by Deryn Lake
She twitched her eyebrows and said nothing, and John had no option but to take his leave, trudging off through the rain, well aware that any further visits to Court Green would probably have to be made in secret.
The next obvious move would appear to be a confrontation with James Leagrave, including a search in his clothes press, seeking the coat from which the piece of material had been torn, even though John was beginning to despair of this line of enquiry. So far, not one of the men in the case had owned a garment even resembling the fragment, and he was fast coming to the conclusion that the killer was aware of what had happened and had disposed of the evidence. However, there was still a chance that the torn coat was being hidden somewhere, and he was not quite ready to give up the search without one further attempt at finding it. Hands in his pockets, John plodded through the rain, marshalling his thoughts.
There was no apparent motive for James wanting to kill Lizzie, despite Sir Gabriel’s belief that the boy could well have nursed a youthful passion for her. Yet John’s chat with Miss Leagrave had revealed one new and very interesting fact. The murdered girl had thrown herself at the Squire who had, apparently, refused her.
‘But I wonder,’ thought John, ‘I just wonder about that.’ Then big mind went on to the task before him and he braced his shoulders.
Before he left London, John Fielding had asked that the Apothecary should take it upon himself to break the news of Elizabeth Harper’s death to her adopted father.
‘I’m afraid you must act in your official capacity, Mr Rawlings. A most unpleasant duty, but there it is.’
‘Then I will have to reveal to him the fact that I lied when we last met,’ John had protested.
‘Not lied, merely did not tell all the truth,’ the Blind Beak had answered urbanely, and there the matter had been allowed to rest. And now the moment had come. Pulling his watch from an inner pocket, John saw that he had spent so long in the wild garden that he had missed dinner completely, and decided there and then to go to the mill and get the awful task over.
It was almost dark by the time he reached his destination, though not so much because of the lateness of the hour as the general gloom of the day. The great wheel was silent once more, the milling having been done that morning, but John gazed anxiously at the swollen pond, thinking how treacherous it would be to miss one’s footing in the darkness. Just as uneasy as he had been on the last occasion he had come to this place, he knocked softly on the cottage door.
Jacob Benbow answered almost immediately and stood swaying in the opening, his hair and body as drenched as John’s, proving that he, too, had recently been walking in the rain.
‘Yes?’ he said belligerently, and the Apothecary could tell by his slurred speech and general demeanour that the man was well on the way to being drunk.
‘Rawlings, Master,’ John answered politely. ‘I wonder if I might step inside a moment out of the downpour.’
The miller stared into the gloom. ‘Who the devil are you?’ he asked unpleasantly.
‘John Rawlings, the apothecary who came here the other day.’
‘Oh yes, I remember. The flower gatherer. You’d better come in.’
And with that Jacob stepped back to allow John into the cottage, where he stood in the humble room, the water dripping from his clothes forming a puddle round his feet.
The Apothecary cleared his throat, trying to look as solemn as he could with a trickle of water running down his nose. ‘Master Benbow, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you,’ he began.
The miller looked at him blankly, as if he hadn’t understood a word his visitor said.
‘It’s about your adopted daughter, Elizabeth Harper,’ John continued bravely.
‘Elizabeth?’ Jacob repeated hoarsely. ‘You have word of her? Dear God, I never thought I’d live to see the day.’
‘The tidings are not good, I’m afraid. I lied to you previously when I told you I knew nothing of her. The fact is that I do have information, quite a good deal of it, but it is not pleasant. The truth, Master Benbow, is that Elizabeth is dead.’
‘Bastard!’ screamed the miller. ‘Blackguard! Knave!’ And seizing John’s collar in a huge ham of a fist, he swung him into the air, his feet kicking helplessly above the floor.
‘For God’s sake, man,’ John gasped, half choking. ‘I am only the messenger. If you kill me you’ll have to answer to John Fielding, London’s Principal Magistrate. For I am his representative and he’ll come looking for me, rest assured.’
‘You’re a liar and a thief,’ Benbow continued, the veins bulging on his forehead. ‘Nobody tells me that my girl is dead. Nobody, d’ye hear?’
