Death at the Devil's Tavern (7 page)

‘There is no need. I trust you and your compounds more than I do those of any other apothecary alive.'

‘And you may call me that at long last. I was made Free the day before yesterday.'

The Comtesse let out a cry of delight. ‘John, this is wonderful news. You must come and dine with us in order to celebrate. Louis will be so pleased.'

‘And how is your gallant husband?'

Serafina rolled her eyes. ‘Preparing for fatherhood as if the condition were unique to him alone. No woman has ever been
enceinte
before, no man has ever sired a child. Why, if he had his way I would be lying at home on my
duchesse en bateau
and would not shift until the babe was born. It is all tremendously endearing and enormously trying.'

‘It sounds very like him.'

‘Yes. I have come to the conclusion that the greater the philanderer, the better the father. I'll swear it is because they know the perils their child might fall in to.'

John looked slightly startled. ‘Philanderer? But surely, Louis …'

The Comtesse shook her head. ‘Don't worry. He is completely cured of all that. It is as much as I can do these days to get him to leave my side, which is a pity.'

‘Why?'

‘Because occasionally, just very occasionally, I have this overwhelming urge to don a disguise and make for Marybone or some other gaming house, and there to gamble as once I used. Oh John, it was a dangerous life – but it was so exciting!'

The Apothecary smiled. ‘The mysterious Masked Lady, the most enigmatical figure in the
beau monde
.'

‘And who was it who unmasked me?'

John spread his hands and bowed. ‘I apologise.'

Serafina kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘It was worth it in order to find the happiness I now enjoy.'

‘You're sure? Promise me you aren't bored.'

‘No, it is only a small wicked streak in me that wants to go back to the old life.'

John nodded. ‘Talking of that life, did you ever come across a man called Sir William Hartfield during your travels?'

Serafina frowned. ‘The name seems vaguely familiar.'

‘He was in his sixties, not bad looking for a man of his years. He owned a fleet of ships.'

‘Hartfield? Hartfield?? Serafina repeated. ‘Did he have a son called Julian by any chance?'

‘I don't know. Why?'

‘Because I took a tidy sum from that young man, a pretty fellow with flaming corkscrews of hair upon which his wig did not sit easy. He believed himself a regular gamester but did not have the flair to make his belief reality. He was in debt to many, the foolish creature.'

‘And were those debts honoured?'

‘Oh yes. And by his family I imagine. If this Sir William was his father, I pity him.'

‘How interesting,' said the Apothecary reflectively.

‘Why do you ask? Has something happened? John, you have a certain look upon your face. Are you working with Mr Fielding again?'

The Apothecary grinned, just a fraction sheepishly. ‘You know me too well. Madam. But the answer is no, not as yet. Though I expect the summons at any moment.'

‘And can I assume that this Sir William Hartfield is involved somehow?'

‘Indeed you may. The poor wretch was thrown into a watery grave, the river Thames to be precise. But he was dragged out and is now lying in the mortuary. The Blind Beak has just cause to believe that his death was in suspicious circumstances, I can assure you.'

Serafina gazed at him, her face suddenly pale. ‘Be careful, John. If the Julian Hartfield I knew is part of the family, then there is a great deal of money involved. And a fortune makes people grow vicious, particularly when they want to get their hands on it.'

Just for a moment John enjoyed the luxury of holding her close to him. ‘Don't worry, I shall be a mere outside observer.'

‘I don't think so,' the Comtesse answered slowly. ‘If I know anything about you, my fine young friend, you will find it practically impossible to remain out of harm's way for long.'

The letter from the Principal Magistrate arrived during the course of the afternoon, written in the strangely neat hand of Joe Jago though the signature was John Fielding's own, his pen guided for him. It read simply:

It was somewhat quaintly worded and John smiled to himself, as he hastily wrote a reply and gave it to the waiting Runner.

‘Can you tell Mr Fielding that I may be a little late. I have to see to the closing of my shop.'

