Death at the Beggar's Opera (25 page)

The door opened and Sir Gabriel stood there. ‘How are you feeling, my boy? Would you like some food?’

‘Please, in a moment. But there is something I want to say to you first. Earlier tonight, before Dick put me in a carriage, I saw Mrs Harcross, walking along a deserted street in Seven Dials. I can hardly credit it. What could she possibly have been doing there?’

‘Well, anyone can visit London.’

‘So soon after her husband’s funeral? No, there was something strange about it, I feel utterly convinced.’

Sir Gabriel frowned. ‘Perhaps I should go and visit her tomorrow in order to enquire about her health.’

‘And if she is not at home?’

‘Then we can draw our own conclusions.’ His father looked thoughtful. ‘Serafina called on me with your keys. She told me that you were summoned out to save a life. Did you succeed in doing so?’

‘I don’t know, unfortunately. It was Mrs Martin, mother of that wretched boy who was the victim. Someone, possibly herself, had administered her a huge dose of brandy and opium.’

‘Then let us hope the poor woman wins her fight, otherwise James Martin will be bereft.’

John shook his head. ‘No, he hates her. He told me so himself.’

‘Of that,’ said Sir Gabriel, smiling a little sadly, ‘I wouldn’t be quite so certain.’

Despite falling asleep feeling jaded and sick, the Apothecary woke the next morning full of a fierce determination to find answers to all the questions that bothered him. High on the list was the fate of Mrs Martin, whom he had left hovering between life and death. Secondly was the question of whether Coralie Clive had agreed to take part in Mr Fielding’s plan to catch a killer. Yet fortunately for John’s growing sense of frustration, the solution to the first uncertainty was awaiting him when he went downstairs to breakfast.

‘A message has come from Mrs Vine,’ said Sir Gabriel without looking up from his newspaper. ‘It arrived during the small hours. Apparently Mrs Martin has recovered consciousness, the physician has been called and pronounces that she will live, her husband is at her bedside, and all’s well that ends well.’ He glanced upwards then looked again. ‘Merciful heavens, have you seen your face?’

‘Yes,’ said John curtly, fingering his jaw.

‘It is truly quite spectacular.’

‘Thank you.’

Sir Gabriel laughed. ‘Actually it makes you look extremely heroic and will no doubt bring a great deal of sympathy from the ladies.’

‘How nice.’

‘And there is no need to be irritable. I have a letter here from Ned Holby’s Master, saying that the lad is feeling much better and will look after your shop for you today.’

‘Well, that’s one relief, I suppose.’

John’s father dropped his bantering tone. ‘Are you still not well, my dear?’

‘Physically I am in good fettle, other than for this king of all bruises. But my brain will not be easy. What the devil was Mrs Harcross doing in Seven Dials last night? And did someone try to kill Mrs Martin or was her sickness self-inflicted? How can anyone relax with such things on their mind?’

‘They can’t,’ said Sir Gabriel briefly. ‘Well, I’m off to play my part. As soon as I am dressed I am going to Kensington to seek out Mrs Harcross, though I do not expect to find her at home. However, I shall leave a note inviting her to contact me.’

‘I wonder what she’s up to?’

His father shook his head. ‘I must say this latest development raises many doubts about her.’

‘Indeed it does.’

‘But what of you? Where are you going first?’

‘To Bow Street, to discover whether Miss Clive has agreed to vanish.’

‘And then?’

‘To dine with the Delaneys and persuade them to leave London.’

‘From what you have told me it will take little persuasion.’ Sir Gabriel raised his elegant brows. ‘And then you and Miss Clive are to move into the Berkeley Square house, are you not?’

‘That is Mr Fielding’s plan, yes.’

‘Ho hum,’ said John’s father. He changed the subject. ‘As you have been so recently indisposed, you are to take my coach today. I shall travel by hackney coach.’

‘I couldn’t possibly …’

‘There is no point in arguing, my mind is made up,’ stated Sir Gabriel, so firmly that there was no purpose in continuing the discussion any further.

Therefore, some three hours later, already dressed for dinner and feeling somewhat conspicuous in his father’s smart black equipage with its team of snow white horses, John set forth for Bow Street, only to discover that Mr Fielding had gone out, escorted by Joe Jago.

‘He left a letter for you, Sir, in the hope you would come,’ said Beak Runner Spink, in charge of the Public Office that day.