‘Did you love her that much?’ panted John, spots swimming before his eyes.
‘Aye, I did,’ Benbow answered, and then as suddenly as he had picked the Apothecary up, he released him again and sat down hard in the wooden chair beside the rough-hewn table.
Gulping for air, John watched as the miller thrust his head into his hands and heaved with sobs. ‘Oh no,’ he kept repeating. ‘Oh no, oh no.’
‘Look,’ the Apothecary said as sympathetically as he could in view of the fact that the man had half choked him. ‘I know you worshipped the ground she walked on, probably more so than was natural in the circumstances. But the fact remains that somebody hated your adopted daughter enough to kill her. For that’s the truth. Elizabeth was murdered, and now you have been told it all.’
Jacob wept bitterly. ‘If only you had known her. Her beauty and her grace. No man could resist her, I tell you. I know what I did was wrong but I couldn’t control myself.’ A dark eye swivelled in John’s direction. ‘You didn’t know her, did you? You’re not one of her lovers pretending to represent the law?’
John shook his head. ‘No, I’m dealing straight with you, and I apologise that I did not do so on the last occasion we met.’
Benbow did not answer, merely continuing to weep.
‘Listen,’ John said quietly, ‘I am not here to sit in moral judgement of you. I am a man like any other. But for all that I am duty bound to ask you certain questions. Would you prefer me to come back tomorrow when you are more in control of yourself?’
Jacob looked up, his eyes still pouring. ‘No, ask away. Let all the filth come out if it must.’
‘Right.’ John took a seat opposite him and poured out two beakers of ale from the pitcher that stood on the table. ‘Firstly, you were her lover, I suppose?’
‘Yes, yes,’ answered the wretched man brokenly. ‘I corrupted her when she was scarce more than a child. I have lived with the shame ever since.’
‘Perhaps,’ the Apothecary answered in a very quiet voice, ‘she wanted you to make love to her. After all, you were not tied by blood.’
‘No, but I had the responsibility for her welfare and I grossly betrayed that trust. I am less than the dust and must carry my scar to the grave.’
A thought occurred to John and he asked, ‘Did Eleanor know what was going on?’
Jacob’s head came up and he looked at his questioner properly for the first time. ‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’
‘It was just an idea I had. And tell me one thing more. Was Eleanor’s body ever washed ashore?’
‘No, it wasn’t. Why are you asking these things?’
‘Because I want to assure myself that she really is dead. How do you know that she didn’t wander off somewhere? What proof have you?’
‘None, except that my daughter wouldn’t do that to me.’ And then the miller obviously made the connection between John’s earlier question and this and gave the Apothecary a startled look.
‘Be that as it may, would it be possible for me to visit her room before I go?’
The miller shook his head, the water glistening on his matted curls. ‘What good would that do?’
‘None, probably. It’s simply that I would like to get some idea of what she was like and seeing her things might help me.’
‘Very well.’ Benbow si
ghed heavily. ‘I’ll take you up before you leave. And then will you have done with me, Sir?’
‘Almost,’ said John soothingly. ‘There’s one more thing. Confirm for me if you will that Elizabeth’s beauty brought its share of enemies.’
‘Aye, that it did. Men desired her and women were jealous. A fierce and powerful combination.’
‘Indeed it is.’
The miller paused, then said slowly, ‘Do you think there’s a chance my Eleanor could still be alive, Sir?’
‘Who knows?’ John answered, as he followed Jacob Benbow up the wooden spiral to the place where both Lizzie and Eleanor had once shared an overcrowded bedroom.
Chapter Nineteen
It stopped raining as night fell. John, glad of the time and the solitude which walking gave him, made his way along the wooded path leading to Midhurst, his mind teeming with ideas, by far the most powerful of which was the extraordinary impression created on him by Eleanor Benbow’s few possessions. He had stooped his way into the narrow confines of the little attic room and looked about him, to see that one bed and its accompanying shelf had been stripped, cleared, only the belongings of one girl remaining in evidence. John had turned to Jacob questioningly.
‘All Eleanor’s,’ the girl’s father had said. ‘What Elizabeth left behind, my daughter burned when Jemmy died.’
