by Deryn Lake
Samuel spoke again, still in the same terrible voice. ‘But none of this answers my question. Why did she pretend to love me? Just as a means to get out?’
‘I suppose,’ said Mr Fielding with enormous command, ‘that it does not occur to you that she did love you? Just because she had committed herself to taking revenge on Elizabeth Harper, does not mean that Eleanor was incapable of other emotion.’
‘But she tried to kill John. She must have been thoroughly evil.’
‘On the contrary. Mr Rawlings was the one person who could have identified her as the murderer. It was an act of self-preservation to silence him.’
‘There’s one thing I’ve got to know,’ said the Duke of Richmond, his voice laconic despite the tense atmosphere. ‘When and how did our admirable friend guess who was behind it all?’
‘Not until tonight,’ answered John, and there was a crack in his voice which suddenly revealed how completely exhausted he was.
‘Nuff said,’ replied Richmond, holding up his hand. ‘I’ll hear the story another time. I’m for my bed. I think we’ve trespassed on Mr Fielding’s hospitality long enough.’ He looked round the assembled company. ‘All to dine at my London house in a week, eh? Then we’ll hear the rest of the tale.’
‘All?’ repeated Diana. ‘Does that include me?’
‘Yes,’ Richmond replied, with a grin. ‘That includes even you.’
They left in groups. Lucy and Giles with the air of those who have decided to wed; Richmond, Midhurst, James and Miss Rigby all in the same hackney, arranging to meet one another next day. Diana, already known to Squire Leagrave through the house in Leicester Fields, departing in fine fig, flirting with him for all she was worth. Only the Comte de Vignolles vanishing alone into the night, his unhappiness hanging round him like a pall.
‘My young friends,’ said Mr Fielding, as he bade Joe Jago see John and Samuel into Sir Gabriel’s waiting coach, ‘go home and rest and mend yourselves. I shall visit you both just as soon as you are restored. Send word when that time comes.’
Then he took John’s hand and shook it before the two of them went their separate ways, the problem that had beset them both for so long, finally solved.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Strangely, John’s stab wound, deep but not to the bone, mended more quickly than Samuel’s broken heart. Aided by some ointment especially prepared by Master Purefoy, John’s old teacher, his skin healed cleanly so that it was safe to remove the stitches that held it within a week. Samuel, however, with the delicate sensibilities of many a big man, languished like a lily until Sir Gabriel finally ordered him to go to his father in Islington in order to breathe in the sweet country air and recuperate.
‘I truly hadn’t realised in quite what high regard he had held Millie,’ John said sadly, watching his friend depart in a hired hackney.
Sir Gabriel smiled his worldly smile. ‘Neither did he until she was dead.’
‘Do you mean that, had she lived, he might have tired of her?’
‘There is no might about it, my son. Samuel would soon have grown bored with such a rural miss.’
‘You married one such and did not grow weary of her.’
‘Your mother was an exceptional woman and there will never be another like her, alas.’
‘Do you miss her terribly?’
‘Every day of my life. Yet she has come back to me in you, and thus the blow is softened.’
John looked at his father with affection and a certain shrewdness. ‘Tell me something, Sir. Did you guess about Millie? I suspect that you did.’
‘Oh yes, indeed. You suspect quite rightly.’
‘What? And you didn’t warn me of what you feared?’
‘I was not certain enough to say anything. And, besides, I knew that you must be very near the solution yourself. For it was growing apparent, was it not?’
John looked thoughtful. ‘It must have been the most terrible shock to the poor wretch when I walked into the brothel and announced myself as a friend of Samuel’s. What an evil twist of fate.’
Sir Gabriel nodded. ‘It gave her two reasons for wanting to kill you. For now you stood between her and her new love as well.’
‘I must have come to represent her Nemesis. Yet Millie couldn’t have been responsible for breaking into my shop. Or could she?’
‘That we will never know. Perhaps she went there looking for evidence, perhaps it was the work of rowdies seeking potions.’ Sir Gabriel sighed. ‘Tell me when you first suspected that the girl was not all she seemed.’
‘It was the attack in Leicester Fields that initially aroused my suspicions. You see, Millie said I let out a cry and she came running out of the brothel to see what was amiss. Yet I was so winded, so short of breath, that I could have sworn I did no more than groan as I fell.’
‘It was the night when I heard someone prowl the landing near your bedroom that convinced me,’ answered Sir Gabriel, leading his son into the library where a tray of coffee lay awaiting them. ‘I knew full well that every window in the place was secure, yet still I heard a midnight walker.’
‘Was that why you insisted she come to Vaux Hall? So that I would see her in the right place and connect her face with that of the apprentice?’
Sir Gabriel’s fine profile was etched against the light of the window. ‘My son, it was you who told her she must go, if you remember.’
‘Yes, but it was not until I was there, in situ as it were, that the last pieces of the puzzle slid into place.’
‘But slide they did, though too late to save you from her knife.’
‘Poor Millie, poor Eleanor,’ John said sadly. ‘She could not have had much of a life when all’s said and done.’
‘No,’ answered Sir Gabriel softly, ‘yet perhaps in dying in the same way as her tragic Jemmy Groves, it ended just as she would have wished.’
Sitting in his study, Joe Jago at his side, the Blind Beak insisted that John should bare his arm that he might feel the extent of the wound and how well it had healed in the time since he had last seen him.
‘Yes, I’m afraid that will scar, my friend,’ Mr Fielding said, when he had finished his careful examination.
‘It will give me character,’ John answered cheerfully. ‘One day I shall recount the story to my grandchildren.’
‘Aye, and you might add that you joined, albeit temporarily, that band of Brave Fellows, known to the mob as the Beak Runners, who are the first proper squad of men whose full time employment is the keeping of the peace.’
