Death at Apothecaries' Hall Page 12

  Going through to the compounding room, John turned to Nicholas who had hurried in after him. ‘I can’t stay long. Mr Fielding has requested that I meet him at the Hall.’

  ‘How is the investigation going, Sir?’

  ‘Slowly.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

  ‘I shall have to see the three people with a possible motive again, there’s no help for it.’

  ‘Probably one of them has not told you all of the truth.’

  ‘Or none of it. Anyway, it’s a tedious business because this time they’ll be even more hostile, having answered a series of questions once.’

  ‘Perhaps you could disguise your visit as a social call.’

  John looked thoughtful. ‘You may be right at that. I’ll give it some consideration. After all, one is the Beadle and the other owns a shop.’

  ‘And the third?’

  ‘Garnett Smith? A far more difficult proposition. Unless …’

  ‘Unless?’

  But the Apothecary refused to say more and relapsed into a pensive silence until he called Nicholas to his side to start compounding simples.

  In the event, the difficulty of questioning Sotherton Backler further was easily overcome. On arrival at Apothecaries’ Hall, to which John, Joe Jago and the Blind Beak travelled together, the Apothecary having gone straight to Bow Street from his shop, the three men parted company. Joe led the Magistrate up the stairs to where the Master waited, and John, instructed to join them after fifteen minutes had elapsed, made his way to the pantry and there found Jane Backler in conference with her husband.

  Putting his head round the door, John said, ‘Am I disturbing you?’

  Jane turned. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Rawlings. No, not at all. Please join us.’

  Today there was something strained about the Beadle’s face, as if the events of the last few days had finally caught up with and hit him hard. ‘Are you all right?’ he found himself asking.

  Sotherton drew back his lips in a parody of a smile. ‘It has all been rather terrible. The death of Josiah, the poisoned flour, the suspicion that I might have had something to do with it.’

  It was a golden opportunity and John leapt straight in. ‘This argument you had with the Master …’

  ‘It concerned monies which I had expended, on behalf of the Court of Assistants. It was serious but not serious enough to make me wreak revenge.’

  John regarded the Beadle closely. ‘Tell me, Sir, do you support your wife’s theory that someone came in here after dark and poisoned the flour?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I’ve asked this before, but I’ll ask it again. Would that rule out an outsider?’

  The Butler started to answer but her husband raised a hand to silence her. ‘I believe it probably would.’

  Jane exploded. ‘Nonsense. Anyone with a glimmering of knowledge could find their way round. The watchman is always asleep. It would be a simple matter.’

  John decided to change the topic. ‘Have either of you heard of Garnett Smith? Or Tobias Gill for that matter?’

  The Backlers exchanged a glance, then the Beadle spoke. ‘Of course. They are well known for their views.’

  ‘I believe that Garnett Smith wanders into Apothecaries’ Hall from time to time, and on occasion has had to be forcibly removed.’

  Jane answered. ‘He does it when he’s drunk, poor devil. I pity him. The loss of a child must be more than any parent could possibly endure. It’s against the natural order of things. A tragedy that the human soul is not built to withstand.’

  ‘I believe it was Master Alleyn who treated the young man.’

  ‘It certainly was,’ Sotherton answered. He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘You don’t think …’

  ‘That he was murdered out of revenge? I must say the thought did cross my mind, although, of course, it isn’t possible.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded the Beadle.

  ‘Oh don’t be silly,’ the Butler answered him. ‘How could the poisoner, attacking everyone as he did, possibly know that it was going to be Josiah who would die? His death was a fluke, an accident almost.’

  ‘Still,’ persisted Sotherton doggedly, ‘it’s damned odd.’

  John assumed the most innocent face in his repertoire and turned a wide-eyed look on Jane. ‘Was there not some family connection between Smith and Alleyn? Weren’t they related in some way?’

  She smiled her gap-toothed smile. ‘Not related, my dear, but connected most certainly. Andrew Smith, the young man who died, was betrothed to Emilia, Josiah Alleyn’s daughter.’

