Death in the Dark Walk (16 page)

‘Certainly,' the other replied with alacrity. ‘We are being charged £4.8s. to make Chichester by nightfall. If you will contribute one pound, Sir, you may gladly join us.'

‘Delighted to do so,' answered John, and handing his luggage to the hostler, who clambered up like a monkey and stowed it on the roof, he climbed aboard.

The chaise was obviously new, there being windows all the way round for observation, while the body was well though somewhat swayingly sprung. There was no coachman as such, this role being taken by two postillions, smartly arrayed in riding clothes and caps, who rode, one behind the other, a pair of the team of four horses.

‘A smart rig this,' the Apothecary observed, bowing to the ladies before he took his seat.

‘So I should think,' responded the father. ‘The cost is iniquitous.'

‘But the service good,' John responded reasonably.

The face of one of the postillions appeared at the window. ‘All stowed, ladies and gentlemen?' There was a general murmur of assent. ‘Right then. As day is breaking, we'll be off. First stop, the posthouse at Leatherhead.'

‘But what if nature . . .' the girl protested to her mother, only to be stared at reprovingly as the postchaise vibrated into action, its wheels clattering over the cobbles of The Black Swan inn yard, before the equipage turned left into The Borough and headed south.

John, staring out with interest, looked longingly at the great shape of St Thomas's Hospital, promising himself that one day he would discourse on healing properties with the physicians who worked there. Then his attention was drawn elsewhere as the postillions cut a swathe through the stallholders of Borough market, held daily for the benefit of the population south of the river and consequently enjoying a bad reputation for severely disrupting the traffic. However, with many oaths and cracking whips, the postchaise hurtled through this obstacle and Southwark's two terrible prisons, the King's Bench and the Marshalsea, came into view. Knowing something of their ghastly reputation, indeed having heard Marshalsea described as ‘a picture of hell upon earth', the Apothecary's face became grim, his thoughts going off at a tangent as he dwelled on crime and punishment, and the horrors endured by both victims and perpetrators alike. Then, with a start, he came back to reality as he realised the other man was addressing him.

‘May I introduce myself, Sir? I am Ralph Briggs of Chichester and these ladies are my wife and daughter. We have been in town for the sights and shopping, and a very good time we've had of it, too.'

John bowed his head to the two women and shook Mr Briggs's hand. ‘John Rawlings, Sir.'

‘Of London?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ah! And what takes you out of the capital, if I may enquire?'

John fought off a wild desire to say, ‘The investigation of a murder', and instead answered, ‘I am an apothecary, Sir, and am going into the country to collect some simples. Herbs and flowers, you know, from which I make my various medicaments.' He accompanied this statement by assuming what he thought of as his honest countenance, beaming upon his fellow travellers as if he were the most uncomplicated soul in Christendom.

‘A medical man, eh?' said Mrs Briggs, her interest obviously quickening. ‘Why, I'll have you know, Sir, that I've been plagued with a delicate constitution all my life. Now, what I need to find is a really good strengthening medicine. Of the many I have sampled none has ever proved powerful enough. Could you perhaps recommend something?'

‘Well, I . . . er . . .' John answered.

‘Splendid. You must tell me more about it over dinner. Mustn't he, Mr Briggs?'

But her husband's reply was drowned by the voice of her daughter, who was frantically screeching, ‘Mama, I feel sick. I do, I truly do.'

‘Oh, la!' Mrs Briggs exclaimed irritably. ‘You're not fit to be out in company, Lettice. One simply can't take you anywhere.'

‘I think,' said John, eyeing the girl's greenish countenance, ‘that we had better stop the coach.'

This was hastily accomplished and the hapless Lettice thrust behind a bush by her fuming mother to do whatever she must do, discreetly hidden from the public gaze. John, meanwhile, sent one of the postillions to collect his bag from the carriage roof and from it produced some pills, guaranteed to bind the constitution of a giant.

‘Take one of these,' he said, offering the returning girl the box together with a cup of bottled water.

‘How very kind,' simpered Mrs Briggs, while Lettice attempted a miserable smile. ‘Do you always travel so well equipped, Mr Rawlings?'

