Death in the Setting Sun (5 page)

Tea drunk, John put on his greatcoat before walking the few steps to the next door shop where he found the apprentice in a sorry state. Eyes streaming, nose pouring, the boy had a fever and a distillation upon his lungs.

John turned to the bookseller. “This lad needs to go home to bed. He has a severe attack of ague and really should rest.”

Mr. Colville looked slightly daunted. “Well, I can’t leave my shop to walk him back. Oh dear!”

“I’ll send Gideon to get a chair, if that’s agreeable.” Eustace pulled a slight face but agreed and a few minutes later, looking terrible but clutching two bottles, one made from the fresh leaves of Colt’s Foot to relieve his cough, the other a mixture of distilled water, again of Colt’s Foot but mixed with Elderflowers and Nightshade for the ague, Mark the apprentice was on his way. Gideon stared after the retreating chair.

“I’ve a sore throat, Sir.”

“Right,” answered John. “Let’s have a look.”

He peered down the chasm but could see nothing untoward. However, he decided to play the game.

“Um, that will need watching. I recommend the juice of the leaves of Birch Tree. Every hour on the hour. Wash your mouth out with that and I’ll keep an eye on you. Here’s some. Start now.”

He ran his hand along the shelves and handed the wretched boy the bitter-tasting concoction. Then he grinned as from the back room came the sounds of Gideon enthusiastically starting to rinse his mouth then hawking at the terrible taste.

The Apothecary’s feeling that trade would be slow turned out to be justified and at three o’clock he shut up shop and walked back through the dying day, Gideon trotting alongside. As always, when he turned into Gerrard Street, John felt his heart lift, knowing that Emilia and Rose would be waiting for him, that the house would be warm and welcoming. Yet despite its obvious comfort there was today something slightly threatening about the place, a feeling caused by the strange sexless figure in the garden, staring so silently. He had almost thought it to be a spectre. Yet it had been human enough when it took off in fright towards Dolphin’s Yard.

John slowed his pace. Who could it have been and what did they want? And had he been right not to tell

Emilia about it? Yet what harm could befall her? She was surrounded by servants and lived the life of a young mother, protected and cherished at all times. He had told Axford, the head footman, about the incident and requested that he check every lock and bolt at night. Further than that, short of reporting the incident to Sir John Fielding, who had far more serious matters to occupy his time, there was nothing the Apothecary could do about it.

“You all right, Sir?” asked Gideon breathlessly.

“Yes, why?”

“You’ve slowed your pace.”

“I was just thinking about something.” And in a rush of confidence John unburdened himself to the boy.

Gideon looked defiant, his fair skin flushing with excitement. “Do you want me to keep watch, Sir? I can sit up all night with a blunderbuss. I’ll blow the bastard’s head off if he comes near.”

John laughed. “It happened a few days ago. It’s just that I was remembering it.”

Gideon looked disappointed. “You know I would, Master.”

John smiled. “I appreciate your loyalty. Perhaps you would double check the locks for me. Axford said he would do them but I think it would be as well for someone to have another inspection.”

The apprentice looked pugnacious. “Consider it done, Sir. I shall check everything last thing at night. Woe betide the man if I catch him.”

“I don’t know that it was a man.”

“But surely no woman would come into the garden late.”

“Why should anyone, if you take my meaning. That’s the puzzle. What did they want?”

“Um …” said Gideon, suddenly very serious.

Rose was up and rushed to the door at the sound of her father’s footsteps. He swept her up into his arms, delighting in her presence, in the smell and feel of her. She would be three next April and was already advanced in speech and behaviour, filling him with intense pride. As yet she was unaware that she was to be presented with a sibling next June and considered John her property. For though she loved her mother, Rose’s main love was for her father. Now she greeted him.

“Papa, I saw Miss Priscilla.”

“Did you, sweetheart? When?”

“When I was out for my walk. She was walking too.” Emilia came to join them and John gave her a fond kiss. “I hear you’ve seen Priscilla.”

“Yes. I was out with the basinette and ran into her. The poor thing is going half-demented with this production of hers.”

John followed her into the parlour, where a good fire burned in the grate.

“What exactly is it she’s doing?”

“Well, it’s something on the lines of a masque, with singing and dancing and music. She has written the story and now it is up to us to act it.”

“And who does she expect in the audience?”

“For a start most of Princess Amelia’s ladies: namely the Countess of Hampshire, Lady Georgiana — she’s in it and the only other young one so you will appreciate how desperate Priscilla is — Lady Featherstonehaugh and Lady Kemp, and Lady Theydon, of course. The men are mostly husbands and hangers on.”

“Hangers on?”

“Well, you know what I mean. Then there’s the young professional actor.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Michael O’Callaghan.”

“Yes, you’re right. I asked her about the King’s Theatre the other night and she admitted that she met him to audition him.”

“Oh, is that what they call it these days.”

“John, don’t be wicked. She was genuinely seeking somebody.”

“I’ll wager she was.”

Emilia looked reproving. “I don’t know what is the matter with you.” She paused, then said, “You don’t like Priscilla, do you?”

He felt he couldn’t lie. “Not a great deal, no. I find her somewhat concerned with herself and her affairs. But that is just me. The important thing is that you like her and she is a good friend to you.”

“Yes, she is,” Emilia answered, just a hint of defiance in her tone. “I am having a great deal of fun rehearsing for the show.”

“Has she adapted it to suit the house in Curzon Street?”

“Yes, but it will not be quite so effective as it would have been at Gunnersbury House. She had planned to have it in the grand saloon there which is situated on the first floor, apparently with magnificent windows. We would have played in front of them with the audience in little chairs in front of us.”

