambling and were sober enough to look at the papers, we would probably have lost a day's important business.'

‘Decisions are hardly that quick,' Valentine remonstrated. ‘A twenty-four-hour deferment would make little difference.'

Hugh started to protest but Julian shouted him down. ‘Listen, Hugh, the company belongs to all of us under the terms of Father's will. You were given the management, not total authority.'

‘You've become a regular tongue-pad, young man, if I might say so.'

Luke spoke for the first time. ‘This is just the sort of thing Sir William dreaded might happen.'

‘Which is no doubt why he made a new will. But he never signed it, did he? Much to your regret, my dear Luke.'

‘Yes, I do dislike the fact that Miss Lambourn has been left penniless,' the secretary answered angrily. His tone was decidedly nasty and John hazarded a guess that Luke had consumed a great deal of alcohol.

‘Oh, you've always had a soft spot for the silly slut,' Hugh remarked carelessly.

‘Oh dear!' muttered Samuel, as there was the sound of a chair scraping back and somebody jumping to his feet.

‘Don't insult the lady,' growled Luke, between gritted teeth.

‘For the love of God …' shouted Valentine. But too late. There was the crunch of a fist making contact with bone, followed by an angry roar and the crash of two bodies as they hit the floor.

It was like a signal. Instantly, every inhabitant of the long low room stopped what they were doing and looked over in the direction of the fight, while the landlord, with simply amazing agility, leapt clean over the pewter bar and advanced on the argument. As he did so, the two enormous sailors grappled and started to knock hell out of each other, while the seaman with the parrots put down his cage and hit the man standing next to him. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, John and Samuel climbed up onto the settle from where they had a commanding view of the entire proceedings.

Immediately in front of them, Luke and Hugh were rolling on the floor, punching furiously, Hugh getting by far the worst of it. Valentine and Julian, meanwhile, were attempting to separate them, while Roger had slumped in a faint into a large oak chair. The lady of quality had also risen to stand on a table and was busy throwing plates at the fighting sailors, while her escort seemed on the point of drawing his sword.

‘Cor,' said a voice beside John, ‘what a lovely mill.' And a small hand was thrust into his as Kitty Perkins, the oyster girl, clambered up to join them. She peered over the back of the settle. ‘What's happening?'

‘Do you remember me telling you about Sir William Hartfield, the man who was killed on the night we first met? And how I found his body?'

‘Yes, may his soul rest in peace. He always said good day whenever he saw me. A proper gentleman he was.'

‘Well, that's some of his family down there.'

‘Yes, I know. I've seen them before. Not that they come to this part of the world very often. Too lowlife. They're fighting over the money, I suppose.'

‘Something like that.'

Kitty peered closely, taking everything in, then her expression changed. ‘That's funny,' she said.

‘What?'

‘I saw that one the other night and thought at the time he didn't ought to be there …' And she pointed vaguely in the direction of the fight.

In her excitement her voice soared over the general rumpus, clearly audible to all. But Kitty got no further. The vast Oriental had returned from wherever he had been and was now laying about him with a series of strange throws and kicks that sent anyone who approached him flying through the air. With a grunt, he picked up the settle, shaking off its occupants as if they were so many rag dolls. Lying in a heap where he had landed on the floor, John saw the massive piece of furniture whirl high then crash down onto Hugh and Luke, stopping their fight for good and all. A violent desire to laugh was strangled at birth by the sight of all the missing teeth and blood which covered the flagstones right next to where he lay. Searching madly for his bag, John staggered to his feet in order to do his duty and tend the wounded.

An hour later he was finished and the scene in the Devil's Tavern had changed yet again. The Oriental sat by the fire like the Emperor of China, plied with drink and congratulations. The warring sailors had removed with their various entourages to the room upstairs, where they could punch in peace. Valentine had taken Roger and Luke away, or so John was informed by Samuel, while a very angry Julian, not looking in the least effeminate and scowling thunderbolts, had removed Hugh. The man with the parrots had made a sale at last, the lady of quality and her beau were drunk, and the pedlar well content, having disposed of the entire contents of his tray.

‘'Zounds!' said John, wiping the blood from his hands and face. ‘Have you ever seen the like of it?'

‘Wasn't it exciting though!'

‘Well, yes.'

‘Do you think Luke will be dismissed from his post?'

‘I'm certain he will. Poor soul. And all for love of an amorous jade who wouldn't look twice at him.' The Apothecary gazed down at his bloodstained clothes. ‘I think I'd better go and change.' He stared round. ‘Where's Kitty gone?'

‘She had to leave with the tide. She asked me to say farewell and that she'll see you tomorrow. There's something she wants to tell you.'

John lowered his voice. ‘Yes, she recognised one of the scrappers from somewhere.'

‘Do you mean Hugh and Luke?'