by Deryn Lake
‘So,’ said the Blind Beak, ‘you have been successful?’
‘Yes and no, Sir.’
And John told him everything that had transpired in Sussex, right down to the smallest detail.
The Beak sat in silence for a while, the black bandage turned towards the window just as if he were looking out. ‘So it looks as if the Squire’s son could be the boy you are seeking.’
‘He practically fainted when I mentioned Vaux Hall, as did the Comtesse de Vignolles for that matter.’
‘You think that both of them were there?’
‘I’m positive of it.’
‘You have done well.’ The Blind Beak smiled at the Apothecary ruefully. ‘But there has been little progress here, I’m afraid. The identity of the Masked Lady still remains a mystery.’
‘I must confess that I tried following her from White’s last night and got nowhere for my pains.’
‘It is her habit to pay off her chairmen and then proceed on foot, I believe.’
‘Yes, and she sends her black boy off to act as decoy. She’s as cunning as a vixen, that one.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Her voice is strangely gruff,’ John continued pensively. ‘Do you think she is disguising an accent of some kind?’
‘Perhaps she is a man,’ said John Fielding with a laugh. ‘She certainly has a masculine character in the way she stays so ruthlessly calm.’
‘No, she’s a woman,’ John protested violently. ‘I’m absolutely certain of it. Her very atmosphere breathes femininity.’
Mr Fielding chuckled, a deep melodious sound. ‘I bow to your judgement. You have obviously been closer to her than I have.’
‘Yes,’ said John, and went bright red.
The Blind Beak became business-like. ‘Well, you have achieved much on Joe Jago’s list, my friend. I must congratulate you.’
‘But I am nowhere near solving the crime.’
‘On the contrary. You have discovered a great deal. When do you intend to return to Midhurst?’
‘Tomorrow morning, early.’
‘I imagine you will find out even more on your second visit. You say you have ingratiated yourself with the Squire’s spinster sister?’
‘I am taking her some medicine for dyspepsia.’
‘Excellent, she will no doubt be glad of a new face to look at and a new ear to bend. I am sure that she will be the source of much valuable gossip.’
‘I hope so.’ John got to his feet. ‘I shall come back to London as soon as I have learned something of interest. But, Mr Fielding . . .
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think the Masked Lady is involved? Do you include her in your list of suspects?’
The bandaged eyes turned towards John. ‘Anyone who keeps their true identity so well concealed and was also present on the night of the murder must indeed come under suspicion. I assure you that this Office will continue to watch her with hawk-like alertness.’
Chapter Eighteen
The fine weather vanished in the night and John woke to see pewter skies and deluging rain and soggy, sad trees in the gardens of Nassau Street. Creeping out of the house at daybreak in order to board one of the early flying coaches, he was forced to step through filth and garbage which washed down the streets in a noisome tide, averting his eyes as he did so from a particularly revolting dead dog which came floating slowly past him. Much as he loved London, it was almost a relief on this occasion to get aboard the postchaise and head out to the somewhat cleaner conditions of the Sussex countryside.
Slowed down by mud, the journey took longer than advertised and John did not arrive until after nightfall, bidding farewell to his three fellow passengers who, somewhat nervously, were bound for Chichester in the darkness.
‘Good luck,’ he called and waved his arm, glad to step into the warm and comfortable confines of The Spread Eagle and, after putting his bag in his room, head for the kitchen.
The fire had been lit on so wretched a night as this and seated before it, as good luck would have it, was Dickon of the wheezing chest. He looked up with a malevolent expression at the sound of a stranger approaching but on seeing John transformed his features into a grimace, as close to a grin as he would ever get.
‘Well, that done me some good, that liniment of yours. I reckon I’ll have another jar of that,’ he said, nodding.
‘I’ll fetch you some.’ And John made to go back upstairs.
Dickon laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘No, sit ye down, Sir. I’ll buy you some ale to show my content.’
‘Well, thank you,’ said John, and took a chair beside him.
