Death at Apothecaries' Hall (28 page)

She looked at him questioningly but said nothing.

The Apothecary continued. ‘Further, details that may seem utterly irrelevant and bearing no relation whatsoever to the matter in hand, are often the ones that throw a sudden beam of light on a matter buried in murk.'

Harriet stiffened. ‘Pray go on.'

John steeled himself ‘The other night – and please remember that this may have no bearing on the two deaths, yet it is still of interest – Master Cruttenden was attacked. I believe you once knew him well. Do you have the slightest idea why somebody would wish to harm him?'

Her jewel eyes flashed in his direction. ‘No,' she said stonily.

The Apothecary's heart sank but he continued on his course. ‘You told me that you were once in his employ. Did you not see anything at that time that might have led you to believe the man had enemies?'

‘No I didn't.'

The Apothecary gulped silently. ‘Mrs Clarke, what were your feelings towards Master Cruttenden?'

‘I had none.'

The ruthless side of John Rawlings's character took over completely. ‘That isn't true, is it? You told me yourself that an apothecary prescribed for you for morning sickness and that you have never been sure from that day to this whether what you swallowed was responsible for your son's condition. But that was only part of it, I believe. I think Francis Cruttenden did not prescribe for sickness at all but attempted to procure an abortion for you because the child you were carrying was his and not that of your husband.'

She flew to her feet and bore down on him like a goddess of legend. ‘How dare you? How dare you say such terrible things?'

‘Perhaps because they are true,' John answered, and caught her wrists in his hands as she made to strike him.

She wept at that, savagely and wildly as only a woman of her temperament could.

‘Calm yourself,' he said, his voice kind. ‘I mean no harm to you. What passes between these walls is privy only to us. What a burden you must have carried all these years. Did you tell Dr Hensey of it?'

‘How could I? How could I without betraying what I tried to do to my beautiful son?'

‘I doubt very much you harmed the foetus. The falling sickness is a birth defect indeed but not one associated with attempted abortion.'

Harriet wept, violently, yet with a certain controlled strength. ‘I did not want Michael, dear good kind Michael, to be foisted with a child he had not fathered. I married him when I was pregnant, you know.'

‘Did he not guess at the time?'

‘No. He thought the child was his. He prevented me from aborting.'

‘But he knows now surely. The resemblance to Cruttenden is marked.'

‘I don't know whether he does or not. The grim truth has never been spoken of between us.'

‘Whatever the case, he loves the boy. That is obvious from the way he talks about him. Torture yourself no further.'

Harriet flung herself into his arms. ‘My whole life has been a torture since I met that evil bastard. If somebody attacked him then good is all I can say. Oh, my dear Mr Rawlings, he took away my innocence, my girlhood, and he almost took away my son.'

The Apothecary removed her to arm's length so that he could look her in the eye.

‘But he didn't take him away, did he? And, indirectly, Francis Cruttenden gave you your greatest treasure. For the boy is a fine one, for all his condition. Now what did Dr Hensey say?'

‘That somehow he would contact his old tutor. He believes that Matthew's condition could be brought totally under control.'

John frowned. ‘But surely his professor was in Paris, and we are at war with France. How will he get the message through?'

Harriet dashed away her tears. ‘That he did not tell me. He simply said that he would try.'

‘Then God bless him. He helped me once when I thought I was beyond hope.'

‘He is a man of great integrity,' Mrs Clarke said solemnly. She withdrew her arms from John's grasp and he watched her compose herself ‘Now, Sir, how further can I help you?'

‘By telling me how Francis Cruttenden became so wealthy.'

She looked at him wide eyed. ‘Are you serious?'

‘Very.'

‘What are you implying?'

‘I don't know. All I do know is that the man has enemies in high places. Now why should that be?'

She shook her head. ‘I cannot help you there. I know of his reputation with young women. I know all the terrible things he did to me. But as to how he acquired his wealth, I have no idea. I always imagined that it was inherited.'

