Death on the Rocks (18 page)

‘Leaving so soon, young Sir?’ he said, his voice very slow and deep.

‘Yes, I’m not feeling too well.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, Sir. Would you like to sit down somewhere?’

‘No, no thank you. I think I’ll just get some fresh air.’

‘I wouldn’t advise that, Sir. It’s a very cold night and you might get a chill. Come with me to the parlour and I will get a servant to bring you a glass of cordial.’

‘No, really …’

‘I’m sorry, Sir. I insist.’

There was menace lying beneath his tone and John, with great reluctance, followed him down a narrow passageway and into a most opulent study. There were books lining the shelves and standing in piles on the floor. There was also a handsome globe and various maps of the world spread about the room. Indeed John could not think of a more contrasting place to find oneself in, having just left the fantasy of Miss Molly’s honeymoon hotel. There was a large desk in the centre of the room with a handsome fellow of about twenty-five or so sitting at it. He raised his eyebrows as John was hurtled inside.

‘Good gracious,’ he said, his voice cultured and pleasant. ‘What have we here?’

‘Someone who wanted to leave, Master,’ answered the negro.

‘But people are free to come and go as they wish, Samson. I’ve always told you that.’

‘I know you have, Master. But this cove was acting suspiciously.’

‘In what way?’

‘I can’t exactly say. But there was something rum about him.’

The man behind the desk gave a little laugh. ‘Well, I think it is very impolite of you, Samson, to presume such things. Allow me to introduce myself, Sir. My name is Peter Herbert.’ He slid down from the desk and gave a little bow.

John stared incredulously. The man was a dwarf. Perfect in both body and face, his legs were no more than two feet long. At full height his head came to John’s waistline. The Apothecary almost forgot to bow, he was so surprised.

‘You look startled. Why, may I ask?’

‘Forgive me. It is just that you are not the sort of person I expected to see running an establishment like this.’

Mr Herbert gave a short laugh. ‘Do you mean the fact that I am a dwarf? Or do I look too straight-laced for such an enterprise?’

‘Both really,’ John admitted.

‘Actually my mother owns it. I just stand in for her when she’s out. I am by trade a book-keeper for the Merchant Venturers. Don’t look so askance. My mama was a great courtesan in her day and was a very wise and kindly woman, believe it or not.’

‘I’m finding all this rather difficult to take in,’ said John. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘Of course, of course. Have a brandy. You’ve gone a little pale.’

The little man put a glass in the Apothecary’s hand, then said, ‘You don’t look the type to be frequenting a nan-boys’ brothel. What are you really doing here?’

‘I’m just curious.’

‘I see.’ Peter Herbert sipped his drink, his legs swinging above the floor. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he stated, then went on, ‘I think you came here for a purpose. Now what is it?’

For no reason that he could pinpoint, John trusted him. Before he knew it he had told Peter the entire story of the Earl of St Austell’s wedding feast and the two hired assassins. ‘One of whom is now working here as a male prostitute,’ he concluded.

The little man put his glass down and placed his fingertips together. ‘This is a serious story. But I only have your word for it. Samson, fetch Curlylocks in here.’

A more unfortunate soubriquet for the wretched Herman Cushen John could not imagine.

Samson, who had been standing like a statue during this conversation, hardly breathing, left the room on the double but returned only a minute later with the message that Curlylocks was working and had been booked for the night. John was never quite certain whether this was the truth or a hastily made excuse, but whatever the reality Peter Herbert shook his head.

‘Then I am afraid that I can do nothing to help you. To disturb a boy who is busy would be more than my dear mama could allow. Would you like to return tomorrow?’

John gave a hidden sigh, temporarily beaten. ‘Perhaps. But if not tomorrow then another day.’

‘Then it is possible we shall meet again. But if I am not here you will have the pleasure of my mother’s company. Because if you are going to take poor Curlylocks away, she will have to be consulted first.’

It sounded terrible, John thought, imagining himself facing some ghastly old harridan. However he smiled bravely.

‘I look forward to meeting her.’

‘It will be an experience you won’t forget.’

As Samson showed him down the passageway to the front door, John turned to him. ‘Tell me, were you by any chance once a black boy to Lady Tyninghame?’

