Death at the Devil's Tavern (24 page)

The Apothecary managed another question. ‘That note, the one that came by hackney coach, it isn't still here by any chance?'

Gibson shook his head vigorously. ‘Most definitely not, Sir. Sir William threw it on the fire and watched it go up in flames. Then he went upstairs and came down a short while later with a travelling bag.'

‘Good gracious! Had he intended to go away?'

Somewhat surprisingly, Gibson answered, ‘Yes, I think he had. His valet had packed his best clothes for him and it was our belief in the servants' hall that Sir William was going on from Middle Temple Lane to spend the night somewhere near the place where he was to be wed.'

John digested this thoughtfully. ‘What happened next?'

‘Sir William scribbled a letter which Oliver took off in the coach, then the master went out.'

‘Without his carriage?'

‘Yes, Sir. He must have hired a hackney to take him to wherever he was going.'

‘And you have no idea where that was or who wrote the note which made him alter his plans?'

‘No, Sir, to both.'

John's expressive eyebrows rose. ‘What a curious tale.'

‘Yes, Sir.'

Gibson hesitated and the Apothecary, reacting quickly, said, ‘There's something else, isn't there?'

The footman dropped his eyes. ‘I don't want to get anyone into trouble and it might only be a coincidence …'

‘Yes?'

‘But it seemed to me that Mrs Hartfield followed him out.'

‘Mrs Hartfield? Which one?'

‘Lydia. She was standing in the hall when Sir William left. Wearing a dark cloak and with her hair so black, it wasn't easy to notice her. Anyway, I'd swear that she followed him.'

‘What for?'

Gibson shook his head. ‘I don't know, Sir. All I can tell you is that Miss Lydia left the house within a minute of her father-in-law, walking stealthy as a cat.'

‘And what time did she come back?'

‘That's just the point; she didn't.'

‘What?'

‘Her maid told me that Mrs Hartfield did not return until late next day.'

‘'Zounds!' said John with much feeling, and sat down on the little sofa, the breath quite gone from him.

But there was to be no period of quiet contemplation for at that precise moment the front door opened and voices could be heard in the hall. Gibson shot him a look of pure panic but the Apothecary raised his finger to his lips, then said in a loud voice, ‘Thank you. I'll wait in here.'

‘Very good, Sir,' the footman replied, and made as dignified an exit as he could in view of the fact that he was trembling from head to toe.

There was the sound of murmured conversation and then the door opened once more. The man whom John believed to be Hugh Hartfield put his head round. ‘How may I help you?' he said coldly.

The Apothecary rose to his feet and withdrew his letter of authorisation from an inner pocket, handing it over in silence. Hugh read it, then looked up, his brown eyes hard as marbles. ‘Well?' he enquired.

‘Sir, I have been asked by Mr Fielding to aid him in the search for your father's murderer. I take it I am addressing Mr Hugh?'

‘Indeed you are. However, I don't think I can be of any assistance. I was abroad at the time of my father's – death.'

‘So I believe,' John answered soothingly. ‘But perhaps you would be good enough to tell me when you went and when you returned. A mere formality, I assure you.'

‘Well …' But Hugh got no further. The door opened yet again and the woman whom the Apothecary had identified as Maud came in. She stared at John in surprise.

‘Oh!'

‘My wife,' said Hugh. He turned to her. ‘Dearest, may I present Mr …' He glanced at the paper still clutched in his hand. ‘… Rawlings, here on behalf of the Public Office. Mr Rawlings Mrs Maud Hartfield.'

John made an extremely flowery bow. ‘Madam, I am honoured.'

She cast him a suspicious look and dropped the sort of curtsey reserved for people of the lower orders. ‘How d'you do.'

‘Mr Rawlings is here to ask questions about Father's death.'

‘Does he have any right?' Maud said nastily.

‘Yes, Madam, I most certainly do,' John answered, hardening his features. ‘As Principal Magistrate Mr Fielding is within his jurisdiction to enquire into any mysterious death. Therefore I must request both of you to tell me what you know of this crime.'

‘How would we know anything?' Maud continued in the same snappish tone. ‘Surely you can't imagine that Sir William was murdered by his own kin?'