The Apothecary had said nothing, letting his eyes wander over the collection of tawdry things that once had been a young woman’s treasures. He saw a cheap fan and some laces, a little painted box and a plait of ribbons, a handful of tricks and trinkets of the kind that gypsies sell at fairs. And then, nestling beside them, incongruous and somehow out of place, John had also seen a pack of cards and a pair of dice.
He had turned to Jacob, surprised. ‘You did not tell me that Eleanor liked to gamble.’
The miller shook his head. ‘She didn’t, Sir, not as such. Yet she was the finest card player in the district. She learned up at the Squire’s house, you see.’
‘Extraordinary,’ the Apothecary had said, and had quivered momentarily as just for a second he had felt something of Eleanor’s personality.
Thinking about her like that, utterly absorbed through all the journey back, it was almost a shock to John to walk into the light, warmth and noise of The Spread Eagle. A noise which tonight seemed twice as loud as usual. Following the sound, he made his way through the hall towards the parlour and opened the door to see a merry bucolic scene, one, indeed, that could have come straight from a print depicting country life.
Seated round the table near the fire, a table currently groaning beneath a whole assortment of bottles and glasses, were half a dozen or so gentlemen, the state of whose clothes showed that they had just returned from a day’s hunting and were now taking liquid refreshment to cure any ailments brought about by damp. At the precise moment that John entered, one of the company had risen to his feet and was proposing a toast.
‘Here’s to the fox and here’s to the hounds and here’s to the Squire for giving us grounds.’
It was a meaningless enough rhyme but it brought a roar of approbation from the assembled huntsmen, who chorused, ‘The Squire,’ and rose to their feet.
‘Thank you, gentlemen, thank you,’ answered one of them, then turned his head to look at the newcomer who stood framed in the doorway. ‘Welcome, Sir, whoever you are. I hope you’re a drinking man for we don’t like shirkers round here.’
‘I’ll sink a bumper with you gladly,’ John answered in a cheery voice reserved for just such hearty occasions. He held out his hand. ‘Rawlings, Sir. John Rawlings.’
‘How dee do,’ answered the other. ‘Ralph Leagrave’s the name. I own the house yonder.’
‘Ah, Squire Leagrave,’ John responded respectfully. ‘How nice to make your acquaintance, Sir.’
Sir Ralph looked pleased. ‘You’ve heard of me then?’ This said amidst a roar of raucous laughter.
‘Most certainly,’ John answered, endeavouring to look impressed. ‘Why, it was said in the kitchen on the very first night I came here that no one could claim to know Midhurst if they did not know the Squire.’
Leagrave roared and slapped his thigh. ‘Well said, boy. Take a seat.’
He was a caricature of his type, his face the colour of crisp bacon, his hair sandy, his eyes both blue and bloodshot. Further, Squire Leagrave boasted a set of huge white teeth which sprung over his lips when he smiled. John stared at them, fascinated, wondering if they could possibly be his own.
‘Now, Sir, what will you have, you being a drinking man and all?’ The Squire winked heavily at his companions.
‘A little brandy, I think,’ John answered, ‘the night being somewhat chill.’
‘Good fellow,’ roared the other, and poured John a measure so strong that he quailed at the very sight of it. ‘Now let’s see you get that down,’ he added, and slapped the Apothecary on the back.
So here, obviously, lay the initiation rite. Anybody who could remain upright at the end of the session was considered fit for the Squire’s company, those who fell to the ground or vomited would be shown the door. Wondering quite how he was going to cope, John took a tentative mouthful.
The liquor burned his throat like fire, causing him to splutter, a fact which sent the assembled company into gales of laughter. Thinking to himself that this was going to be an unforgettable night, John swallowed the lot and held out his glass for a refill.
The Squire bellowed his approval, great teeth flashing. ‘I see you’re a fellow to be reckoned with, Sir. Whereabouts did you say you come from?’
‘London.’
‘Ah, now there’s a place.’
‘I take it you visit our sinful city?’
‘Damme, do I look the sort of man who would not?’ Ralph Leagrave rumbled a laugh. ‘Believe me, I go to taste the town’s sweet fruits as often as I can.’
