Death on the Rocks Page 4

  ‘I see.’ The Apothecary also put down his cup, the liquid untouched. ‘And what is wrong with the man? Other than the fact he is a spendthrift.’

  Mr Huxtable let out an involuntary groan. ‘The trouble is, Mr Rawlings, that I do not recognise him at all.’

  ‘What do you mean exactly?’

  ‘Well, he left home a slim, ginger-haired, freckle-faced lad of fourteen and he comes back a hideous mountain of flesh, a face so contorted by double chins that it appears barely human, and a stink about him of old rotting cabbages.’

  John sat rigid, a picture coming into his mind of the ogre he had seen in the theatre on the previous evening.

  ‘Does he have difficulty in walking?’

  ‘My dear fellow, his obesity makes it almost impossible for him to place one leg before the other. He gets along by the use of a stick, but very slowly let me add.’

  The Apothecary cleared his throat. ‘Tell me, was he at the theatre last night?’

  ‘I believe so, though I am not privy to his movements. He lumbers from here in the mornings, usually about twelve o’clock. Takes my coach – the floor of which has had to be mended twice …’

  John smiled grimly.

  ‘… and arrives home in the early hours of the morning. Whereupon he falls into his reinforced bed and the whole dreary process begins again on the morrow.’

  ‘And why did he come back exactly?’

  ‘His poor grieving mother never forgot him. She had a portrait painted of him when he was an angelic-looking child and she kept fresh flowers in front of it until her final illness.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Six years ago, alas. However, in her will she left him some valuable diamonds and though, of course, I could claim them as my own, she particularly begged me to give them to him should Augustus ever return.’

  ‘And now he has,’ John said quietly.

  ‘I do not believe it,’ said Mr Huxtable, with force. ‘I believe this man to be an imposter – and there is one way I can prove it.’

  ‘Then why have you not done so?’

  ‘Because, my dear Mr Rawlings, I have never had the opportunity so to do. You see, my stepson – the real one – had a mole on his arse which was quite distinct. A round, brown birthmark on his left cheek. But this vagabond who claims to be him has never undressed before me. I have no way of knowing whether it is there or not.’

  John gave his misshapen smile. ‘I take your point. Frankly it is not a sight I would care to investigate.’

  Mr Huxtable stood up and made a sprightly move to the door. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  Interested, the Apothecary rose also and followed the man into the hall.

  ‘He has commandeered my sitting room for a bedroom after falling through the floor of his own.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It’s true. His weight was so great that the rafters collapsed and his feet and legs appeared through the ceiling. And I was entertaining Lady Tavener to tea at the time. It was a true humiliation.’

  ‘So now he sleeps downstairs?’

  ‘Yes, if truth be told he had such difficulty on the stairs that it is an easier arrangement all round. But, oh I do miss my sitting room.’

  John followed him through a door on the left and into what had once been a large salon. It was filled with a vast bed and various items of clothing strewn about, which a servant was gallantly attempting to hang up or put away. Even though the curtains had been drawn back and the windows thrown open, a faint odour lingered on the air. John sniffed and Mr Huxtable gave him a knowing look.

  ‘The essence of Augustus,’ he said.

  The cleaning boy had just picked up an enormous pair of drawers, which he was bundling up with other garments for the laundry woman. John cast his eye on the clothes and thought he recognised a high-necked shirt with a bow at the front, these both heavily stained with spilled wine. He turned to Mr Huxtable.

  ‘So somehow you want me to get a look at this man’s posterior?’

  Mr Huxtable blenched. ‘I would not ask that of anyone. No, Mr Rawlings. If I give you my old address in Bristol, would you make a few enquiries regarding the boy who went to sea all those years ago? Find out if anyone can remember him. Better still, if anybody sailed with him and has any further information. If you could perhaps ask a few questions in the dockside taverns it might be rewarding.’

  John smiled. ‘My father is only down here for a week, Sir.’

  Mr Huxtable’s eyes suddenly and incongruously filled with tears. ‘Oh my dear chap. How thoughtless I am. Of course, of course, you have a business to run, a life to live. How dare I think you should devote your precious time to me and my little problem.’

