Death at the Devil's Tavern (44 page)

Along the shore, at the bottom of the various Stairs, crowded small boats waiting to take passengers to the vessels which would carry them to their far distant destinations across the wide and dangerous oceans. And at the top of Pelican Stairs, standing with the friends who had come to bid them farewell, was a group of people brought together by the terrible events surrounding the deaths of Sir William Hartfield and Kitty Perkins.

Standing taller than them all was Samuel Swann, his arms flailing like the sails of a windmill as he swung them vigorously round himself to keep out the freshness of the breeze. Beside him, immaculate as ever despite the earliness of the hour, was Sir Gabriel Kent, his tricorne hat safely secured by a pearl-headed pin, his black velvet cloak swirling out like the sail of a funeral ship. Looking not quite as immaculate, in fact showing definite signs of needing a shave, his adopted son, John Rawlings, stood on the edge, the vivid blue of his eyes enhanced by the brilliant colours of the morning.

‘So,' said Valentine Randolph, as the rowing boat from the ship Sea Maiden pulled up to the steps, ‘we must finally say farewell.' He turned to Lydia, standing beside him, one lock of hair which had worked loose beneath her hat, flying out on the breeze. ‘Are you ready, my dear?'

She smiled. ‘Of course.'

Sir Gabriel drew Hesther Hodkin slightly to one side and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘This is a very courageous thing you are doing,' he said gently.

She shook her head. ‘No, it is a very sensible thing. I need to start my life all over again because, so far, I have had very little life to speak of. I shall be perfectly happy in Virginia with Valentine's kinfolk, the Randolphs and the Jeffersons. Who knows, I may even find myself a husband at long last.'

‘Then he will be a very lucky man,' Sir Gabriel answered gallantly.

‘And talking of lucky men, Lydia and I are to be married at sea,' Valentine informed anyone who wanted to listen.

‘Congratulations,' said Nicholas Dawkins, yawning. He had already heard that particular piece of information a dozen times and was getting bored with it.

Luke Challon picked up the ladies' hand baggage, the rest of the luggage having already gone out to the ship. ‘Best be getting along.' He shook hands with Valentine. ‘Good luck, my friend. I hope your new life is everything that you hope it will be.'

Valentine cuddled Lydia close, an adoring expression on his face. ‘With her beside me, how could it be anything else?'

John Rawlings kissed Hesther's hand. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hodkin. I wish you every success in the Colony.'

Sir Gabriel also bent over her fingers. ‘You are a very fine woman,' he said.

‘Thank you for everything, my dear,' she answered, and very briefly brushed his mouth with hers, before she climbed into the boat, from which she did not look back. Valentine helped Lydia into the swaying craft, then got aboard himself, and the pair of them waved continuously until they reached mid-stream.

‘So,' said John, ‘an ending and a beginning.'

‘Not just for them,' answered Luke, making a grimace. ‘Did you know that the great beau is emulating his eloping brother and is due to marry Miss Lamboum tomorrow? That is if he shows up.?

John's mobile eyebrows shot to his hairline. ‘Good God! What is he trying to prove?'

‘I suppose it doesn't occur to you,' said Sir Gabriel severely, ‘that he might be genuinely fond of her?'

‘No, it doesn't,' answered John cheerfully. ‘He could never have exploited her the way he did if that was so. Besides, Roger is so madly in love with Roger that there's room for no one else in his heart at all.'

‘Cynic!' replied his father, but Samuel guffawed.

Luke lowered his voice and spoke only to John. ‘I shall be eternally grateful to you and Mr Fielding for not making my infatuation with the wretched woman public.'

‘There was no need. So you have managed to come to terms with the fact that she's about to become Roger's wife?'

‘I've had to,' Luke answered grimly, ‘after all he and Julian are my employers now. They are continuing to run the company and have made me office manager.' He fingered his chin. ‘Strange how it's all worked out.'

‘With Hugh dead and Maud flown the coop, you mean?'

‘Yes, I do. I wonder where she got to after that dramatic dash of hers.'

