Death at Apothecaries' Hall Read online

  ‘Then I’d better try a closer look.’

  Attempting to weave his way through the mob proved both difficult and dangerous, however. The workmen stopped for nothing and no one, and after nearly being brained by a piece of passing planking, the Apothecary thought better of it and retired to the sidelines. Another visual search still revealed no sign of the missing Griggs, and, with the first faint whiff of something not quite as it should be, John made his way to the watchman’s lodging house.

  The handing over of a coin allowed him access to Griggs’s room, a smelly, mucky pit if ever he had seen one. But an inspection of the noisesome heap which passed for a bed, difficult though it was to tell from the various grimy indentations which looked as if they had been there for years, proved that it had not been slept in recently.

  Slightly alarmed now, John made his way to Apothecaries’ Hall and to the pantry of Jane Backler.

  He came straight to the point. ‘I’m looking for George Griggs, the watchman. Did he report for duty last night?’

  ‘No, he did not. The Master, who was here late again, persuaded a member of the watch to take over. He is threatening Griggs with the sack.’

  ‘That is if he can find him.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Griggs has gone missing,’ John answered tersely, the certainty that something was wrong growing with every second.

  Jane stared him in the eye. ‘Why did you say it like that? Do you think this might have any connection with the poisoning?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I do.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I think Griggs saw the poisoner and recognised him.’

  ‘Dear God!’ The Butler sat down suddenly.

  John thought fast. ‘May I borrow pen and paper? I must get word to Mr Fielding but as I have to leave for Chelsea shortly I can’t go in person.’

  ‘Of course. Come through to the Beadle’s office. It will be more comfortable there.’

  Seated behind Sotherton Backler’s desk, John hastily wrote a letter to the Blind Beak requesting help in the search for the missing watchman, and despatched it in a hackney coach. This done, he made his way to the shop, where the manager was busy with a customer.

  ‘My dear Mr Clarke,’ he said as soon as the other was free. ‘I wondered if you might do me the honour of dining with me tomorrow. I have also invited an old friend, Dr Hensey.’ John determinedly kept his tone light, feeling it would not be politic to spread word of Griggs’s disappearance to anyone further.

  The other man’s eyes bulged slightly. ‘I would be most obliged, Sir. But there is a favour I have to ask you.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘My wife has expressed an earnest desire to meet you. I mentioned that I expected an invitation from you, and she cajoled me into requesting that she might join us. We have a neighbour who cares for our boy, so Harriet can make herself available at any time.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ John answered, glad that a female would be present to lighten the all-male company.

  Michael Clarke looked overjoyed, endearingly so. ‘I know she will be delighted. Harriet does not get out a great deal because of Matthew.’

  ‘Then I must make the occasion special for her.’

  ‘You have a very good heart, Mr Rawlings,’ said Michael, his voice quivering a little.

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ John answered, thinking of the evening that lay ahead of him and wishing that he did not feel quite so wildly excited at the prospect of seeing Emilia Alleyn.

  He wanted to reach Chelsea before the light faded, not enjoying the river on a bitter night, when the wind cut through to the bone. Hailing the strongest waterman he could see, burly as an ox and surly with it, John stepped into the boat and urged the man to pull mightily, with the inducement of a large tip. So, with the tide in their favour, the fog gone and John’s verbal encouragement, the wherry eased into the Alleyn landing stage at dusk and the Apothecary scrambled ashore, well pleased that it was no later.

  The hour to dine had passed but as he approached the house, a certain clatter of dishes told him that the family was still seated at table. Instructing the servant who answered the bell to show him into an ante-chamber, John was slightly ruffled when the door to the dining room flew open and Mrs Alleyn herself appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Is that you, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘It is indeed, Ma’am.’

  ‘Then come and join us, do. We dined late tonight and are still on the meat course. I had prepared an extra place in case you were early.’