‘May I read it here in case he wishes a reply?’

‘Certainly.’

And John was escorted into the room in which he had first encountered John Fielding, the room once used by the naughty magistrate, Sir Thomas de Veil, to question his lady witnesses.

The note was succinct and to the point. ‘Miss Clive has agreed to my plan and the first stage, namely the announcement that her part will be taken by another actress, will take place before the curtain at Drury Lane tonight. Tomorrow I shall have a full meeting of all concerned to declare that Miss Coralie Clive has vanished but is wanted on suspicion of murder. I shall then put a notice to that effect in the newspapers. I do congratulate you, my friend, on your successful efforts to save the life of Clarice Martin. I shall expect you at Drury Lane at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Yr. obedient servant, J. Fielding.’

So the game was afoot. The Apothecary felt a thrill of apprehension creep up his spine, as much from the idea of being under the same roof as Coralie Clive as at the thought of the dangerous errand that lay before them.

In the event, the question of persuading Sarah Delaney to leave town simply did not arise. Alarmed by her husband’s assertion that the murderer was out to harm anyone connected with Jasper, the visit of the Blind Beak that morning had hardly been necessary. By the time John arrived at three in order to dine, instructions were already under way for the house to be packed up and the servants to prepare for a journey.

‘I think we should forgo the entire season and keep Christmas in Suffolk,’ Sarah announced as she rose to leave the two gentlemen to their port.

‘Why not stay there until the child is born?’ asked John.

‘Oh no, I should die of boredom. Besides, the murderer is bound to be caught by then, isn’t he?’

‘I should most certainly hope so,’ answered her husband, bowing as she left the room, as did the Apothecary.

Seated once more, Lord Delaney’s face changed. ‘My dear Mr Rawlings, Mr Fielding has asked my permission to use this house as bait. I hardly know what to think.’

‘Did you say yes?’

‘Of course I did. I am as honest a citizen as the next man and would do nothing to stand in the way of justice being done. But why should the killer come for Sarah, that is what puzzles me?’

John had a moment of extreme affection for the old man, so delighted at the prospect of having a son, so very deluded about the child’s paternity.

‘My Lord,’ he said gently, ‘we cannot be sure that the murderer will strike here. It is just a chance – but one that we really ought to take.’

‘I understand that. Tell me, the terrible events concerning Mrs Martin yesterday, was it attempted murder, do you think?’

‘I really don’t know. As soon as she is well enough she will be questioned by Mr Fielding and then we shall hear her side of it.’

‘These are very dangerous times,’ said Lord Delaney, shaking his head and downing his port. ‘If this plan to lure the killer out goes through, I believe you are to be part of it.’

‘I am, yes.’

‘Then take care, my friend. I wouldn’t like to see you come to any harm.’ He frowned. ‘I believe that word is going out tonight that Miss Clive has vanished.’

‘It is to be a great secret that she is really still in London. You will make quite certain that none of your servants discover it.’

‘They are all coming with us. Apparently, the house is to be staffed entirely by Brave Fellows.’

Again, an Arctic wind enveloped the Apothecary. ‘Then no harm should come to any of us,’ he said stoutly.

‘I will drink to that,’ answered Lord Delaney, and raised his glass.

It was somewhat drunkenly that John left the house in Berkeley Square some three hours later, and it was inebriatedly indeed that, on a whim, he ordered his father’s coachman to drive through the Seven Dials area before going home. Why he did so, he wasn’t quite certain. Was it in the hope that he would see Mrs Harcross again? Or was it the fact that Polly Rose lived there somewhere and the thought of kissing that fervent mouth obsessed him? Whatever the case, John positioned himself at the window and stared out into the blackness, watching for the light of the linkmen as they conducted hurrying citizens home. And then, unexpectedly and yet not, he saw her and his heart leapt with pleasure, only to plummet again as he realised that she was not alone. For Polly stood talking to Dick Weatherby, the stage manager, whom she had obviously bumped into on the street corner.

Wondering if there was a
tendresse
between them, John watched. But they seemed to be conversing normally, standing in the glow of Dick’s lantern, and the Apothecary was emboldened to lower the window and call out, ‘May I drive either of you home?’

They looked up, startled, then John saw that Polly’s glorious mouth was curving into a smile. ‘I would like that very much, Sir.’