‘Then I suppose it must be. And yet …'

‘Mr Rawlings,' said Harriet.

‘Yes?'

‘Promise me one thing.'

‘Which is?'

‘That you will unlock the cupboard of that unpleasant individual and watch as the skeletons come tumbling forth.'

‘I will not only watch,' answered John, thinking of the youth and joy of Emilia and how low she had been brought by the seal-grey Liveryman, ‘I will personally crush his skeletons to powder beneath my heel.'

He was in a white hot rage, angry on behalf of every female that Cruttenden had enticed into his bed, livid that one of them should have been the delightful Emilia Alleyn. In fact John's blood was running so high that he felt more than capable of punching the Liveryman in the face and taking the consequences. Then he recalled that somebody else had already done this for him and knew that however furious he might feel it would be beyond the pale to strike a wounded man.

He was marching towards Pye House, built on the site of the old Pye Pleasure Garden, so Harriet Clarke had informed him. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Southwark had been London's haunt of pleasure, conveniently placed outside the City Boundary and with few people living there to raise complaint. As well as Pye Garden there had been the Old Bear Gardens, and the cruel torturing of animals, something which John abominated, had flourished. The playhouses had also been situated on the south bank, together with the stews or brothels. Lusty men and true had been rowed across the river to take their delights as they saw fit. But since the rule of Oliver Cromwell and his Puritans many of Southwark's attractions had been closed down and most had not reopened after the Restoration.

‘Trust him to have a house on a prime site,' John mutteredspitefully, and wondered for a wild and capricious moment whether he dared heave a brick through one of the windows. Tempting though the prospect was, however, he remembered that he was an apothecary, that he had a respectable place in society, and reckoned beside all those factors that it was bright broad daylight and he would be bound to be seen.

However, his temper was sufficiently fired to send him through the gate and up the path to the front door at a stamping pace. Once there he rang the bell as if he were pealing for the hordes of hell to come forth from their flaming pit, and he barked at the footman who answered the door, ‘John Rawlings for Miss Clariana Gill, if you please.'

‘But …' said the man, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

‘She's my patient and I demand to see her,' thundered John, and pushed past the servant most rudely.

The house, which he had only glimpsed from outside, was even more voluptuous within than he had imagined it to be. Fine Turkey carpets, glistening chandeliers and expensive oil paintings abounded in all the major rooms leading off the hall. While the staircase rising from it was a triumph of delicacy, curving more beautifully than any John had ever seen before.

The footman recovered himself ‘I will see if Miss Gill is able to receive you, Sir.'

‘Then she is here?'

‘Madam is the Master's affianced bride, Sir. There has been a tragedy in her family and she is staying with the Master whilst she recovers from the shock.'

‘Then would you be kind enough to take her my card and tell her that there is something of importance I need to discuss with her.'

‘Certainly,' said the footman aloofly, and placing the card on a silver tray, disappeared from view.

Not having been extended the courtesy of a chair, the Apothecary remained upright, slowly wandering the length of the vestibule examining the many and beautiful
objets
casually placed in niches or on small tables, valuable though they obviously were. The fact of Liveryman Cruttenden's enormous wealth was endorsed everywhere John looked, and yet again he wondered at it.

The footman reappeared. ‘Miss Gill will spare you five minutes, and that is all. Kindly follow me.'

John was led into a spacious room where Clariana, clad in flowing black, lay on a day bed, looking as ashen as if she herself had recently died. In contrast, her red hair flamed round her face, giving the girl an almost grotesque appearance.

She opened her eyes and looked up as John came in. ‘Mr Rawlings, I am far from well. The news of my poor father's death coming on top of my recent ordeal …'

‘You should not have left Mr Smith's house without my permission,' John stated abruptly.

‘You are not my gaoler, Sir.'

‘No, but you were in my care. I was treating you for a severe case of opiate poisoning. You had no right to discharge yourself without my authority.'