‘Very probably Jamaica. She was damned lucky to escape as she did, though. If it hadn't been for the diversion caused by Hugh …'

‘Well, he served her one good turn at least.'

‘Probably more than he ever did in the rest of his lifetime, pretending she was unfaithful in order to throw dust into my eyes.'

‘Any news of horrible Lady Hodkin?' asked Sir Gabriel, watching through his telescope as the Sea Maiden's gangplank was raised and the capstan creaked into life and slowly began to haul up the anchor.

‘I believe she's sending for some impoverished female who has been advertising in the newspapers for a position, to be her companion.'

‘Heaven help the poor soul.'

‘Look, they're moving!' called Nicholas.

John gazed at the pinched face, now filling out almost daily and developing a fine rosy complexion. ‘Would you like to be on board?'

The Muscovite shook his head. ‘No, indeed. Not now that you've made me your apprentice, Mr Rawlings, and Mr Fielding has paid for my indentures.'

‘Then that's as well.'

The five of them fell silent. The square rigger was starting her stately journey down to the open sea. On board there was a flurry of waving white handkerchiefs and the notes of a fiddle playing a song of farewell was borne shorewards on the morning air. The sails began to swell with a lusty wind bound for the Americas and the powerful ship bobbed and dipped as the Thames led the vessel inexorably on towards the ocean, already casting its relentless spell upon her.

‘They're on their way!' called Sir Gabriel, and the telescope passed from hand to hand as they watched the Sea Maiden grow smaller and smaller until she was finally hidden by the bend in the river and passed from their sight.

‘They've gone,' said Samuel, a little sadly.

But John Rawlings shook his head. ‘No. They are still there, just as are we. It is simply that now we can no longer see them.' And so saying, he turned away from the river and set his face to the dawning day.

John Rawlings, Apothecary, was born circa 1731, though his actual parentage is somewhat shrouded in mystery. However, by 1754 he emerged from the shadows when on 22 August, 1754, he applied to be made Free of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. He did not succeed on that occasion and I thought it would be interesting to quote from the Worshipful Society's Court Book dated 13 March, 1755 (Ms 8200/7).

‘Mr John Rawlings, a Foreign Apothecary, attended the Court and desired to be admitted to his Freedom of the Company by Redemption on the terms mentioned in the Court of Assistants of 22nd August last but not withstanding the Order of this Court of Assistants of the 5th December last whereby the Fine for admitting Foreign Apothecaries was increased, he having attended at the Hall to take up his Freedom on the Private Court Day in August last but the Court was just broke up and he was prevented by business attending again before the 5th December last, which being taken into consideration. Ordered that on his paying a Fine of £7.10.0d.40 to the Garden and Fees and passing an Examination he be made Free of the Company by Redemption. He paid the Fine.'

In this instance the word ‘Foreign' means that he was apprenticed outside the City of London, and the word ‘Fine' simply means a fee.

Here, then, is the authenticated record that John Rawlings was kept waiting at least seven months between ending his indentures and being made Free. On becoming a Yeoman of the Society, John gave his address as 2, Nassau Street, Soho, thereby linking himself irrefutably with H.D. Rawlings Ltd., Soda Water Manufacturers, who gave the same address over a hundred years later.

The Devil's Tavern still stands but these days is called The Prospect of Whitby. Originally built in 1520 as a timber-framed country house, it opened as a tavern some time later and soon became the haunt of riverfolk and smugglers. In 1777 the landlord renamed The Devil's Tavern, calling it The Prospect of Whitby after the collier, The Prospect, which regularly moored off the tavern and became a local landmark. As well as The Devil's Tavern, both the other hostelries mentioned in this book remain. The Spread Eagle is now called The Mayflower, but has little sign of its historic past. The Angel, however, retains its original name and still boasts the balcony supposedly haunted by Judge Jeffreys. The Church of St Mary the Virgin, Rotherhithe, looking very much as it did in John Rawlings's time, also stands as a proud monument to the past.