  Suddenly nervous, his heart lurching, John followed his hostess in and took a seat to her right. Sure enough, a cover had been set there and John sat down in a complete flurry, acutely aware that Emilia Alleyn was seated on the other side of the empty space.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Rawlings,’ she said, and with his emotions still out of control, John turned to look at her.

  He was drowning again, sinking into those heavenly eyes. Just before he disappeared completely, the Apothecary prayed that his feelings were not written over his face for all the world to see.

  ‘… at least the fog’s gone,’ said a man’s voice, and John shot to the surface, gasping a little.

  It was one of the twins who had spoken, their identical faces turned in his direction.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, trying to look intelligent, ‘but the wind’s very cold.’

  It was banal. Here he was, sitting with four bereaved people, with one of whom he was exhibiting all the signs of falling passionately in love, and the only thing any of them could talk about was the weather. With a tremendous effort of will, John got a grip on himself.

  ‘I am sorry to intrude while you are dining, but am most grateful that you included me at your table.’

  ‘My dear friend,’ said Mrs Alleyn, ‘I feel we owe you a debt that can never be repaid. You are always welcome in this house.’

  Wondering if he would be quite so welcome after he had finished questioning them all, John smiled, deliberately avoiding a glance at Emilia, who was regarding him solemnly with her devilishly lovely angel’s eyes.

  The meal continued, Edmund and Ellis – which was which?, John wondered – making small talk of a trivial kind, Emilia mostly remaining silent, and Mrs Alleyn fussing like the motherly figure that she was. Finally, though, the ladies left the room, but not before Mrs Alleyn had pressed the Apothecary into staying the night, declaring, quite rightly, that it was too cold to contemplate returning.

  Left with the twins, John struggled to glean information, but they were either far too stupid or too clever to reveal anything other than that their two elder brothers were married and lived elsewhere, that they were both twenty-three years old, had just completed their apprenticeships as furniture makers, and were looking forward to going out into the world. About the death of their father, they seemed utterly nonplussed.

  ‘I just can’t understand why he should have consumed more arsenic than everyone else,’ said one of them.

  ‘Nor me,’ added the other.

  ‘Nor me,’ echoed John.

  They stared at him. ‘We thought you knew all about it,’ they replied in chorus.

  He shook his head. ‘The only explanation is that the portion of sauce your father consumed was more heavily tainted than anyone else’s.’

  ‘But who put the poison in there anyway?’

  ‘If I knew that, I’d know the identity of Master Alleyn’s murderer.’

  ‘It must be someone who hates all apothecaries.’

  John sighed, rather more noisily than he had intended. ‘That is the main line of our investigation. Tell me, does the name Garnett Smith mean anything to you?’

  If it were at all possible, the wooden faces became even more set. ‘He was a great friend of our family, that is until the death of Andrew. After which Mr Smith fell out with us. That’s all we know.’

  Were they downright unhelpful or just plain obtuse? John wondered again. Whatever, there
seemed little point in questioning them further. He finished his glass of port. The twins simply stared at him and in the end it was left to him, the guest, to say, ‘Shall we join the ladies?’

  Mrs Alleyn and her daughter had withdrawn to the salon, where a fire of coal and wood not only warmed the cosy room, papered in a distinctive red, but enhanced its welcome. On seeing the new arrivals, the widow sighed a little. ‘I suppose the time has come to get down to business and talk of poor Josiah’s death. What exactly is it you want to know, Mr Rawlings?’

  He answered with a question. ‘Miss Alleyn has explained to you that from time to time I work with the Principal Magistrate, Mr Fielding?’

  His hostess sighed again. ‘Yes. I feel so shocked that the Public Office has been brought into this affair. That Josiah should have been murdered is quite beyond my comprehension.’

  Aware that Emilia’s eyes were fixed firmly on him, John did his best to remain absolutely calm. ‘Yet the fact remains that the flour used at the Livery Dinner was poisoned.’

  ‘But why should Josiah die and not the rest?’

  Yes why indeed? thought John. Aloud he said, ‘He must have had more of the arsenic than the others.’