It wasn’t difficult on this occasion to bring the conversation round to the black-hearted Lizzie, nor was it hard to get Dickon talking, his earlier suspicions of the Apothecary now having been allayed. In fact it seemed almost as if the man wanted to unburden himself in some way, and after a few moments John realised why.
‘You remember that girl I told you of, that Lizzie Harper who went to London? You never did meet her, did you, Sir?’
‘No, I never met her,’ the Apothecary answered truthfully.
‘Well, just steer clear if ever you do. She tempts a man, you know, and drags him down to ruin.’
John assumed his sympathetic face. ‘Surely she never tried her wiles on you?’
‘No, not on me, but on the husband of my poor sister-in-law, God rest her.’
‘Your brother, you mean?’
‘Bless you, I never did have no brother. No, I meant my dead sister-in-law’s husband, Jacob Benbow.’
John’s eyebrow’s, ever mobile at the best of times, flew across his forehead. ‘So Elizabeth Harper was related to you?’
‘Aye, she was my niece, as she was Jacob’s by marriage. But she led him on, she did, even when she was little more than a child. It broke my sister-in-law’s heart to see it and she died of grief.’
John shook his head. “I can’t quite work this out. How many sisters were there?’
‘Three. Lizzie’s mother, my wife and Jacob’s wife. Leastways, when the girl’s mother passed away it was between Jacob and me which took the child on. I can tell you, she’d have felt my belt about her. I’d never have mooned after her like Jacob did.’
‘No wonder you dislike her so much.’
‘I’m not the only one. What with the trouble she made in the Leagrave household and breaking poor Jemmy Groves’s heart, to say nothing of Eleanor’s, why I could have throttled the bitch.’
John took a chance. ‘Somebody has,’ he said.
Dickon stared at him. ‘What was that?’
‘Somebody has murdered her. It is true that I am an apothecary but I am also here investigating Lizzie’s death.’
Dickon’s eyes widened further. ‘Are you a constable?’
‘No, I work for John Fielding, Principal Magistrate of London.’
‘Then I’ll say no more to you. For I think whoever did it should be rewarded.’
John nodded. ‘I respect that view but none the less would like to ask you one final question, not really connected with the killing. It’s this. Was Eleanor Benbow’s body ever washed ashore?’
Dickon paused reflectively, then downed the contents of his tankard in a single swallow, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘No, Sir, it weren’t. And there’s some as say that without a body one can never be sure there’s been a death.’
‘Was she the type of female to do away with herself?’
‘No, Sir, she were not,’ Dickon answered firmly, and there the matter was allowed to rest.
Despite all John’s hopes for a fine day, the next morning was as dark and discouraging as the previous one, and it was with a feeling of trepidation that he set out for Court Green, the home of the Leagrave family. It was hardly the weather for gathering simples from a wild garden and yet he had little other excuse to call, except for the bottle of physick, wrapped in paper and tied neatly with string, a blob of wax sealing the ends, which he carried i
n his pocket. Onto the bottle itself, John had stuck a label which read, ‘Compounded by John Rawlings, Apothecary of Shug Lane.’
The lady of the house, much as he anticipated, was already about the mind-achingly dull tasks which comprised her daily life. Having, no doubt, made it her duty to give her brother and nephew a hearty breakfast in the comfort of the morning room, she was presently overseeing the servants as they followed their many pursuits around the establishment. This last, of course, combined with a stint in the kitchen, to say nothing of checking the menus, providing for her household and working in the still room. In the afternoon, when she could relax, Miss Leagrave would undoubtedly be taken up with her needle or paints, this to be followed perhaps by a little practice on the harpsichord so that the men of the household could be entertained while they slumped in front of the fire, exhausted after a hard day’s riding, a decanter at their side. Yet, John supposed, she was probably contented enough in her way.
Miss Leagrave received him in the small parlour, looking extremely flustered, a mobcap on her head to protect her hair from dust.