The man’s face underwent a complete transformation. ‘You know her? You know that sweet lady?’

‘Reasonably well,’ John lied.

‘I was once her servant and I loved her. She was like a mother to me. But she had to let me go when that bitter time came for her. But you know all about that, of course.’

John nodded, wishing he did.

‘I worked in various shops but in the end I came here. Master Herbert is good to me – and so is the old dame, though the poor soul thinks she’s still a rare beauty.’ Samson gave a short laugh. ‘As to the boys, well, as long as they leave me alone I say good luck to ’em.’

‘You’re right. If that is their choice, if that is what makes them happy, then so be it.’

‘Not everyone thinks like us, Mr Rawlings. The bigwigs of Bristol and their wives get very hot under the collar about such things.’

‘The world never stopped turning for the opinions of the mighty. But Samson, do you live in or have you lodgings?’

‘I lodge near The Seven Stars, Sir.’

‘Then perhaps we can talk further somewhere else. Do you get any free time?’

‘I get a day off once a month.’

‘When is your next one?’

‘Soon, Sir. This coming Friday.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘Probably in The Seven Stars.’

‘I’ll see you there at about noon.’

‘Very good, Sir.’

And Samson opened the front door.

As he walked back to The Rummer Inn in All Saints Lane, the Apothecary’s thoughts turned once more to Elizabeth. Looking up at the crowded stars that dazzled his eyes from the blackness of the heavens, he wondered about the reality of God. Was He really there, in charge of all the millions of potential lives that those glittering points of light might house? Or was He a myth, a legend, created to pacify mankind, to keep him from dreading too much the fear of death? John, humble mortal that he was, had no answer, no knowledge to help him. Only a small prayer to whatever it was that some part of Elizabeth’s spirit would remain with him always.

Gone was the introspective thinking of the night before. John woke early, determined to find the answer to the puzzle of who had murdered the unknown man who called himself Augustus Bagot. Over a hearty breakfast he considered the options. If the murderer had held a grudge against the fat man, then there were several possibilities: Mr Huxtable, tired of the oaf who had taken up residence in his house; Commodore, the slave who had known the real Gus and who had loved him; and last, but very far from least, there was that most elegant and wickedly attractive man, Sir Julian Wychwood, who had fallen out with the pretender over a box in the theatre. Coming to the real Gus Bagot, who had lived and loved to the full in Bristol before taking ship to New Zealand, there was the definite possibility that he had caused someone great offence and the wrong man had answered for Gus’s crime.

In that regard John had only been given one name, Sir Charles Tavener, who had beaten young Gus to a pulp because of his advances to his sister. Yet the note he had seen in the fat man’s hand had been written in a rough script and the words ‘We’ll be coming soon’ pointed to several people ganging together. And then there was the problem of Lady Tyninghame. A delicate creature with a strange and questionable past, yet what was her relationship with the dazzling Sir Julian Wychwood? Every instinct John had told him that there was a bond between them. Had Sir Julian been the young lover mentioned as part of the lady’s downfall? With much on his mind the Apothecary ate a good meal and then ventured forth into the Bristol docks.

The first person he chanced to meet was young Henry Tavener, who was sauntering along with his dog Tray held firmly on a leash. He stopped and stared aghast at John’s extraordinary outfit, provided by the wardrobe at the Playhouse.

‘Are you in disguise again?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Yes. I am supposed to blend in with the inhabitants of the Bristol waterfront.’

Henry bellowed a laugh. ‘Gadso, whatever did they have in mind? You look like a crushed mustard seed.’

John gave a wry grin. ‘Thanks so much. You can borrow it if ever you feel the need. Merry quips aside, have you any gossip for me? I am desperate for leads.’

Henry looked terribly serious, an expression which ill became him. ‘Do you know that since that conversation we had the other day, I am convinced that I am Gus Bagot’s son.’

‘Why is that?’

‘It all fits too neatly. My mother refusing to tell me who my real mother was and being jovial about my uncle’s little misdemeanour. I’m sure that none of it is true and they probably bought me from some poor drab selling me at the dockside.’

‘Oh surely not. I think your imagination is running away with you.’