  The Apothecary was about to say something suitable when a voice spoke behind them.

  ‘Forgive me for interrupting, Master. Just to let you know I have returned from Bristol.’

  They both turned, John half expecting to see the stepson standing there, but instead he saw a magnificent human being: tall, strongly muscled, gleaming black with a crop of thick, curling dark hair.

  ‘This is my slave – and I must admit my closest friend – Commodore.’

  The slave bowed deeply. ‘A great pleasure, Sir,’ he answered in a rich chocolate voice.

  ‘Commodore has been with me since he was a child,’ Mr Huxtable explained. ‘When I courted my second wife she already had a little black boy, given to her by her father for a birthday gift. She adored Commodore and he her. When we married he carried the train of the bridal gown; she wore blue satin and he had a little coat made to match.’ He sighed and John could see tears welling up once more in the poor man’s eyes. ‘But when he reached puberty she would not let me send him to the plantations. We kept him as a servant instead.’

  John interrupted. ‘So did he know your stepson before he ran away to sea?’

  ‘They were almost the same age. They often played together.’

  The Apothecary turned to Commodore. ‘How glad you must be that he has returned, my friend.’

  A small smile played across the negro’s features. ‘If only that were the case, Sir. You see, I roundly state that this new arrival is a fraud.’

  ‘A fraud?’ John repeated.

  ‘A fraud and an imposter, Sir,’ said Commodore, and shook his head very sadly.

  Nerves somewhat shattered by his earlier experiences, John asked Irish Tom to take the coach back through Bristol and out again to Hotwell, a far longer way round and through which one had to pass a toll – twice – but far better for the equilibrium. Seeking Sir Gabriel, he found him in the Long Room, engaged in a dignified minuet with a bright young woman of pleasing appearance. John could not help but smile, his father never ceasing to amaze him. He hoped fervently that when he got to eighty-odd years he would still be dancing with an attractive woman. He watched as dearly-loved Sir Gabriel reached the end, gave a deep bow, his hand momentarily flying to the small of his back as he did so, but changing the gesture into one of flourishing fingers. John applauded and gave a huge grin.

  ‘Father, I did not expect to find you in such whirlwind pursuits.’

  ‘Did you not, my dear? I can tell you that something has revitalised me. Whether it be the water, or the air, or the beauty of this little gem of a place, I cannot tell. But something has elevated my spirits quite wondrously. After dinner I intend to try my hand at whist. I have already met some likeable fellows with whom to play.’

  ‘And any members of the fair sex?’ John asked, making a small bow at Sir Gabriel’s departing dancing partner.

  ‘Ah, I see you mean the Honourable Titania Groves. Yes, a charming young girl. An offspring of Viscount Dartington. She is here taking the waters with her mother, the Viscountess.’

  ‘So you are quite booked up as regards company?’

  ‘Indeed I am. Why do you ask?’

  Sir Gabriel’s golden eyes were glittering with amusement and John stared at him, then gave a wry, twisted grin.

&
nbsp; ‘You’ve guessed, haven’t you?’

  ‘I assume that your visit to Clifton this morning contained some kind of mystery and that you are on the trail of a blackguard.’

  ‘You are right again, Father. Will I never be able to deceive you?’

  Sir Gabriel looked quizzical. ‘Who knows, my son? I am quite sure you have succeeded from time to time.’

  ‘But never on purpose, Papa, I assure you.’

  ‘And now to other matters. I presume that the man you called on has a problem?’

  ‘Rather a large one, I fear,’ and the Apothecary proceeded to tell Sir Gabriel everything that had transpired during that morning’s meeting.

  His father listened attentively, then said, ‘And you have your suspicions it was that man mountain that we saw at the theatre last night?’

  ‘Indeed. Surely there can’t be two men wandering about like that?’

  ‘If there are I publicly express my fear for the Hotwell.’

  John chuckled joyfully and gave his father a kiss on the cheek. ‘Come along, Sir. We must change for dinner. Have you been to bathe as yet?’

  ‘No, my dear, that pleasure awaits me.’