John assumed his severest look. ‘On the contrary, Madam. The facts gathered so far seem to indicate just that. Now, pray tell me where you were on the days leading up to the thirteenth of March. Were you in London or at Kirby Hall?'

‘I won't stand for this,' she stormed angrily, only to meet with a glare from her husband.

‘For Heaven's sake, Maud, don't make such a show. Simply answer Mr Rawlings's questions and then we can forget all about it.'

She bit her lip furiously, reminding John of a lap dog chewing on a biscuit. ‘Well, I was in town until the third of the month, when my husband sailed for France. Then I went to join my grandmother-in-law at Kirby Hall. She is Lady Hodkin, don't you know?'

‘Yes,' said John acidly, ‘I was aware of that.'

‘I was still there when Roger's letter arrived saying there had been a fatality. I remained to give comfort to the family and to await the return of my husband.'

‘You went with Lady Hodkin to the church in Shadwell where Sir William intended to get married I believe?'

Maud looked thoroughly startled. ‘How did you know that?'

‘The Public Office is cognisant of most things,' the Apothecary answered grandly. He shot her a penetrating stare, wondering whether his idea that her puritanical facade might disguise a sinful interior could by any chance be correct. ‘And did you leave Kirby Hall during that time, Madam? Did you return to town to shop or attend a play?' he added.

Maud looked uneasy. ‘Once or twice, yes, though not to visit a playhouse, let me hasten to assure you. I went to London to call on my aged mother, nowadays very deaf and almost totally blind.'

‘You did not come to this house to see Sir William?'

‘No, indeed I did not.'

She was too flushed and vehement to be telling the truth, John thought, and considered the fact that even a boring little woman like her might have a lover, probably just as dull and uninteresting as she was. However, with her husband present he was obviously going to get nothing further out of her on that score. So the Apothecary merely looked wise, nodded, and turned to Hugh, thus intercepting a most peculiar glance that Sir William's third son was giving his wife.

So he is wondering, too, John speculated, and questioned how many more threads were waiting to be uncovered in the search for Sir William's murderer.

‘Tell me, Sir,' John asked pleasantly. ‘Were you close to your father?'

He watched Hugh debating his reply and deciding to come down on the side of truth. ‘To be perfectly honest with you, no,' he answered hesitatingly. ‘I am a compassionate man, Mr Rawlings, and it fair tore my heart from my body when my mother not only had to endure the anguish of a stroke but also the heartache of knowing that her husband was engaged in an adulterous affair.'

Maud made a strange sound which John could not interpret.

‘Oh yes,' Hugh went on, ‘she may have been bedridden but she had not lost her wits. I think my father behaved in an atrocious fashion, yet I had to hold my tongue, more's the pity.'

‘Oh? Why was that?'

‘Because I worked in the family firm. I depended upon Sir William for my livelihood. It was not an easy situation for someone like myself, used to speaking his mind.' Hugh smiled ruefully, his spruce brown features relaxing somewhat.

‘Very difficult I imagine,' John answered sympathetically. ‘Tell me, what is it exactly that you do?'

‘I am in charge of importing goods from foreign climes. As Maud told you, I have recently been in France, in Burgundy to be precise, seeing to the shipment of some extremely fine wines.'

‘How very pleasant. When did you return?'

Hugh grinned disarmingly. ‘It was damned hard work, let me assure you. Two weeks of extremely busy graft. Anyway, I came back on the seventeenth. We had some goods aboard so our ship joined the queue for the Legal Quays, then I came ashore and went to my father's office in Wapping. It was there that I first heard the news, told me by Valentine Randolph. I regret that I was unmanly enough to faint.'

‘Quite understandable,' John murmured. He looked Hugh straight in the eye. ‘I believe that under the terms of Sir William's will you now become head of the entire business.'

‘Nominally so, yes. My brothers will be running it with me, however.'

Wondering just how much interest Roger and Julian would have in work of that kind, the Apothecary merely raised his brows.

Hugh looked uncomfortable. ‘Why do you ask?'

John answered the question with another. ‘Were you aware, Sir that your father had made a new will, a will that he never signed? And that in that will the running of the business passed out of family hands? Have you any idea why he should have done that?'