Henry gave a hollow laugh, and by way of changing the subject John asked, ‘Have you met Julian Wychwood yet?’

‘Oh, you mean Lady Tyninghame’s lover?’

John was instantly alert. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘I saw them at the ball last night. They were chatting so pleasantly and she was looking at him with adoring eyes. And when the dance was done he offered her his arm and she clung to it like a dying bird.’

‘What an odd description.’

‘Yes,’ said Henry, thinking about it. ‘But that was how it struck me at the time. She’s terribly frail, isn’t she?’

‘Yet she drew a bad hand of cards, I believe.’

‘You refer to her tragic life?’ John nodded. ‘My Mama knows more about it than I do.’ Henry paused, thinking, the effort of which made him frown deeply. ‘I say, why don’t you come and meet my mother. We live in Queen Square, but she’s currently in the Hotwell for a few days. Tray and I were going to take the boat back. In fact, that is where we’re off to at this very moment. Come and join us.’

‘I’ve left my baggage at The Rummer.’

‘Well, we’ll go there and have a bumper and catch the following boat. They ply regularly when the tide is high.’

John pondered, and decided he could probably learn more from Lady Tavener than he could from nosing round Bristol.

‘A capital plan,’ he said, and watched as poor Tray, who had fallen asleep, was abruptly jerked back into action.

On the way back on the ferry boat they sat side by side, Henry sipping from a hip flask, John staring once more at the awe-inspiring scenery. It was truly like being in the Alps, he thought, the rugged cliffs rising on both sides, covered with furze, gorse and wildwood, with a flock of sheep bravely clinging on and chewing the fine grasses beneath their hooves. It was completely beautiful and the Apothecary found himself dwelling on the fact that one day modern man would undoubtedly ruin the terrain in some squalid way.

An hour later found him washed, shaved and dressed in a sober suit of dark blue ready to meet Henry’s adopted mother, residing in her gracious apartment situated in Lebeck House. She looked delighted to see her son, but her face fell somewhat when she saw that he was with a friend.

‘Mother, I want you to meet a new acquaintance of mine, Mr John Rawlings, an apothecary from London.’

‘How dee do?’ she said, and held out a pale, middle-aged hand on which the blue veins stood out.

John bent to kiss it, and as he drew closer the sparkle of jewels glittered in his eyes. Lady Tavener certainly had her fair share of diamonds and other sparklers. Having straightened up he made his best bow. She, meanwhile, had raised her quizzing glass and was giving him a thorough investigation.

She was a medium woman – in height, build, looks, personality and reaction to others. Only when her adopted son came near did she actually blossom and show animation. Now she laughed with pleasure as he threw her a fleeting kiss on the cheek and said, ‘
Maman
, dearest, I have met Mr Rawlings on several occasions and like him enormously. I do hope that you will too.’

‘Anyone to whom you give your companionship is always welcome at my house. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir.’

‘As I am yours, Milady,’ answered John, and bowed once more.

It was about four o’clock and Lady Tavener had ordered a small round of sandwiches to keep away the fear of starvation between breakfast and dinner. With this she had a jug of lemonade, but Henry had already poured two glasses of dry sherry from the decanter which stood on the sideboard.

‘You’ll ruin your liver,’ she said with a fond smile.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll have an extra glass of the water tomorrow,’ he answered, and whirled round the room to take a chair beside hers.

She turned towards John. ‘Are you here for your health, Mr Rawlings?’

‘Yes and no. I actually accompanied my father – you may have met him, Sir Gabriel Kent – to the Hotwell. But I have taken the health-giving waters and met some jolly company since I arrived.’

She sighed. ‘Ah yes, Sir Gabriel. Now he is one of what I call the old school. You modern creatures do nothing but seek pleasure all the time.’

Henry laughed and said, ‘But what else is life for? It’s brief enough. We may as well make the best of it.’

The Apothecary sat in silence, thinking that in his short existence he had known much sorrow as well as much mirth, and he felt sad for Henry that he would spend his precious time on earth without ever touching the heights or the depths. But before he could wander into deep philosophy Lady Tavener spoke again.

‘And what do you think of Bristol society, Mr Rawlings?’

‘Very interesting. A somewhat mixed bag, I would say.’