‘He will understand that perfectly, Sir. It is the Beak's expressed wish that he should never interfere with your working life.'

But he does, John thought, and just for a moment had a doubt about whether he should become involved in yet another of John Fielding's investigations into violent death. Yet there was a fascination to it, a honing of the wit against that of the perpetrator, which no other pastime could satisfy. The Apothecary supposed that as Serafina was addicted in some degree to gaming, so was he to the art of catching murderers.

So it was with mounting excitement that he closed his shop punctually at half past four and hired a sedan chair to take him to Bow Street. And it was with pleasure that John climbed the staircase to the private dwelling above the Public Office and allowed a servant to usher him to the doorway of the large airy room used by the Fieldings as their salon. It being a typical March evening with a sharp wind that had a hint of snow in it, the curtains had been drawn across the three large windows, while a log fire sent forth a comforting radiance. Seated in a chair beside this glow, the colour of it reflecting warmly on his face, was the man whom the population of London either greatly feared or greatly respected, according to the degree of honesty which they practised. John stood for a moment in silence, realising that John Fielding was not yet aware of his presence, and studied the Blind Beak.

He was already something of a legend, yet the Apothecary knew for a fact that the Magistrate was very far from old, only thirty-four in fact, having been born in the winter of 1721. Tragically blinded in an accident at the age of nineteen, his desire for a career at sea had thus been brought to an untimely end but, with almost superhuman power, John had followed in his half-brother Henry's footsteps and become a magistrate. Not only that! He had ably improved Henry's scheme to employ the court's officers as a law enforcement brigade, a body nicknamed the Beak Runners by the population at large. The policing of the lawless capital had sprung into life at the hands of an author and a blind man.

Hearing a movement in the doorway, the Principal Magistrate turned his head. ‘Is that you, Mr Rawlings?'

‘It certainly is, Sir.'

‘Then pray step inside and take the seat opposite mine. There is some punch keeping warm by the fire. If you would be good enough to help yourself.'

John did so, bowing before he sat and wondering what it was about the Blind Beak that made everyone treat him as if he were sighted. But there was no time to dwell on it for the Magistrate was speaking again.

‘Joe Jago tells me that you were made Free of the Company on the day before yesterday. Many congratulations, my young friend.'

‘Thank you. I must confess it is a very satisfying feeling after all this time. I had half convinced myself that it would never happen.'

‘You certainly suffered from several set backs as far as that matter was concerned, some of which I fear may be my fault.'

‘What do you mean, Sir?'

‘That the pursuit of certain facts on behalf of the Public Office may have stopped you attending the Court of Assistants.'

‘I can truthfully assure you that is not so. It came near to it last December but I did get to the Court despite the difficulties.'

‘Then all is well.' Mr Fielding held out his glass and John refilled it, then he drank and paused before he said, ‘And now it would seem that we are on the trail of a killer once more.'

‘Joe Jago told you the tale?'

‘Yes, all of it. Further, two of my men went by water this morning to the mortuary where the bodies found at Wapping are lodged. They returned with these.' The Magistrate produced from his pocket a velvet bag and handed it across the space to John. ‘Are these the snuff and pill boxes you found upon the corpse?'

John turned the contents onto his lap, the brocade waistcoat that he kept in his shop lest he should be invited out unexpectedly, reflecting in the silver snuff box decorated with its emerald from the Indies.

‘They are, Sir. So the mortuary attendant proved to be an honest man.'

‘Either that or frightened by the sight of the Runners.'

‘But he released the articles in question without demur?'

‘Not until my men had been to and fro the Coroner till they were giddy. Anyway, the situation stands that the Coroner is now convinced that the deceased was Sir William Hartfield, having been shown the wedding licence and told where it was found. Not withstanding that, he will release the body to no one but the dead man's family as he is not at all convinced of foul play.'

‘The mark on the body presumably vanished as it bloated.'