Hugh looked wretched. ‘No, I know nothing of it, and I have no notion why he should have wanted to take control away from us. Who was going to inherit the firm, tell me that?'

‘I'm afraid I can't.'

‘But I can,' interrupted Maud, ‘it must be that vile Luke Challon. Always pandering to Sir William's lustful ways, and just as bad himself. As to why my father-in-law wanted to cut us all out, I know the reason. Because I told him he was steeped in sin and that no good would ever come to him while he consorted with a whore.'

‘Strong words,' said John, his tone bland.

‘Not strong enough,' answered Maud, and flounced from the room.

Hugh stared after her, his expression anguished. ‘My wife is deeply religious,' he stated apologetically. ‘My father's … er … relationship with Amelia Lambourn was as repugnant to her as it was to me.'

‘But she told him so.'

‘Yes. And so did other members of the family. That is why he was about to disinherit us I imagine.' Hugh paused. ‘Why didn't he sign the new will, Mr Rawlings?'

‘Because,' John answered harshly, ‘somebody decided to summon him to his death instead.'

There was little custom about that afternoon, probably because of some unexpectedly warm sunshine which shone on the flowers in London's splendid parks, bringing out those members of the
beau monde
able to face the brilliance without sustaining injury to eyes more used to twilight. Rather wishing he could close the shop and walk to Bow Street, John passed the time by discussing the virtues of various herbs with Nicholas, who seemed very interested in the efficacy of love potions.

‘Why do you want to know?' asked John, much amused.

‘Because my grandmother always swore that her mother gave one to the Russian who fathered her.'

‘Why should she do that? Surely she didn't want to bear his child?'

Nicholas's face creased into a naughty grin that the Apothecary had not been aware he possessed. ‘Perhaps she thought he would marry her and take her back to the snowy wastes.'

‘Just to think, if that had happened you might be a sycophant at the court of the Empress Elizabeth Petrovna.'

‘I might even be her lover.'

‘Nicholas, you are getting out of hand,' said John firmly. ‘Your fiery ancestry is beginning to show. Where is the timid young man whom first I met?'

‘He's beginning to go away. Do you mind, Mr Rawlings?'

‘On the contrary. I'm delighted. Now, as I was saying …'

But there their discussion of herbs was brought to an abrupt halt as the shop doorbell rang unexpectedly. Pleased to have a customer at last, John left his compounding room and went to stand behind the counter, only to stop short at the sight which greeted him. Juliette Hartfield, looking almost edible in her mourning clothes, had just come in.

‘Miss Hartfield!' he exclaimed with pleasure.

‘Mr Rawlings,' she replied. ‘I heard that you had called round this morning and thought that as I missed you I would come here instead.'

‘How very kind. Did you want to consult me professionally, or is this a social visit?'

‘A little bit of both. I am not sleeping at all well, dreaming too much about my poor Papa. But that aside, I wanted to talk to you.'

‘I'm flattered.'

Juliette smiled at him, just a little sadly. ‘How are you getting on with the hunt for the killer?'

‘We are making slow progress, but steady for all that.'

‘Will you catch him?'

‘Why do you say that?' John asked. ‘What makes you think that a man is responsible?'

His visitor looked uncomfortable. ‘It was just a figure of speech.'

The Apothecary nodded. ‘It is not easy to equate women with violent crime, I agree. But believe me, Miss Hartfield, they can be just as desperate as men when their passions are aroused. And it seems to me there is a lot of passion in this case, of one kind or another.'

Juliette did not answer and John turned to take a bottle of physick from the shelf behind him, the main ingredients of which were valerian roots and wormwood leaves, guaranteed to get anyone off to sleep. In the mirror that ran along the wall behind the shelf he could see his visitor's gorgeous face reflected, and spinning round he said his next words impulsively, inspired by her charm.

‘Miss Hartfield, it seems to me that your family is not in conventional mourning. Am I right?'

She bridled a little. ‘What do you mean, Sir? I am wearing black.'

‘I was referring to the fact that since your father's death I have seen both you and your brother, to say nothing of Roger, out and about the town.'