‘Oh la, I had not expected you quite so soon, Mr Rawlings,’ she said in somewhat accusatory tones.
He bowed. ‘My visit to London did not take as long as I thought. Forgive me, Madam. I was anxious to give you your bottle of physick.’ And he produced it with a flourish.
His hostess glanced out of the window at the dismal day. ‘And what of your wish to look at the garden?’
John assumed a stoical face. ‘Madam, I am used to all kinds of climatic conditions. It will make little difference to me. But, of course, if you desire to accompany me . . .’ He smiled endearingly. ‘ . . . just to point out those plants that I may not touch, I could not presume to ask you to get your feet wet. I shall call back another time.’
Miss Leagrave’s stern features relaxed slightly. ‘Perhaps you should wait a while to see if the rain passes. I can offer you some coffee. It may be only London fashion to drink it but my brother, the Squire, is very partial to the beverage.’
‘I would be honoured to have a cup,’ said John, ‘provided that you will take one with me.’
‘Well, I am very busy . . .’
‘Then I shall go.’
‘But perhaps I could spare a half hour or so. Pray take a seat, Sir, and I will ring the bell.’
‘How very kind,’ said John, and divesting himself of his cloak, settled himself in a chair by the fire which he felt certain belonged to the Squire.
‘Very comfortable,’ he said, stretching his legs. ‘How I envy you your country life.’
‘Really?’ responded Miss Leagrave in surprise. ‘Why?’
‘So peaceful and healthy. The streets of town were stinking with refuse when I left it.’
‘But surely one is prepared to endure that for the many compensations.’
‘You mean the theatres and assemblies, I take it? Or perhaps you refer to the various pleasure gardens? Or to the balls?’
‘All of them really,’ Miss Leagrave answered wistfully. ‘Of course we do have entertainments here but nothing on the scale of London’s gaiety.’
‘I must confess,’ answered John, taking the coffee which his hostess had just poured from a silver service brought in by a servant, ‘that I do have a certain partiality for Vaux Hall. Have you ever been for a visit, Madam?’
‘Oh yes, several times. But not for about a year or so.’
John shook his head and looked grim. ‘As I mentioned on my last visit, a very nasty incident took place there recently. Some poor wretch was murdered. A girl by the name of Elizabeth Harper.’
Miss Leagrave’s cup rattled violently in its saucer. ‘Elizabeth Harper? But how extraordinary!’
‘Why, surely you do not know her?’
‘A girl of that name once worked here as a servant. But that would be too great a coincidence to be believable.’
‘They say,’ said John, looking gossipy, ‘that the victim did indeed come from the country. That she had made her way to town to better herself. She was the mistress of a French nobleman, you know.’
‘Was she very beautiful, this murdered woman?’
‘Glorious, I believe,’ John answered, with an extravagant gesture. ‘A regular Helen of Troy.’
‘Then it has to be the same girl. How strange.’
‘A freakish chance, I’d say. Do tell, what was she like as a person?’
‘Cruel,’ said Miss Leagrave, tightening her lips. ‘Cruel and heartless. Every man was her prize, if you follow me.’
‘I do most certainly. How very shocking.’
‘She came here from the mill, the miller was her adopted father, you see. Some poor unhappy young man, a labourer called Jemmy Groves, was totally besotted with her, but, not content with that, the little minx set her cap at my own brother.’
‘How terrible!’
‘Oh yes. Of course he did not respond, being a sensible man of mature years, but the very thought of it was enough to make me dismiss her, though I did allow poor Eleanor to stay.’
‘Eleanor?’
‘Elizabeth’s cousin, who also worked here. The tension between them was enormous because of Jemmy – Eleanor believed herself in love with him – and in the end the situation erupted in the most unseemly manner.’
‘What happened?’
‘They came to blows in this very house, in the kitchen. Just as I was preparing to entertain guests.’
‘How inconsiderate,’ said John, his expression pained.
