Death at the Boston Tea Party

by Deryn Lake

  ‘Tell me, Sir, what is your business here? Are you trying to sell something?’

  To hell with enchantment, he thought, and answered her very directly. ‘Madam, I am here about one of your servants who was involved in the kidnap of my young daughter t’other night. Would you be so kind as to tell me whether Nell Kinsley is below in your kitchens?’

  Lady Anne raised her delicate brows and gave the Apothecary a penetrating glance. Instantly he was able to see why the colonel had singled out just such a woman to live with him while he served out his allotted time in Boston. She was, without doubt, incredibly pretty.

  ‘I think not,’ she answered, then turning to the colonel’s sister, said, ‘My dearest Augusta, there is no need to fear. This man has not come to attack us but you are obviously deeply distressed. Why do you not retire and I will get Carstairs to bring you a little restorative cordial.’

  ‘I thank you, my dear, but I wish to stay. I do not trust the fellow and you might need my protection.’

  Anne laughed. ‘Then sit over there and watch developments while Mr …?’

  ‘Rawlings, Ma’am.’

  ‘Rawlings and I discuss his problem.’

  She sat down and looked elegant. After a moment the horse folded herself on to a small chaise longue which let out a tiny squeak of protest. John waited till they were seated and then perched on the edge of a hard chair.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ said Lady Anne, and gave him a charming smile.

  The Apothecary found himself recounting everything – indeed, confiding much more than he had intended. She listened attentively while the horrible horse made scoffing sounds deep within her chest – a most disturbing interruption.

  ‘And so that, Milady, is exactly what transpired. I think it is quite urgent that I speak to Nell and find out who she was working for.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I quite agree. I shall personally go and quiz the staff as to her whereabouts.’

  ‘Might I come with you?’ John asked, feeling somewhat nervous at the thought of being left alone with the colonel’s sister, who was clearly deranged.

  Milady caught his eye and read it correctly. ‘By all means. Augusta, you watch the door while I am gone.’

  But there was not much news to be gathered below stairs. All the information they could give the mistress of the house was that Nell had not come in for work and nobody knew anything. However, an address was given – Cow Lane, one of the places situated in the area lying to the south of Boston. John’s heart sank as he heard it, wondering how he would find his way amongst the many houses that had been erected in that area. However, having made his polite farewells to Lady Anne, who smiled helpfully, and to Augusta, who looked ready to chew him, the Apothecary hurried down the street, intent on making his confrontation with Rose’s kidnapper happen sooner rather than later. But he slowed his pace as a large printed notice came into his line of vision.

  It read as follows: ‘Monsieur Piemont, French Peruke Maker to the Gentry and general Barber, has pleasure in announcing that Mr Charles Shirley of England has joined him as an Assistant Friseur and Facotum. His services are available now.’

  John hesitated, his rapid stride decreasing as he spied Lady Eawiss through the front window. Knowing that she lived in the vicinity of south Boston, he wondered if she could tell him how to find the place he was seeking. Looking for an excuse to enter the barber’s, he fingered his chin, realizing that he had forgotten to shave that morning. Small wonder that Augusta had regarded him with such a suspicious eye – she had probably put him down as a vagrant. Without further ado, John marched into Monsieur Piemont’s.

  It was overflowing, quite literally, with Lady Eawiss, who had come in in preparation for her wedding. A vast array of false yellow curls stood cascading down a stand, clearly designed by Monsieur Piemont, who stood fussing around his client, who was busy criticizing everything.

  ‘I don’t know if they will quite become me, Monsieur. Would they look too artificial?’

  ‘Mais non. If I may pay you the little compliment, Madam, you are beautiful enough to carry any style. These tumbling fair locks will make you look twenty again – or even younger.’

  ‘What is your opinion, Monsieur Charles?’

  The other man, a tall, dark, languid fellow with a pitted face and a pair of eyes the colour of ebony, drawled, ‘Perhaps Lady Eawiss would prefer a hat atop.’

  ‘With the curls below, surely?’ answered Monsieur Piemont testily.