  ‘Let it be hoped that the large man does not attempt to dive in.’

  ‘If he does I fear the river might rise to high tide,’ answered Sir Gabriel, and they left the Long Room, arm in arm and laughing all the while.

  Five

  A game of whist was to be held in the Upper Long Room, owned by a cheerful and effusive man named John Barton. This room, built shortly after the Pump Room, had very fine windows overlooking on one side the River Avon and, on the other, the roofed Colonnade, which protected the shoppers from inclement weather. Breakfast was served on a Monday and Thursday at the price of 1s 6p, which was accompanied by country dances and cotillions. On Tuesday nights balls were held at the cost of one guinea for a subscription. But tonight was Wednesday and the evening was given over to play at cards and study of the daily newspapers.

  Sir Gabriel made a fine entrance and John, walking a step or two behind him, made one of equal stature and far more colourful. This year the Apothecary had chosen a deep shade of old rose for his coat, cut well back to reveal an embroidered black waistcoat, tight black breeches and a pair of pink striped stockings. Sir Gabriel wore stark black from head to toe, relieved by the presence of four diamonds: one at his throat, two on his black satin evening shoes, and the fourth cut into a ring which he wore on his little finger.

  Lady Dartington gazed frankly at both men, holding her quizzer to her eyes, and then nodded with silent approval. Sir Gabriel kissed her hand with an elegant gesture.

  ‘My dear Lady Dartington, may I introduce my son, John Rawlings?’

  ‘You may,’ she said, and nodded her head graciously.

  Meanwhile, the pretty slip of a thing with whom Sir Gabriel had danced earlier, raised her fan and peeped eloquently over the frill. John could not help but give a very slight bow and a naughty grin in her direction.

  ‘Mr Rawlings, this is my daughter, Titania. My dear, may I present to you Mr John Rawlings?’

  ‘How dee do, Sir?’ answered the comely creature, rising to her feet then dropping one of the demurest curtseys he had ever seen.

  John responded with a deep bow and another cheeky grin and Miss Groves dropped her glance to the floor, then, looking up, gave him the full blaze of a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

  As luck would have it the draw for partners put John with Lady Dartington, and thus he sat opposite her with Titania tucked neatly beside him. The rules of the game forbade any comment upon one’s cards or luck – or lack of it in John’s case. Thus they sat in tremendous silence, Sir Gabriel brooding over them like a black-clad hawk. Without moving a muscle, Miss Groves managed to generate a pleasant warmth, enveloping John in a delicious aura so that he was barely able to concentrate. He received a curious glance from his father who raised his eyebrow, then smiled and turned his attention back to the game. With great relief it was finally over, Titania and Sir Gabriel winning triumphantly, and the Apothecary, feeling somewhat shaken, pushed back his chair and went to stand by the window.

  The moon was just coming up over the Avon Gorge and the beautiful sight tore at his heart. Through the glass he could hear the rapture of birds singing their praise of the beautiful day and, as he watched, the great channel of the river turned silver in the pallid light. A boat was coming upstream, a boat with three sails, white as daisies, billowing gently in the evening air. John felt totally at peace and at the same time utterly exhilarated.

  He thought about staying in this place for the rest of his days, then his mind turned to the winter, the mighty gales and ravages of snow and ice whipping up the steep embankments, and knew that he was best off remaining in London with its own stinks and overcrowding.

  There was a sudden commotion in the doorway and, turning round, the Apothecary saw a waiter hurriedly pull open the double doors to permit the entrance of a large man, sweating and swearing and mopping his face with a red spotted handkerchief. Shuffling forward and leaning heavily on a stick, the fellow made his way to a large armchair and into this he collapsed his entire weight, shouting for attention as he did so. John swore that he heard the chair groan, and laughed to himself for such whimsy. Then, looking at the fat chap again, he felt a sudden lurch as he realised that this was the man he had seen in the theatre last night and was probably, if all be known, Augustus Bagot himself. Without any definite plan, the Apothecary approached and made a bow.

  ‘May I join you, Sir?’ he enquired.