‘Lud, Mr Rawlings, it was frightful. The crashing and banging could be heard all over the building and when we rushed to see what it was, they were rolling upon the floor, clawing and biting.’
‘What did you do?’
‘It was my nephew, James, who separated them, being rather strong for his age. I must confess that I think he thought it amusing. Anyway, I had the wretched girl thrown out of doors and not long afterwards I heard she had gone to London.’ Miss Leagrave’s expression became earnest. ‘Do you really think it is the same Lizzie Harper, Mr Rawlings?’
‘From what you say, it sounds very likely.’
‘Then how small is the world.’
‘Uncannily so.’
Miss Leagrave gave him a narrowed glance. ‘One can hardly credit that fate should bring you, who knows so much about it, here, to the very place in which she worked.’
The lady was no fool and John knew it. None the less he felt unable to take her into his confidence, sensing that the Squire’s unmarried elder sister would fiercely protect her brother and nephew against all corners, even if it meant lying in order to do so.
He cleared his throat. ‘Life is full of inexplicable events, Miss Leagrave. Who knows what destiny guides our footsteps?’ He put down his cup. ‘And now I feel I have trespassed upon your time enough. With your permission I shall step into the garden, rain or no rain.’
Still with a look of suspicion about her, his hostess said, ‘I shall send one of the gardener’s boys to accompany you. He can, perhaps, be of assistance.’
And with that she swept from the room, leaving John in great doubt about whether he had said too much, so that Miss Leagrave had guessed something, if not all, of the truth.
Outside, the rain was falling as hard as ever, though there was in fact something rather beautiful and refreshing about it. Not caring whether he got soaked, John stood stock still, ignoring the boy, who stared at him open-mouthed as the Apothecary listened to the song of a thrush, then tilted his face upwards to be bedewed by drops. He appeared to be even more astonished when John dropped to his knees on the sodden grass and, with fingers quite small and delicate for a man’s, started to pluck at the fragile stems of the plants in order to fill his baskets.
‘How long are you planning on being out here, Sir?’ the boy asked, turning up the collar of his coat.
‘Till I’ve finished,’ John answered over his shoulder. ‘But you can go in if you like.’
‘More than my job’s wo
rth, that would be. The Mistress said not to leave your side.’
‘I can well imagine,’ John said with a cynical smile. He looked up at the boy, sweeping him with a forthright gaze. ‘Like gardening, do you?’
‘I do, Sir. I’ve a mind to be head gardener one day.’
‘Well, kneel down by me and I’ll show you what plants are used to make medicines. That might be useful information for you. It always pays to know more than your elders.’ The Apothecary plucked a primrose. ‘This flower produces many a good remedy. Were you aware of that?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘You ought to be, a boy of your age. Tell me, how old are you?’
‘Sixteen, Sir. One year older than Master James.’
‘Known him a long time, I suppose?’
‘Six years. I started work here when I was ten.’
‘Then you must have met Lizzie Harper.’
An extraordinary expression crossed the boy’s face, almost one of furtive excitement. ‘We don’t talk about her in this house.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’
‘The Mistress forbade us to.’
‘Because she fought with Eleanor?’
‘No, not for that. It was for the other thing.’
‘What other thing?’
But the boy had closed his mouth firmly, shaking his head. ‘No, Sir, I’m forbidden. If I tell I’ll be dismissed.’
‘I understand,’ said John, and turned his full attention to the gathering of his simples.
An hour later he had finished, by now wet through and caked with dirt. Bowing on the front door step, too unkempt to come into the house, John’s crooked smile flashed in his grimy face as he took his leave of Miss Leagrave.
‘My dear lady, how can I thank you enough? I only hope that my physick brings you relief from your ills. Should you require any more bottles, which I shall be happy to present to you as a gift, please send word to The Spread Eagle. I shall be there for a few more days.’
‘Have you found all you were seeking?’ asked Miss Leagrave, very pointedly John thought.
He decided to answer in an equally barbed manner. ‘Not quite all, Madam. There are still one or two things left to discover.’