‘I usually carry a few carriage sickness pills, yes. Not that I suffer from it personally. It's more for the benefit of my fellow passengers.'

‘I can see that you are a young person of many parts,' Mrs Briggs said admiringly. ‘I do hope that we can become better acquainted.' She paused, regarding him with a calculating eye. ‘Are you a married man, Mr Rawlings?'

‘No, not as yet, Ma'am. I have only recently completed my apprenticeship.'

She looked roguish. ‘And made no pledge to your Master's daughter, I take it?'

‘He had none, alas.'

‘There now!' She tugged at Lettice's crumpled clothing and pinched the poor girl's cheeks, hard. ‘My, what a state you are in, child. I see that you'll have to make a toilette when we stop to dine. What a dishevelled creature it is, to be sure. But a lovely disposition. Mr Rawlings, truly lovely.'

Lettice, who had turned from green to white, now went vermilion. ‘Oh, Mama,' she protested weakly.

‘We are not addressing you,' Mrs Briggs answered tartly, and with that extolled her daughter's virtues for the next fifteen minutes, pausing only to draw in breath.

At one o'clock, having had only one brief stop at Leatherhead when the horses had been changed, they arrived at The Angel in Guildford. Here the travellers alighted, making their way to the dining room, though poor Lettice was banished upstairs with strict instructions to restore her ravaged appearance. She returned some forty minutes later looking a great deal fresher but declining any offer of food, and shortly afterwards the journey was resumed with new horses and a change of postillions.

They reached the town of Midhurst just as the sun began to dip, the chaise heading straight for the posthouse, a hostelry of ancient origins called The Spread Eagle. The moment to part company with the Briggs had now arrived and Lettice, somewhat to John's alarm, was instructed to make her farewells to her fellow traveller by taking a turn with him round the market square.

‘For the benefit of your health, girl,' Mrs Brigg boomed as she and her husband took advantage of the few minutes' break while the horses were changed once more, by going inside to sample the inn's hospitality.

‘Yes, Mama,' her daughter answered dutifully, after which she relapsed into an uncomfortable silence, her eyes cast shyly downwards.

‘I hope you get to Chichester safely,' said John, gallantly trying to make conversation.

‘I'd like to stay here,' Lettice murmured wistfully, still not looking up.

‘Why?' he asked, surprised.

‘Because yours is pleasant company, Mr Rawlings. More pleasant, you see, than that of my parents.'

‘Well, I am somewhat younger,' John said, stating the obvious.

‘That's just the point.' Lettice stopped in her tracks and at last wheeled round to gaze at him. ‘I'm with old people all the time. I've no friends of my own age. My days are spent ministering to Mama, indulging her every whim.'

‘She looks strong enough to me.'

‘Not she! Her entire life revolves round strengthening medicines.'

‘I wonder why it is,' the Apothecary remarked thoughtfully, ‘that certain women make such an enjoyable pastime of feeling poorly.'

And he thought of the Comtesse de Vignolles, whose physick he had delivered to her house before dawn, on his way to The Borough.

‘You know as well as I,' Lettice answered with more spirit than he would have thought she possessed, ‘that they get attention that way.'

John nodded. ‘Yes, you're right.' He smiled at her crookedly. ‘Listen, as soon as I've collected some simples and returned to my shop, I'll send Mrs Briggs a preparation that should set her dancing.'

Lettice went extremely pink. ‘Could you really do so?'

‘Well, if we can persuade her that my potion is more potent than any other, it
will
work. It's a matter of convincing her, that's all.'

His companion blushed even more deeply. ‘Mr Rawlings, would it not be possible for you to bring the physick to Chichester yourself? You would be made very welcome.'

John hesitated. ‘At the moment it's out of the question. I have a great deal to do in Midhurst. But perhaps at some time in the future.

Lettice looked sad and answered flatly, ‘Oh, it was just a thought, that's all.'

The Apothecary gently touched her arm. ‘Miss Briggs, I really
am
busy. It was not an excuse. And if ever I do find myself in the vicinity of Chichester I promise to call.'

She looked at him radiantly. ‘Oh, how happy that makes me.'