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. But then if Milady wishes to emulate the latest fashions of London …’

  ‘Oh, I do, Sir. That is where my heart is. And as soon as my future husband – he is a major, don’t you know – retires from the bustle of army life, we will return to my late husband’s estates. They were at Sutton Valence and he was Sir Bevis Eawiss, of course.’

  The other man, presumably Mr Charles Shirley, raised his eyebrows, which were moon-shaped and looked well attended, but made no reply.

  ‘I would be so obliged to you, Sah, if you could trick me out with the very latest thing from Londres.’ She laughed gaily.

  ‘Then I would suggest that we put on your head a cushion, on which we will place Monsieur Piemont’s waterfall of curls and then, according to my lady’s mood, we can decide to dress the hair a la Zodiaque, a la Frivolite or even design it into the shape of a ship or, perhaps, a birdcage.’ He gave a sudden irrational laugh. ‘Which we could even fill with a canary for your wedding day.’

  John, who absolutely nobody had noticed, watched the expressions of delight flit one after the other over Lady Eawiss’s podgy cheeks. She clasped her hands together in supplication.

  ‘Oh, please, Monsieur Charles, I can think of nothing better than a birdcage with a songbird within to express my sheer delight to my bridegroom. Will you do it for me, I beg of you.’

  Charles flashed his sardonic eyes at his employer, gave a mock bow and answered, ‘If my master will allow it.’

  The Frenchman, who was clearly none too pleased that his creation was to be toyed with, gave a brief nod and answered, ‘Of course, my dear fellow. That was what I employed you for.’

  John said into the sudden silence that followed, ‘Please may I have a shave?’

  An hour later he emerged sweet smelling and smooth skinned, leaving Lady Eawiss uttering little shouts of pleasure as Mr Shirley, assisted by a boy, wrestled manfully with a large cushion, a bunch of assorted ribbons, a handful of jewels, a nest of pearls, four huge ostrich feathers and a terrified canary.

  Making his way towards the southern part of town, John picked his way amongst the small houses – if they could indeed be named that – for they stood packed closely together, as bad as the hovels of the North End where the sanitation flowed freely from one privy into the next. Lady Anne had not been given a number, so all the Apothecary could do was follow directions and look for a dwelling that seemed inhabited and knock. A woman stood outside one, manfully doing her best to chop a few logs. She was wrapped in a miserable shawl and was shivering in the bitter weather that threatened yet more snow.

  John called out, ‘Can I help you?’

  She gave him a gaze of pure terror and answered, ‘And what will be your price?’

  He stood askance. ‘I was only offering you some assistance. I don’t want rewarding.’

  She softened, very slightly. ‘I thought strange men always wanted a reward.’

  ‘If you mean do I want some favour from you, the answer is no. I was merely offering to help you with your task. But as you do not wish it I will be on my way.’ He strode off with dignity.

  A few seconds later she called after him. ‘Please, Sir, I didn’t mean any offence. But you can’t be too careful in these times.’

  John turned, bowed a little and said, ‘None taken, Madam. Now, if I may chop your logs for you?’

  She eyed him warily but nonetheless handed him the axe and John set about hewing a few pieces from the rather recalcitrant bit of timber that the poor wom
an had been hacking at.

  Eventually she said, ‘Would you like a glass of ale?’

  John wiped his brow with his sleeve. ‘If it’s no trouble.’

  ‘None at all.’

  She disappeared into the house and the Apothecary, watching her retreating form, thought how thin she was and how drab, a pathetic specimen of womanhood. She returned a few minutes later and handed him a rough glass with some pale yellow liquid inside it. John eyed it curiously, thinking that it looked horribly like urine but despite that taking a tentative sip. It was surprisingly good, redolent with apples and a touch of cloves. He finished the glass and handed it back to the girl.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do you know Nell Kinsley at all?’

  ‘Do you mean the cobbler’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes, that’s her,’ John improvised. ‘I was hoping to call on her.’