“I see. And is there no saloon as grand in Curzon Street?”

“Not really. It is nothing like as big. Still, the audience will just have to squeeze in tightly.”

John sighed, the idea of being crammed amongst a jostling throng returning. He comforted himself with the thought of his new suit, already ordered. Then he felt guilty and remembered the pleasure the whole enterprise was giving to his wife, and took himself to task for being as self-centred as he had earlier accused Priscilla of being.

He put his arm round Emilia. “Shall we go to the playhouse this evening?”

She blushed a little. “My darling, Priscilla has called a rehearsal for us younger people at four o’clock. Apparently Mr. O’Callaghan cannot get there until then.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Do you mind? I could cancel it, I suppose.”

“Nonsense. Go and enjoy yourself. I’ll be perfectly happy remaining here with Rose.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

“Then in that case I shall go and change. Priscilla is always so well dressed and I would hate her to think me sloppy.”

But John thought as his wife left the room that he had an urge to go out and wondered whether he might visit the Pandemonium Club. However, he felt slightly weary and not quite up to their activities. Perhaps, he considered, this could be the very night to call on Samuel and Jocasta and see how they were faring. But then came a better idea. A visit to Sir John Fielding, a man nearly always at home because of his disability. He could call on him at Bow Street and discuss old cases. Suddenly feeling cheerful, John went upstairs to change.

Had it really been ten years? John thought, as the hackney coach he had hired rumbled through the darkness towards the tall, thin house in Bow Street. Ten long years with almost as many cases of brutal murder to solve? Yet he knew it had for he had ended his indentures in 1754 and now a decade had passed since he had first glimpsed the house in Bow Street. Then he had been a terrified boy, taken in for questioning before the menacing Blind Beak. Now he was an established apothecary and had become a personal friend of the Fielding family. A great deal had changed indeed in those ten years.

It had been through that very first case that he had come into contact with Coralie Clive. She had saved his life, later he had saved hers, so in a way they owned one another. It had been inevitable that she would become his mistress and eventually marry him. But he had grown tired of her relentless ambition and had suddenly married Emilia Alleyn, never regretting his decision for a moment.

In the hackney’s dark interior John felt himself grow hot, remembering Elizabeth di Lorenzi and the passion he had felt for her even while on his honeymoon. Once, very nearly, he had been on the point of possessing her. Then his marriage vows had stopped him, just as they would now. In fact he was more in love with Emilia today than he had been at the time of his wedding to her. He knew that some of those forced into arranged marriages who claimed it was possible to grow together, were right. He and his wife were becoming more united with the fullness of time.

Peering out through the gloom, John saw the thin house rise before him. Knocking on the roof with his great stick he brought the hackney to a standstill and paid the driver off. Then he looked up at the first floor salon. The curtains were drawn against the night but there were lights on, Sir John Fielding was at home.

Greeting the Court Runner who was manning the Public Office, the Apothecary enquired whether it would be possible to see the great man without an appointment.

“I should think so, Mr. Rawlings. He’s nearly always available for you.”

He whistled up the staircase and a servant called down, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Mr. Rawlings. He’s called to see Sir John but he ain’t got an appointment.”

A face appeared. “Hang on, Mr. R. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

The face withdrew again and John was left to look at the Runner, who was carefully examining a ledger.

“It’s very cold,” he ventured.

“Cold indeed, Sir. Not much crime about, actually.”

“You mean they’re all staying indoors.”

“That’s about it, Sir.”

The footman reappeared. “Come up, Sir, and welcome, Sir John will receive you.”

Gratefully John climbed the stairs to where the family lived above the Public Office and the Court, and was shown into the familiar first floor salon. Here everything was cosy and warm, the light from the fire and candles throwing a red glow over the furniture and walls. But all paled into insignificance beside the figure that sat in a high-backed chair beside the fire. Resplendent in a flowing wig, his powerful features throwing sharp shadows, his eyes covered by a black ribbon which concealed them from the gazes of the curious, sat the Principal Magistrate of London, Sir John Fielding himself.

John bowed as the Blind Beak rose. “Mr. Rawlings, what a pleasure. It has been a while, has it not? My dear fellow, how are you keeping? And your lovely wife?”

“We are all very well, Sir.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. Take a seat, do. Have you dined? If not you must do so with us. I insist.”

“How very kind of you, Sir. I’d be delighted.”

“Meanwhile have some punch.” And without waiting for an answer, the Magistrate rang a bell.

“And how are Lady Fielding and Mary Ann?”

“Both well, though the girl’s a handful. We have more blades and bucks calling here than we have room for. Half the town is in love with her. But she, little madam, will have none of ‘em. I reckon the girl’s holding out for a high position.”

Just as I thought, considered the Apothecary. He cleared his throat. “She is indeed ravishingly pretty, Sir.”

“Old Lord Elibank fell for her and made a fool of himself,” the Beak continued with a slightly hollow laugh. “Why, the poor fellow is old enough to be her grandfather. But that didn’t stop him going for her, cap in hand.”

“And Mary Ann? How did she respond?”

“Spurned him I imagine. Anyway he limped off, very sorry for himself.” John thought that he had been right once more, that Lord Elibank had shown signs of being acutely uncomfortable at Sir Gabriel’s birthday party.

The Blind Beak sighed. “Daughters are a trouble, I assure you.”

John smiled ruefully. “I still have all that lying ahead.”

“Yes. Well, let’s hope that the next one is a boy.”

“I would quite like that, I must admit.”

There was a small knock and the door opened to reveal Elizabeth Fielding, carrying a tray on which was a jug of punch and two glasses.