  ‘How strange!’ John exclaimed convincingly. ‘But surely they must have both been very young.’

  ‘She was seventeen, Andrew two years older. Josiah was called in to treat young Smith because he was a friend of the family.’

  ‘With what bitter results.’

  Sotherton interrupted. ‘It keeps going round and round in my head that Garnett wanted Josiah dead, and that he has succeeded in that wish.’

  ‘If the poison hadn’t been spread so randomly I would agree with you. But as the case stands, Master Alleyn just happened to be unlucky,’ John answered.

  ‘Still …’

  The Apothecary nodded. ‘I know. It is a weird coincidence.’ He pulled his watch from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry, I must leave you now. If anything should occur to you, however insignificant, I would be most obliged if you could communicate with me. You have a note of my address of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Beadle, and opened the door to let him out.

  As he climbed the great wooden staircase towards the Master’s private room, John knew that this would be one of the most difficult moments of his life. For a simple Yeoman of the Society to be thrust beneath the Master’s nose as a cohort of the famous John Fielding was bad enough, but for Master Tyson to be asked to co-operate with such an underling was surely going too far. With a gulp of apprehension, John gave the tiniest tap on the door then waited nervously in silence.

  ‘Enter,’ said a sonorous voice, and he did so, almost on tiptoe.

  The sight that greeted him was so convivial, so very much the opposite of what he had expected, that John almost broke into a smile.

  The Master, Mr Fielding and Joe, were all seated in comfortable chairs before an extremely healthy fire, drinking pale sherry out of gleaming crystal glasses. ‘My dear William …’ the Magistrate was saying, and John realised he should have guessed that John Fielding, who knew everyone who was anyone in town, was more than likely to have been acquainted even with the Master of the Worshipful Society.

  Master Tyson looked round as the newcomer made an extremely self-seffacing entrance. ‘Mr Rawlings, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘I hear that you’re a sly dog.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir?’

  ‘My old friend Mr Fielding tells me that you have assisted him several times in the past and that he thinks of you very highly. Tell me, are you any connection with Sir Benjamin Rawlings who was Master three years ago?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘What’s that you say?’

  ‘I am adopted, Master. The son of Sir Gabriel Kent. My family name was Rawlings but whether I am kin to Sir Benjamin I honestly can’t say.’

  ‘How very interesting,’ said William Tyson. ‘How fascinating to think that one might have relatives walking the streets of London at this very moment, of whom one might be totally unaware.’

  ‘It used to worry me at first,’ John admitted. ‘But now I never give it a thought.’

  ‘You interest me, said the Master. ‘Take a seat, young man.’

  He was like a bloodhound, John thought, particularly around the eyes, with their droopy sad expression and heavy bags beneath. Also his legs and arms were rather short for his body, another canine characteristic. But the Master was as alert as the dog he resembled. In fact it wouldn’t have surprised John in the least to see him snif
f the air in order to detect trouble.

  ‘Would you like a sherry?’ Master Tyson asked.

  ‘Yes please, Sir.’

  ‘Then help yourself, young fellow. And you may refill the other glasses while you are about it.’

  John gulped audibly, still not believing that he was standing in the Master’s room pouring drinks for the great man and his guests, to say nothing of himself. Mr Fielding, whose hearing was extremely acute, growled a laugh at the sound and the Master visibly preened himself that he was being seen to be generous in his patronage.

  The Magistrate spoke. ‘We have been discussing the matter in hand, Mr Rawlings and certain conclusions have been reached. Before we go further I wonder if you would report your findings so far.’