  The woman surprisingly winked a knowing eye. ‘I knew you were up to no good. You had that look about you. Well, you’re a bit late, Sir. She’s hooked up with a soldier boy.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am aware of all that,’ the Apothecary answered, winking back madly. ‘It was just that I hoped to talk to her but the cunning little vixen would not tell me which number she lived at.’

  The woman extended a grubby brown hand. ‘She lives next door, my friend. And I wish you luck of her.’

  ‘Why? Don’t you like her?’

  ‘I am being honest when I say I can’t stick the sight of her.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘’Cos she’s stuck up, that’s why.’

  ‘Gives herself airs, does she?’

  ‘And some.’

  ‘Which side did you say she lived, because I will tell her to mind her manners.’

  The woman gave a grin which displayed a few rotting brown stumps and gesticulated with her thumb. ‘That way.’

  John gave her another bow, thanked her for the ale and turned to his right, knocking loudly on the neighbouring door. A woman answered and he knew at once that he had found his quarry. Rapidly quelling an overwhelming urge to hit her, John said, ‘So we meet again, Nell Kinsley.’

  ‘What do you want of me?’

  John put his foot in the entrance. ‘I would like to have a word, please. In private.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Business.’ And he bared his teeth at her in a smile that did not bode well.

  She went to slam the door on him but the Apothecary was too quick and hurled himself forward and into her meagre parlour. Then he forgot his good manners and seized her arm roughly.

  You bitch,’ he hissed. ‘You could have cost my daughter her life. Why did you do it, eh, Miss Kinsley, or should I call you Sopwith? How much were you paid?’

  She looked defiant but her skin had blanched skeletal white. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  John’s attractive face had contorted so that now he presented an almost demonic look. ‘Unless you tell me the name of the man behind the plot I shall have no hesitation in strangling you to death.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ she answered, insolent to the end.

  ‘Oh, would I not.’ And he put his hands to her throat.

  She fought him and just for a moment the Apothecary considered the idea of actually killing her. But then all that he had ever been taught by his beloved father, Sir Gabriel Kent, came surging back and he knew that to take the life of this wretched creature, smaller than he was and weaker, would have been stepping into another realm of being. He loosened his grip though still holding her captive.

  ‘Tell me. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. The luring of my daughter Rose away from her school and out to the Mill Cove where you abandoned her to her fate. How could you have done that, you cold-hearted whore?’

  ‘Because that was what I was paid for. I didn’t know what was to happen next, did I?’

  ‘And who paid you?’

  She met his eyes. ‘I don’t know, and that’s God’s honest truth. I’d never seen him before in my life. He came up to me on the Common and asked me if I would play my part in a little trick he was going to spring on his friend.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Yes, I did, Sir. Heaven help me but I thought he was playing straight.’

  John relaxed his grip a little. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘That’s the point. I’d never seen him before, nor since. He was a complete stranger.’

  ‘Then why did you do it? Why enact your part in some masquerade for the benefit of a man you did not know?’

  She lowered her gaze. ‘Because I needed the money, that’s why. Haven’t you ever felt that? Been so poor you didn’t know where the next penny was coming from?’

  ‘But surely the colonel pays you a living wage?’

  ‘I wanted extra for a new dress. I’m going to get married to Private Sopwith and I longed to be turned out smart for the occasion.’

  She looked at him again and he saw that her eyes were awash with tears. In that instant most of the Apothecary’s animosity dwindled away and he released his hold on her.

  ‘Is what you are saying true?’

  ‘I swear it on my mother’s grave.’

  He motioned her to a chair and sat down opposite, staring at her most seriously. ‘You say the man was totally unknown.’

  ‘Yes. He must be a new arrival. A ship came from England the other day. He was probably on board.’

  ‘Somehow I doubt that. It’s more than likely that he has been lying low somewhere.’

  He stood up and leant over the girl who gazed up at him, nervous again.

  ‘In future, however hard up you are, do not lower yourself to take part in any affair of which you do not know the whole circumstance. My child could have been killed and if she had been I would have laid half the blame at your door. Be warned, Miss Kinsley. You have played with fire and got away with only minor burns. Next time you might be consumed by the flames.’