‘God preserve us! thought John, only to hear the huntsmen guffaw en masse at the double entendre. The Apothecary’s mind ran on, wondering how Elizabeth could have brought herself to flirt with such a creature. With a wave of courage brought about by the brandy, he decided to find out.
‘I met a girl from Midhurst recently,’ he said. ‘A beautiful creature she was, name of Elizabeth Harper. Did you know her by any chance?’
The Squire’s eyes tightened and his terrible smile disappeared. ‘Yes, I did as it happens. She used to work for me. Where did you come across her?’
Wondering just how much the man knew and whether he might possibly be aware by now that Lizzie had been killed, John answered with caution.
‘Well, to be honest, Sir, I encountered her in the brothel in Leicester Fields. She was – er – employed there, if you take my meaning.’
The Squire hesitated, a man-of-the-world expression hovering but not quite appearing. He downed a vast glass of port and appeared to come to a decision.
‘You’re a cock sparrow and no mistake,’ he said, slapping John on the back with a leathery hand, hard as a hammer. ‘Why, we’re all chaps together, what?’ He looked round at his fellow huntsmen with a confiding leer. ‘Of course, it’s well known in these parts that Lizzie left for London because I would not take her for my wife.’
‘Eh?’ said John, totally surprised.
‘Ah, you might well look askance, as did my sister. Truth to tell, John my friend, the gal threw herself at me. Hoped I’d make her the next Lady Leagrave, ideas above her station, d’you see. Damme, but that was an awkward situation ’cos I’d been a naughty chap, when all’s said and done. Anyway, my sister – God bless her – gave Lizzie notice to quit, so that saved my face.’
‘Not just your face!’ commented one of the cronies.
Sir Ralph roared with laughter and slapped his thigh. ‘Not just my face! ’Zounds, but that’s rich. Don’t you think so, John?’
The Apothecary, now downing brandies to give himself strength, nodded feebly.
‘So she ended up in a brothel, eh? I might have guessed.’<
br />
‘Then you never saw her after she left Midhurst?’ asked John, focusing what was left of his wits.
The Squire narrowed his eyes. ‘Strange that you should say that, because I did, just once, though she didn’t notice me.’
‘Where was this?’
‘In Vigo Lane,’ Sir Ralph answered surprisingly. ‘I was going to visit a little lady of my acquaintance who had an apartment there. And there was Lizzie, mincing along as dainty as you please. I didn’t call out in view of the circumstances.’
The brandy was beginning to take effect and John realised that he was slurring very slightly as he said, ‘Do you go to the balls and assemblies when you’re in town, Sir, or do you prefer the theatre and pleasure gardens?’
‘I like Covent Garden best and you can guess why,’ Sir Ralph answered, smirking. ‘But the pleasure gardens and assemblies are more my meat than theatres. Trouble with them is, you have to listen.’
‘Damn shame, that,’ answered an associate, slumping forward in his chair.
‘Do you prefer Vaux Hall or Ranelagh?’ persisted John, gamely trying to make some sense of his line of questioning.
‘Love the former, particularly The Dark Walk. Don’t like Ranelagh at all. Only visited there twice and went off it straight away. No Dark Walk, that’s the damnable trouble. All puff, no blow.’
John consumed yet another brandy, feeling that he had now reached the stage of kill or cure. ‘Indeed, sir, indeed. Forgive my saying, but you have a look about you that’s familiar, do you know. I wonder if I could have seen you at Vaux Hall. I all but live there in the season.’ He concentrated his fast scattering wits and gazed at Squire Leagrave as narrowly as his swivelling eyes would permit.
‘Possible, I suppose,’ said Sir Ralph, belching a little. ‘I was there in April at the start of the season but haven’t been since.’
‘Then I must be mistaken,’ John answered lamely, unable to judge by now whether or not the Squire was lying.
Sir Ralph sank a bumper. ‘You’re a fine young fellow, so you are. Would you not agree, gentlemen?’ There was a groan of assent from the others at the table, ‘I’ve a mind to ask you to the ball I’m giving. In fact, I will. Come on Saturday night and see how we country fellows amuse ourselves.’