‘Then all's well,' he said, firmly propelling her towards The Spread Eagle. ‘Now I really believe you'd best be getting on. I think I can see fresh horses in the shafts.'

‘Yes,' Lettice answered softly. ‘I think I observe them too.'

A few minutes later, amidst a great flurry of fluttering handkerchiefs, the postchaise set off again, the postillions determined to reach Chichester before nightfall and thus avoid the dangers of travelling in the dark. Seeing Lettice's frantically waving hand and thinking how different were all women, John made his way inside the posthouse and booked himself a room for a stay of several days.

And it was only then, envisaging a welcoming bed on which he might throw himself full length and stretch his cramped bones, that the Apothecary realised how tired he was. With a yawn, he lay down and closed his eyes.

When he awoke again it was dark, only a faint shaft of moonlight illuminating the small chamber which he occupied. Drawing the curtains across the leaded light window, John lit a candle and looked at his watch. As it was past eight o'clock and many hours since he had dined, the Apothecary removed the marks of travel as best he could with cold water, and went downstairs.

The Spread Eagle being an inn of substance, he saw as he reached the ground floor that there were several public rooms leading off the hall. To the right lay the coffee room, to the left, the dining parlour. There was also a further parlour reserved for travellers of quality and a downstairs kitchen for the rest, and it was to this last that John now made his way. For here, round the fireside, he knew he would find assembled the men of the town, the rural gaffers who knew more about their neighbours than they knew themselves. Certain that this was where he would get all the gossip, John went down a flight of steps and in through an arched doorway to where the kitchen lay.

It was a cosy room, giving an impression of warmth and comfort even though on such a sultry night as this the fire had not been lit. The floor was paved with red bricks, which were quite remarkably clean, while a large dresser was adorned with shining pewter plates and copper saucepans, scoured until they shone. Before the fireplace stood an array of carver chairs and in these, smoking their pipes and supping ale, sat the locals, their number swelled by one or two travellers of the poorer kind. Calling for a pipe and some home brew, John went to join them.

As he had much expected, he was greeted with little more than stares of curiosity and a few mumbled words, and he was just wondering how to break in on the general conversation when a man sitting to the Apothecary's left started to laugh and wheeze simultaneously. Putting his head on one side, John made a great show of cupping his ear to listen.

‘And what might you be after?' asked the sufferer, who was by now coughing painfully.

John put on his contrite face. ‘My dear Sir, do forgive me, an unwarrantable intrusion. The fact of the matter is I'm a medical man, an apothecary by trade, and I was just thinking how greatly a jar of my liniment would ease your condition.'

A pair of suspicious blue eyes regarded him from beneath a tangle of flaxen hair, giving John a strong impression of Viking ancestry. ‘What condition?' asked the man in an unfriendly voice.

‘Why, your wheezing of course. I would imagine you to be a martyr to it in the colder months.'

‘Well, I can't see how that could be any of your business.'

‘I was merely trying to help,' John answered with dignity, and turned away.

Another fellow spoke up. ‘Oh, don't you take no notice of Dickon, Master. He's a rude son of Sodom and prides himself on being fitter an' stronger than all the rest of us put together. The day he's dying, the silly old fart catcher will declare he's never felt better, like as not.'

‘Now that b'aint true,' Dickon answered angrily. ‘I'm as fair minded as the next man.'

There were several contemptuous laughs. ‘Well, prove it then. Give the young chap a hearing. Reckon your wife'd come out and kiss 'im if he could cure you of all the terrible noises you make.'

The assembled company guffawed and Dickon's eyes took on a mean glint. ‘Well, go on then, pill pusher. Tell me about your cure-alls.'

John assumed a serious air. ‘I could not and would not claim to compound those. All I'm saying is that my physicks and ointments can indeed help the sick. In fact I was going to offer you a jar of liniment entirely free of charge and with no obligation to buy anything further.'

A young man put a word in. ‘My wife, Sir, she be awful prey to morning sickness with our first child. Could you help her?'

‘Certainly,' answered John with conviction. ‘I have a bag of preparations in my room. I'll go and fetch it.'