  ‘They are precious few, I fear,’ John stated nervously. ‘Three names were given me as people who might bear a grudge against the Society of Apothecaries. One of them – forgive me, Master – is the Beadle, Sotherton Backler, the other two a Garnett Smith, whose son died after a misdiagnosis by Master Alleyn, and a Tobias Gill, who felt he had been slighted by the Court of Assistants. I have seen all three. Mr Backler I am convinced had nothing to do with the matter. Mr Gill I am not so certain about. The most complex of them, however, is Mr Smith who drinks more than is good for him …’ John became horribly aware of the sherry glass in his hand. ‘… and who has the strongest motive for killing Master Alleyn. Yet the facts don’t add up. White arsenic was put in the flour so that everyone at the Livery Dinner would be taken ill. It is mere chance that the victim died.’

  ‘When and how do you think the poison was mixed with the flour?’ the Master asked.

  The Apothecary looked over at Joe Jago, who whispered to Mr Fielding. The Magistrate nodded that John should continue.

  ‘According to the Butler, it would have been impossible for anyone to have done so on the day of the Dinner itself. There were several helpers in the kitchen at the time – I have yet to see the chef – and unless one of them were responsible, which seems highly unlikely, the poisoning would have had to be done during the night before. The flour was used on the previous day and was untainted then.’

  Whilst talking, John had noticed out of the corner of his eye that the Master had been sitting more and more upright, nose in air, the bloodhound in him never more prominent.

  ‘I was in the Hall on the night before the Dinner. In fact I slept here, it being too late at night to travel home,’ he stated with a certain excitement when the Apothecary had finished speaking.

  ‘And did you see or hear anything, Sir?’

  Well aware that his audience was hanging on his every word, William Tyson cleared his throat. ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be blessed,’ exclaimed Joe Jago, never a one to stand on ceremony.

  ‘What was it?’ asked the Blind Beak.

  ‘I was woken in the small hours by a distant sound. It appeared to be a crash, as if someone had fallen over something in the darkness.’

  ‘What did you do, Sir?’

  ‘I lit a candletree and went downstairs.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There was nobody about, not a soul. I called out to the watchman, who stays in a little cubby hole near the courtyard. He called a reply that all was well, so I went back to bed.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘It was just before two, because the clock chimed as I went up the stairs.’

  ‘Did the watchman answer you immediately?’ asked John, a faint notion just beginning to creep into his mind.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Oh, no reason, Master, though I would very much like to talk to him. Is he here during the daytime at all?’

  ‘No, but he lives near by, in Holland Street to be precise. He has a room in a lodging house there.’

  ‘Then I might call on him.’ John thought rapidly. ‘Mr Fielding, at what time do you intend to return to Bow Street?’

  ‘In an hour or so. Do you want to travel back with us?’

  ‘If I may. I’ve just remembered that the cook lives near Drury Lane. I’ll get his address from the Beadle, then try a surprise visit. If there’s and hour to spare now, I would like to hear what the watchman has to say.’

  The Master, who was most definitely playing the part of benevolent leader, allowed a genial smile to light up his drooping eyes. ‘What an eager young fellow you are, to be sure. If you treat your business with the same enthusiasm as you do your tasks for Mr Fielding, I believe you will go very far in your profession.’

  The Apothecary was frankly delighted, and a grin, curving upwards at one corner of his mouth, simply refused to be repressed. ‘Thank you very much, Master.’

  ‘Not at all. Now, the watchman’s name is George Griggs and he lives in Holland Street, as I told you. I believe the number is four, but everybody knows him round there. He’ll probably be asleep, though.’

  Thinking that the wretched man appeared to sleep all night and all day as well, John refilled everyone’s glass, arranged to board the Magistrate’s coach within the hour, and bowed his way from the room.

  Holland Street led off Water Street and ran parallel with the river, a mere stone’s throw from George Grigg’s place of employment. Enquiries at number four confirmed what the Apothecary had already half suspected, however: the man had two jobs, and during daylight hours worked as a labourer in a nearby timber yard. Cursing his lack of time, John cut through some extremely murky alleyways, passing Lime Wharf, Coalmans Alley, Puddle Dock and Dung Wharf till he came to his destination, Timber Wharf and its adjoining yard. With no space for finesse, the Apothecary stood at the wharf’s entrance and bellowed, ‘George Griggs’ at the top of his voice.