‘Yes, you were lucky to see it so soon, my friend. Had you not, this case of unlawful killing might well have gone undetected.'

John refilled his glass and topped up that of Mr Fielding. ‘Joe Jago told you of the extraordinary wedding party, Sir?'

‘Yes, very clearly. He said that you described the guests as more suitably clad for a funeral than a festivity.'

‘The first of which they will very soon have to attend! Yes, they were a most baleful bunch, there to make trouble according to the churchwarden.'

‘Yet one of them may well have known that the bridegroom would not be present.'

‘You think a member of the family is responsible?'

Mr Fielding sipped his punch thoughtfully. ‘I believe a great deal of money is involved in this case. If Sir William were about to remarry and to make a new will in favour of his beautiful young bride, then that may very well be so.' He paused, then said, ‘Tell me of the bridegroom's witness. Jago said he was one of Sir William's employees.'

‘Yes. He was obviously much embarrassed by the whole affair and scuttled away as soon as the vicar announced that the ceremony would not be taking place. I saw him later in The Devil's Tavern, drowning his sorrows. A local girl told me that his name is Valentine Randolph and that he lives across the river in Redriff. Apparently, he works for one of the ship owners so I am surmising that it must have been Sir William.'

‘I think you are moderately safe in doing so. With an antagonistic family who else would one choose to act as witness but a trusted employee?'

‘Yes,' agreed John thoughtfully.

There was a brief knock on the door which then flew open to reveal the prettiest of little girls. ‘Mary Ann!' exclaimed the Apothecary, with pleasure.

‘Mr Rawlings, how very nice to see you again,' she answered, and dropped a demure curtsey. She turned to John Fielding. ‘Uncle, Aunt Elizabeth has asked me to say that dinner will be served in five minutes.'

‘Then tell her we shall join her shortly. Now, I have a few more matters to discuss with Mr Rawlings.'

‘Very well.' And bobbing another curtsey, the charming little thing went out.

‘How well you have taught her,' John commented, expressing his thoughts aloud.

‘As you know, she has been with us since she was six. My wife brought her to the marriage as a dowry.' The Blind Beak laughed gently. ‘She is Elizabeth's niece, of course, but to us she is the child we never had.'

His manner changed suddenly and entirely and he leant towards the Apothecary, his black bandaged eyes, prominent nose and strong features giving an almost frightening impression. John Rawlings found himself thinking, yet again, that John Fielding was one of the most powerful men he had ever met and he pitied any poor miscreant dragged before him.

‘My friend,' said the Magistrate softly, ‘you will be well aware by now that I would very much like you to help me find Sir William Hartfield's murderer – and yet I hesitate to ask you.'

‘Because you believe you might be taking me away from my livelihood.' John did not pose this as a question being so sure of the answer.

‘Indeed. We compromised in the past by agreeing you should work for the Public Office on alternate days, but I do not consider that arrangement to be satisfactory if it means that you must close your shop.'

‘But if I do not do so, how can I serve you?'

‘Have you thought of getting an assistant?' Mr Fielding answered one question with another.

‘An apprentice certainly.'

‘What age need this person be?'

‘About fifteen or sixteen.'

‘Would someone a little older be unsuitable?'

‘It depends. Why do you ask?'

‘Aha,' said the Blind Beak mysteriously, ‘I will come to that matter when we have eaten our repast.'

The cold March night had deepened and beyond the walls of the house in Bow Street, the wind which had played such havoc with the Apothecary's hat during the last two days could be heard howling like a caged beast, apparently having lost its sense of humour. Occasionally it blew gusts down the chimney of the salon, sending smoke into the room and causing the candles to flicker wildly. But generally the place remained cosy and John, stretching his legs out to the flames and drinking Mr Fielding's finest port, felt his mood grow expansive, so much so that he began to dread the idea of turning out into the cold. Aware that he must gather his dulling wits, the Apothecary asked a question.