  And with that he walked from her front door and never saw her again.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Much had been made by George Glynde and Tracey Tremayne of their forthcoming ball to celebrate Twelfth Night. People were enjoined, by way of posters pasted liberally throughout the town, to wear their finest frippery and feathers, gems and gewgaws, frills and furbelows. Gentlemen were warned that evening dress would be required and that admittance could be refused at the entrance to those not properly attired.

  Rose had been talking about it ever since Christmas, begging her father to buy her a ticket and protesting that she felt quite grown-up enough to attend. Irish Tom, determined to win the heart of Suzanne and settle down at last, had hired a suit of ill-fitting clothes from a man shorter than he was by several inches. John, on the other hand, had gone to his favourite tailor and had ordered a suit in shimmering purple brocade, richly shot with pink, its sumptuous jacket being cut with the tails somewhat drawn to the back. For Rose he had asked the dressmaker to create a simple but vibrant gown in emerald green. When she had tried it on he had been forcibly struck by how well the colour became his daughter’s beautiful abundance of red hair.

  By means of working hard and diligently and thereby building up a good clientele of patients, many of whom were recommended by Dr Warren, who frequently named John as the dispensing apothecary, he had at last paid off his debt to Lady Eawiss – she who had firmly held on to her redoubtable portmanteau and thus had been the only person with any money amongst the raggle-taggle group that had made their way to Boston. Now, John thought, two of that group had been murdered by a person or persons unknown. Irish Tom could obviously be cleared of all suspicion but as to the rest – who knew?

  He thought about them all now. There was Julian Wychwood, apparently a dandified fop, but was that all there was to him? There was Matthew, who had killed a deer without remorse – could he have substituted a human for the animal? There was ugly little Suzanne – what hidden side had she? Was pretty Jane Hawthorne really as demure as she seemed? Ap
parently not. For who but a wanton would take an Indian brave for her lover? Lady Eawiss was really too large to consider. Yet despite her size, was she capable of slashing the knife? And what of George and Tracey, that most elegant pair of ripsters? John thought of them and a smile played about his lips for a moment before he compressed them into a thin, unrelenting line.

  On the night of the grand ball John and Rose took a hackney coach, the stand for which stood outside the Orange Tree Tavern, and went to fetch Coralie from her home before making their way to the concert hall which stood on the south corner of Hanover and Court Streets. It had been built by Stephen Deblois, a musician, for the purpose of concerts, dancing and various other entertainments. It had been hired tonight by that duo of charming dancing masters and had been decorated throughout in grand and wondrous style. On arriving at the door, John presented his tickets and was scrutinized thoroughly, as were the two ladies, by a huge man clad in sombre black. They were then admitted into the glittering ballroom.

  George and Tracey, cooing like a pair of glorious doves, stepped forward to greet the Apothecary personally.

  ‘My dear John, how lovely to see you, and Madame Clive, looking even more beautiful, if such a thing t’were possible. And surely this cannot be Miss Rose?’

  ‘Oh, but it is,’ put in Tracey, who tonight wore the white enamel make-up, his lips heavily carmined.

  ‘My goodness me, but she is grown into a regular beauty. Quite the tempting armful, ’pon my word.’

  John smiled and said, ‘Careful, my dear Sir. Someone might throw a rub in your way.’

  Was it his imagination or did George’s eyes narrow a fraction before he bowed and moved away with his friend to greet some new entrants? But the music was striking up and the aged fop who the couple hired regularly to act as master of ceremonies was calling out, ‘Take your partners, please, for the gavotte.’

  Rose was immediately surrounded by young men, and though she admitted she did not know the steps was reassured that neither did they, but that they would be called out. Bowing politely to her father, her partner, who had beaten the others to Rose’s side by a fraction of a second, whisked her away. The Apothecary, who had been most fond of dancing whilst living in London, led Coralie out with a flourish, all bows and claps, which she acknowledged with a smile from behind her fan.