  Again something nagged at him. Garnett Smith, embittered and full of hatred, blamed Master Alleyn for his son’s death, and it was Master Alleyn who had died. It was damned odd, to coin Sotherton Backler’s phrase. Yet it had to be a coincidence. Mrs Alleyn was speaking. ‘If I can do anything to help you find the poisoner, I am more than willing.’

  ‘Then allow me to gather a few facts. If I could talk to you two ladies separately I would be most grateful.’

  ‘Why apart?’ the widow asked with just a hint of suspicion.

  ‘Speaks for itself,’ said one of the twins. ‘Emilia’s not going to say so much with her mama sitting there listening, now is she?’

  ‘Quite right,’ put in the other. ‘Come along, Mother. Come along, Ellis.’ And he shepherded them out of the room. John’s respect for the twins rose in leaps and bounds.

  Emilia stood up. ‘Where would you like me to sit, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘In the conversation seat, perhaps. Then we can converse.’

  It was a feeble joke and she didn’t even smile, but took her place in the elegant chair for two, each seat side by side but facing in a different direction, a curving arm dividing the pair. Despite this barrier, she was unbelievably close to him, and the Apothecary breathed deeply, terribly aware of her heady perfume.

  ‘Where do you want me to begin?’

  ‘At the beginning perhaps. Tell me about your life.’

  ‘What bearing could that possibly have on my father’s death?’

  The Apothecary’s lively brows rose. ‘Sometimes events from the past are the key to the present. Mr Fielding taught me that.’

  ‘But my father was killed at random, you said so yourself. How could my past affect a chance poisoning?’

  She had hit on the stumbling block that he could never seem to get beyond. John decided to be honest. ‘I don’t know is the answer to that, but humour me, Miss Alleyn, please. The whole situation puzzles me as much as it does you. Yet something, somewhere, must throw some light on it. Maybe a chance remark of yours could prove to be the key.’

  She turned a slightly frozen profile away from him. ‘Tell me about your childhood. Were you happy?’ John asked almost pleadingly.

  ‘Very. With four older brothers I was extremely spoiled.’

  ‘And what of Andrew Smith? Was he a friend of your brothers?’

  She gave him a cold look. ‘You know about him?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Now don’t get in your high stirrup, Miss Alleyn. His father’s name came up as someone who hated apothecaries. It was obvious that it would. This led directly to you, I’m afraid.’

  She was silent for a moment, clearly thinking things through. Then said, ‘I met Andrew when I was fifteen. He was a friend of the twins, in fact he was at school with them. I became betrothed to him when I was seventeen, he two years older. Six months later he died of a wen in his neck. My father treated him but he could not cure Andrew despite all the care lavished on him. The physician he was taken to declared it was a cancer and it was too late to save him. He accused my father of misdiagnosis. I suppose it was true in a way.’

  ‘An easy mistake for an apothecary to make. I might well have done the same.’

  She turned a fraught little face on him. ‘But my father was a Liveryman and Andrew his future son-in-law. It was a bitter blow for Papa.’

  ‘Not as bitter a blow as it must have been for you.’

  ‘I thought I would never stop crying, but later I came to realise that what I felt for Andrew had been, after all, nothing but an adolescent attachment.’

  John froze with sudden fury. ‘Was it Master Cruttenden who told you that?’

  Emilia drew in her breath with a hiss, then her hand flew out and struck the Apothecary stingingly on the cheek. ‘How dare you ask, you arrogant popinjay?’

  The pain made his head rock back and he caught her wrist between his fingers almost as a reflex action. They were an inch apart, glaring at one another over the dividing arm of the chair. Instinctively pulling her towards him, John Rawlings did what he had wanted to from the moment he had first seen her. His mouth found Emilia’s and he just had time to register that instead of fighting and hatred he was greeted with warmth and tenderness, before he and she were lost in the first kiss of love.