Clariana raised her livid face and glared at him and John found himself thinking what a particularly nasty young woman she was, quite capable of murdering anyone. He then considered the fact that she and Cruttenden thoroughly deserved one another and would make a perfectly beastly couple that should in no circumstances have children.

Her voice was like ice. ‘Is that all you have to say to me? If so, you may as well leave now. As you know, my future husband is a Liveryman of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries and is more than capable of prescribing for me.'

What a bitch, thought John, and produced the diamond button from his inner pocket with a great deal of flourish. ‘I found this, Madam, at the scene of your father's murder. Do you know to whom it belongs?'

Clariana held out an imperious hand. ‘What do you have there? Be so good as to show it to me.'

Advancing towards the day bed, John gave a curt bow. ‘It is a button, Miss Gill. A diamond button of fine quality. Not the sort of thing that your father would have worn, I am sure you will agree.' He held it out but did not pass it to her.

Clariana stared, her bleached face turning even whiter. Sensing her discomfort, John pressed on. ‘Well?'

Miss Gill swallowed. ‘It's mine,' she said.

‘Really?' His disbelief sounded in his voice.

‘I lost it from one of my gowns.'

‘It must have been a very fine gown, if I might comment. Did you lose it the night of the Duchess's Assembly?'

‘Yes. It was part of my evening ensemble. May I have it back please.'

‘No,' said John, returning the button to his pocket. ‘You may not.'

‘Why? It belongs to me. It is my property.'

‘On the contrary. It is now the property of the Public Office at Bow Street. It was found at the scene of a murder and is therefore material evidence.'

Clariana sat upright. ‘How dare you say such a thing? The button is mine.'

‘Then I suggest you put that to Mr John Fielding. I shall pass it into his safe keeping tonight.'

Behind him John was aware of a rustle in the doorway. A swish of garments together with the faint smell of medicinal balm, told him that Francis Cruttenden was standing behind him. Indeed, he could feel the man's eyes boring into his back in the most unnerving manner. Not even bothering to force a smile, John turned and experienced a spiteful thrill of pleasure at seeing just how bruised and battered the ladies' man looked.

The Apothecary gave a minimalistic bow. ‘Sir.'

Cruttenden grimaced. ‘I must thank you for your help the other evening. I was in a parlous state.'

‘A very strange affair,' John answered, ‘made even stranger by the fact that your assailant jumped into a coach belonging to the Marquis of Kensington. Now how do you account for that?'

Just for a fleeting second, before he masked his face utterly, the Liveryman reacted, John would have sworn to it. However, the older man's recovery was instant. Cruttenden laughed.

‘Who told you that? What utter nonsense. The man was a common cutpurse, a vagabond whose only motive was robbery. Marquis of Kensington? God's life, where do these rumours start?'

It was so convincing a performance that momentarily the Apothecary wondered. But there was no denying the shutter that had closed at the very back of Cruttenden's eyes. The mention of the Marquis had both startled and disconcerted him.

John inclined his head. ‘Indeed there are many strange stories circulating around town. Probably my informant was wrong.'

Walking painfully, the Liveryman came further into the room. ‘There's no probably about it, Sir. You have been misinformed. Now, to what do we owe the pleasure of your calling upon us?'

‘Two reasons. One I wanted to see how you progressed, Sir, after so painful a beating. Secondly, I was somewhat concerned that Miss Gill discharged herself from my care without my consent. She was very poorly, Master Cruttenden. I assure you I brought her back from the brink.'

Clariana had the good grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘I wanted to be with you, Francis. I longed for your comforting presence.'

About as comforting as a cobra, John thought maliciously.

Cruttenden looked as urbane as his bruises would allow. ‘I am sure you will understand, Mr Rawlings. Poor child. What an ordeal to return home and discover her father's body.'

‘Fortunately Miss Gill was under the influence of opium at the time and therefore the full horror of the discovery would have been dulled.'

The Liveryman took a seat, not inviting John to do likeways. ‘I intend to demand a full apology from Dr Ridgeway. How dare the old fool treat my betrothed in such a manner.'