  Several heads turned and one asked, ‘’oo wants ’im?’

  ‘A message from the Master of the Society of Apothecaries,’ John answered importantly.

  The speaker dropped the planking he was carrying on one shoulder and approached. ‘What’s up, cove?’

  The Apothecary decided on a blunt approach. ‘I represent Mr Fielding, the Magistrate from the Public Office, Bow Street, and you know damnably well what’s up. Poison was added to the flour at the Livery Dinner, and all those who attended were taken ill. One Liveryman died. You were on duty the night before the Dinner, and that was the occasion when somebody intruded. Do you remember?’

  ‘Don’t give it mouth,’ George answered through blackened stumps that once were teeth. ‘There was no intruder. Never ’as been since I’ve been akeepin’ watch.’

  ‘There was one then. The Master heard him.’

  George spat noisily. ‘Wot night are we talkin’ about?’

  ‘The one before the Livery Dinner.’

  ‘’ow would I know when that was? One shift’s just like another to me.’

  John clicked with impatience. ‘It was the night the Master called out to you to see if everything was in order and you shouted back that all was well.’

  George shook his head and sucked his stumps. ‘’e’s makin’ it up. The Master never called out to me. ’e must ’ave been dreamin.’

  The Apothecary snatched off his hat and ran his hand through his curls, his wig still in his pocket where he had placed it when he entered the alleyways. ‘Are you certain of this?’

  A pair of blue eyes flashed in the grime-filled lines of George’s face. ‘Certain as me cock’s in me kicks.’

  ‘How very interesting,’ John answered thoughtfully. ‘How very interesting indeed.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Just for a moment, after alighting from the hackney coach which had conveyed him from Nassau Street to the graceful building which was number twelve Hanover Square, John Rawlings stood quietly in the street, gazing up at the four storeyed wide-windowed house, at present ablaze with candlelight and alive with the sound of music and voices, and let memory consume him.

  Four years had passed since he had first set foot over the threshold, visiting for the very first time that enigmatic creature
the Comtesse Serafina de Vignolles. In the time that had elapsed since, his passionate youthful love for her had matured into friendship of a deep and lasting nature, a friendship that John regarded as one of the most important things in his life. As important indeed as his commitment to Coralie, a commitment which, however, had been delivered a grievous blow by her latest rejection of his proposal of marriage.

  He and Serafina had weathered some emotional storms together. John with his penchant for falling in love with the wrong women, she with a husband she did not altogether trust. But now the Comtesse and the Apothecary had sailed into calm waters. Comte Louis adored his wife, was completely in her thrall, while she had given him one child, Italia, and was about to produce another; John, on the other hand, was certain that his future must be with the beautiful Coralie Clive. That is he had been certain until recently, when she had wounded him so deeply.

  ‘Damme,’ said John, and kicked the cobbles with his fine buckled shoe. Marching up the steps, he rang the front door bell and was admitted by a footman dressed as smartly as any guest.

  Handing over his cloak and hat, the Apothecary made his way up the curving staircase to where Serafina and her husband waited, he dark and French and very splendid, she dressed in flowing white, a ship in full sail.

  ‘My darling,’ said John, and kissed first her hand and then her cheek.

  Louis, who was quite used to this kind of behaviour between them, bowed beautifully. ‘My dear friend, how nice to see you again. This is a very small gathering tonight, just a dozen or so. Our last entertainment before the baby is born.’

  ‘Just to be in your house is pleasure enough,’ the Apothecary answered fulsomely.

  ‘Your father is here already,’ said Serafina. ‘He tells me that you have acquired a place in Kensington.’

  ‘A country home,’ John answered. ‘You will come and visit us there, won’t you?’

  ‘As long as I can bring my children to breathe the fresh air, of course.’ Serafina narrowed a knowing eye in a half wink, meaning that nothing would keep her away from her old friend’s new residence.