He opened the door and Dick smiled cheerfully. ‘Are you feeling better, Mr Rawlings? That was a bad business last night. Good thing I saw you.’

‘I’m completely restored now, thank you. Are you on your way to Drury Lane?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure you want to walk? It’s a freezing night.’

There was a suspicion of a wink about Dick’s eye. ‘No, Sir. You see to young Polly here. I’ll be perfectly all right.’

And then there were just the two of them in the darkness and Polly’s warmth close to his, and the realisation that her lips were just as wonderful and as ardent as ever they had appeared when he had looked at them.

‘I’ll take you home,’ John whispered close to her ear.

‘In time,’ she answered dreamily. ‘All in good time, Mr Rawlings.’

As the very first shaft of daybreak splintered the winter sky, John Rawlings crept into his house like a truant-playing schoolboy, got into bed as quickly and quietly as he could, then lay wide awake thinking, not of the two brutal murders in which he had become involved and his part in hunting down their perpetrator, but of Polly Rose and her eager, wonderful mouth. A mouth which revealed the key to her entire personality, lustful and demanding yet giving and generous, all in one.

Yet even though he had discovered things with the little seamstress that he had hardly been aware of before, not only about himself and his needs but about passion in all its aspects, John knew that this was a relationship that he did not dare pursue. For those fervent lips would never be satisfied with a light-hearted lover, a man who toyed and kissed, whereas he was not prepared to be anything more to her, ashamed though he was to admit it.

With these uneasy thoughts uppermost in his mind, the Apothecary waited until it was fully light then rose and washed, carefully shaved round the great bruise left by William Page’s forceful fist, then dressed himself in clothes of sober hue. There was much to be done this day and it most certainly was not the occasion for fanciful dressing. Determined that he would miss nothing, from a raised brow to a sigh of relief as Mr Fielding announced to her fellow actors that Coralie Clive had vanished, John went downstairs to breakfast, attempting to put all memories of the last few amorous hours behind him. Sir Gabriel appeared some half hour later, just as his son was preparing to leave the table, and made a small sound of surprise. ‘My dear child, you are up with the lark. Did you not sleep well?’

‘Like the dead,’ said John, lying cheerfully.

‘An unfortunate phrase, to say the least of it. Remind me where you are going. I have seen so little of you in the last twenty-four hours I can scarcely recall.’

‘To Drury Lane. This morning Mr Fielding sets his trap.’

‘Oh yes, of course. With everyone in place?’

‘Hopefully.’

Sir Gabriel drained his coffee cup and looked at John over the brim. ‘I did not hear you come in last night. Did you stay late with the Delaneys?’

‘Very,’ John answered firmly.

‘Quite so,’ his father responded, and smiled an unnerving smile the meaning of which John did not dare to probe. ‘And now to my news,’ he continued, his expression bland. ‘Much as we had expected, Mrs Harcross was not at home. The maid answered the door and said that her mistress was visiting friends. I enquired when she would be coming back and the girl said she did not know. The poor child seemed quite nervous so I pressed a coin into her hand, at which she appeared more nervous still.’

John let out a shout of laughter.

‘I intend to return today and continue my enquiries,’ Sir Gabriel added crisply.

‘And if the lady is in residence?’

‘I shall invite her to dine with me, tell her that Coralie Clive has gone missing and observe her reactions.’ Sir Gabriel finished another cup. ‘By the way, John, you have a mark upon your neck, no doubt also inflicted by that wretched highwayman. Be good enough to adjust your cravat in order to hide it.’

Somewhat flushed, his son rose from the table. ‘I will attend to it straight away.’

‘Splendid,’ said Sir Gabriel, and waved a languid hand.

Glad to escape, John hurried to his room, made the necessary repairs to his toilette, bade his father a swift farewell then, putting on his thickest cloak, went out into the street.

It was cold again but despite that, having time on his hands, John decided to walk to the theatre, and turned out of Nassau Street towards Long Acre. Behind him, only a stone’s throw away, lay that run-down area known as the Seven Dials, but John steadfastly walked onwards and did not look over his shoulder.

Other than for Dick Weatherby, who gave him a quizzical glance which he did not altogether relish, the theatre was empty when John went in. But it was not long before groups of people started arriving, some of whom the Apothecary did not know. An enquiry revealed, however, that this was the cast of
The Merchant of Venice
, who had been at Drury Lane on the night that Will Swithin had met his terrible end.