  How long it lasted he never knew. All he did know was that he had drawn her across that silly divider and onto his lap, where he could hold her close and touch her beautiful breasts. Then the sound of feet on the wooden floor outside had them jumping apart and back into their places. There was a breathless pause before the footsteps passed and John looked at her contritely. ‘If you had asked me to stop I would have done.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to.’

  ‘Emilia, this is very dangerous.’

  ‘Why? You’re not married, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ John answered.

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘Because I am investigating a murder and should be treating you in a professional manner.’

  She smiled suddenly and his heart leapt. ‘I will tell you all you want to know then you can stop being an investigator and we can be friends instead.’ She paused. ‘That is what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘By God,’ said John Rawlings, ‘more than anything else in the world.’ And he knew as he said the words that he spoke the greatest truth of his life.

  Emilia stood up and returned to his lap, but this time like a child, the passionate sexuality which was so obviously part of her makeup, totally subdued.

  ‘I was still recovering from Andrew’s death a year later, when one day I noticed Francis Cruttenden looking at me in a strange light. I’d always known him, of course, ever since I was a child. But this particular day he looked at me as if I were a woman.’

  ‘Filthy old bastard!’ John exclaimed furiously.

  She laughed, then became serious. ‘He seduced me, took me to his bed, taught me the meaning of desire …’

  ‘I’ll kill him.’

  ‘… until I suddenly sickened of him. My parents knew nothing of it.’

  John remembered Mrs Alleyn’s comments but said nothing.

  ‘He didn’t want to let me go, but eventually did so. I have hated him ever since. In my mind he took ruthless advantage of my youth and situation.’

  ‘Has there been anyone else?’

  ‘No, a certain revulsion crept over me every time I thought of him, and I have kept myself to myself as a result.’

  ‘Is that over now?’

  ‘It’s over,’ said Emilia, and they kissed again.

  This time the door did open, and they were hastily drawing apart when Mrs Alleyn came into the room. She stopped in her tracks, staring open mouthed. ‘Mr Rawlings, this is not proper,’ she said.

  ‘On the contrary, Mama, it is the mos
t proper thing that has ever happened to me,’ Emilia replied with spirit. ‘Now come and be questioned. It is high time that our guest solved this case and became an apothecary again.’ And that said, she curtsied to her mother and left the room.

  What is it, John thought, about kissing and cuddling that suddenly makes the whole world seem more cheerful? It was cold as Christmas and he was sitting in a leaking boat, huddled against the wind and inadequately dressed for the occasion, yet he hadn’t felt so happy in months. He simply could not get from his mind, nor did he want to, the picture of Emilia’s face as she embraced him, the look of total contentment that had covered her features.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said aloud, and the boatman gave him a knowing glance.

  ‘Successful night, friend?’

  John felt at one with him, as rough and robust as he was. ‘It could have been even better.’

  ‘I see. Well, good luck next time.’

  But he’d court her slowly, John thought. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin his chances by rushing events. And then a cold chill, not caused by the elements, swept over him. Between himself and any intended courtship stood the figure of Coralie Clive, the woman who until just now he had wanted more than anyone else in the world.

  ‘What a damnable mess,’ the Apothecary said beneath his breath, and suddenly knew that he must see his father, for though Samuel Swann or any other contemporary might be sympathetic and offer solace, none would be as sharp as that wisest of all wise birds, Sir Gabriel Kent.

  ‘Drop me at Hungerford Stairs,’ he said to the boatman. ‘I think I’ll go home before I go to work.’ It was still only eight o’clock in the morning and there was time enough.

  ‘Very good, Sir.’

  His earlier mood of total happiness was vanishing fast, and now John felt he had just one objective: to talk to Sir Gabriel, even if it took several hours and Nicholas had to cope with the shop. To save time, where normally he would have enjoyed the walk, John hired a hackney coach in The Strand and bowled home at speed.

  All was quiet as he went through the front door but investigation of the breakfast room revealed his parent, still déshabillé, reading the newspaper and drinking tea.