  The other stared at him from little mud-coloured eyes surrounded by layers of fat.

  ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not exactly, Sir, but I think I may have met your stepfather.’

  The fat man made a sound which could have been anything from approval to disgust and said, ‘You mean Horatio Huxtable?’

  ‘Yes, Sir, I had the pleasure of his company this morning.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  John was immediately on his guard. ‘Oh, I was driving in Clifton and he was kind enough to give my coachman directions. We fell into a brief conversation afterwards.’

  ‘Well, how did my name come into it?’

  John was floundering wildly and was rescued by Miss Groves, who appeared with a sweet smile and bobbed a curtsey to Augustus Bagot, who immediately attempted to rise from his seat but couldn’t quite manage it and flopped back with a groan.

  ‘Ah, Miss Groves,’ said the Apothecary with truly heartfelt gratitude, ‘I must say you played a very deft hand at cards.’

  A glint had appeared in Bagot’s eye. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, Madam. Augustus Bagot, at your service.’

  He pronounced it Bag-got, so that it sounded rather like beget.

  Titania bobbed again and said, ‘My mama does not like me speaking to people to whom I have not been presented, Sir.’

  ‘Then I’ll introduce myself to your mama,’ Bagot answered jovially, then went silent as he saw Lady Dartington leaning on the arm of Sir Gabriel Kent and walking slowly but purposefully towards him. He hastily picked up a newspaper and lost himself in it. Titania meanwhile drooped an eyelid at John, which left him wondering whether it was accidental or not. He collected himself in time to greet Lady Dartington.

  ‘I’m sorry I was so useless at cards, my Lady. Please forgive me.’

  She raised her quizzer and gave him a long look. ‘Nothing to forgive, my dear child.’ Then she turned its glare onto Augustus Bagot, who had, with enormous difficulty, crossed one leg over the other and was reading the paper nonchalantly. ‘May I ask who you are, Sir?’ she enquired coldly.

  Augustus attempted to rise to his feet and did what he could in the way of a bow.

  ‘Bagot’s the name, Milady. I am the stepson of Horatio Huxtable of Clifton, don’t you know. Been travelling abroad for some years and have just returned home. At your service, Ma’am.’

  She inclined her head. �
��I thank you.’ She looked round at Sir Gabriel. ‘Do you know this fellow?’ she asked in an audible undertone.

  ‘Never seen him before in my life,’ he answered, after giving Augustus a quick glance.

  ‘Very good.’ She turned to Titania. ‘Come, my dear. Sir Gabriel and I are going to have a cold collation. You of course are coming, Mr Rawlings.’ She turned in Augustus’s direction. ‘Good night.’ And with that she swept on.

  ‘I take it your mama did not care for Mr Bagot,’ he said in a whisper as he and Titania walked behind the formidable pair into the dining area.

  ‘Well, he was a trifle on the large side,’ she answered.

  ‘You refer, of course, to his choice in newspapers.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Rawlings, he looked like a figgety dumpling and you know it.’

  And with that merry quip Titania laughed aloud and quite definitely winked her eye.

  John lay awake for a long time that night, wishing he had a different nature. He had been married, had had a wonderful mistress, and yet his old feelings were rearing their head once more. The Honourable Titania Groves made him laugh, that was the best of it, and she was most definitely an outrageous flirt. The Apothecary could not help but admit that he liked her enormously.

  And yet, despite all these naughty sensations, he knew that deep down he was a family man. How he loved his daughter, Rose, and how desperately he missed his twin sons, Jasper and James. They must be two years old by now, walking and talking a little, and yet he had no idea what they even looked like. It was pride that had kept him away from Elizabeth, and it was her fierce nature that had precluded her from contacting him. When he thought of her he knew that no-one could replace her, with her black hair being tossed by the Devon winds and her long, lithe body sitting on a horse with total confidence. A powerful woman – perhaps a shade too much so – and one who would attract only the brave-hearted. Yet Titania had the most engaging smile he had seen in a long time.

  Eventually the Apothecary fell into a deep sleep and had a vague dream of Augustus Bagot swelling up and floating to the sky like a hot air balloon.