‘I’m proud of that,’ said John. ‘Yet not so proud that I stood still a moment and watched Millie die. For perhaps I could have saved her had my reactions been quicker.’
The Blind Beak shook his head. ‘Put such thoughts from your mind, Mr Rawlings. Tell me, was there not a boat moored in the inlet beneath Marble Hall?’
‘Yes, there was. Why?’
‘Eleanor had ample time to get in it and row herself across to the fields below Mill Bank. From there she could have vanished quite successfully. I doubt that anyone would ever have seen her again.’
‘Strangely, my father said that he thought she wanted to die.’
‘And you know it too. Now, cast such foolish notions aside.’
John nodded. ‘Yes. I will.’
The Principal Magistrate rumbled his melodious laugh. ‘Good. So tell me, what are your future plans?’
‘Soon I am going to apply to the Court of Assistants to be made free of the Society of Apothecaries.’
‘Well done, well done.’ The Blind Beak stood up and held out his hand. ‘My heartfelt gratitude is yours but now, without a doubt, it is time for you to pursue your chosen career. I wish you well, my fine young friend.’
‘Goodbye, Sir,’ said John, bowing to the Magistrate even though he could not see him.
John Fielding smiled as he took the Apothecary’s hand in his own. ‘Goodbye is such a final word, don’t you think? Shall we simply say au revoir?’
; From the reign of Charles II onwards, coffee and chocolate house life had thrived in the metropolis, no meeting place being more fashionable than White’s Chocolate House in St James’s Street, where the beau monde assembled daily, and where young noblemen, according to the critics of the time, were fleeced and corrupted by gamesters and profligates. However, in 1736, White’s had realised where its ultimate future lay and had been converted into an exclusive gambling club. The consequent increase in its popularity had made the search for new premises a pressing one, though so far with little success. Thus the place was always packed with players, winning and losing with equal élan. And never more so than on this hot summer’s night when the heat from the company assembled within swept through the doors and out into the street beyond.
Stepping from his carriage, Sir Gabriel Kent delicately lifted a lace handkerchief to his nostrils and turned to his dinner guest, the Comte de Vignolles.
‘Damnable hot, don’t you think, my dear fellow?’
‘Damnable,’ replied the Frenchman, and smiled to himself at the eccentricities of the English who invited total strangers to dine on the strength of both having been involved in a murder enquiry.
‘I’d suggest we don’t go in were it not for the fact that I have arranged to meet my son here.’
‘Oh,’ said the Comte, his initial mistrust of John never having quite been dispelled.
‘But if you’d rather . . .’
‘No, no,’ Louis answered, just a trifle impatiently. ‘Let us enter.’
‘I take it you’re not a gambling man?’
‘No, to be honest with you, Sir Gabriel, I never set foot in such places. Thus it will be a most interesting experience.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ the other replied quietly, and smiled behind his handkerchief.
‘Mon Dieu!’ exclaimed Louis, he and his host having deposited their cloaks before walking into the famous room. ‘What a crowd!’
‘Yes, indeed. Various games of chance are being played at different tables, d’you see. There, it is faro. There, whist. Dice at the large central table. And there, my dear Comte, they are dealing quadrille. Shall we make up a set?’
Louis hesitated. ‘Surely that would be a mistake. That woman wearing a mask is considered the most formidable gamester in London.’
‘Really? But that is my son sitting with her! I must go to his rescue at once. Come.’
And refusing to be crossed and behaving in quite the most curious manner, Sir Gabriel seized his guest by the arm and led him to the table at which sat the Apothecary, looking decidedly anxious at being placed with so notorious a player.
John rose as the Comte approached. ‘My dear Monsieur, a very good evening to you. I am glad you decided to come. It is my wish to make amends for any upset I caused in the past, albeit inadvertently. So, I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you accepted my father’s invitation to dine.’
The Frenchman bowed with gallic courtesy. ‘My dear young friend, let bygones be bygones. I hope that we can begin our friendship afresh.’
‘Oh, so do I,’ John answered enthusiastically, and his father shot him an unreadable glance.
‘Now, won’t you present me to the lady?’ the Comte continued.
John gave a crooked smile. ‘I would if I did but know her name. Nevertheless, Madam, may I introduce to you the Comte Louis de Vignolles. Monsieur le Comte, the Masked Lady.’
‘Enchanted,’ he said, and kissed her outstretched hand.
‘How dee do?’ she answered gruffly.
‘And now,’ said Sir Gabriel, ‘to deal.’ And he handed the pack to the Masked Lady, who cut the cards with her long white fingers.
There was silence while each player concentrated on their hand, then play began in earnest. Unfortunately, this seemed to be a signal for John to indulge in idle chatter, a fact which annoyed his companions considerably, all of whom were trying to concentrate on their game.
With a look of concern, the Apothecary turned to the Comte. ‘Monsieur, pray tell me, how is your wife these days?’
Louis flicked up a black eyebrow. ‘Comme çi, comme ça. Some days she seems a little better, on others she just takes to her couch and stays there.’
John looked disappointed. ‘What a pity. I thought my medicine had worked splendidly on her.’
‘Like everything else she tries, it seems to wear off after a while.’
‘Oh,’ said John, and relapsed into silence.
The Masked Lady laid a winning card.
‘Oh well done, Madam,’ the Apothecary started once more. ‘You really are a gamester to be reckoned with.’ He let out a wild and most unseemly cry of triumph which succeeded in attracting the attention of the entire assembly. ‘There you are, I told you it had done her good,’ he said at the top of his voice.
The Comte de Vignolles frowned. ‘What has done who good?’
‘My physick.’
‘Elucidate, dear boy,’ ordered Sir Gabriel.
‘I thought that my medicine would cure the Comtesse de Vignolles and, by God, it has. Hasn’t it, Madam?’
There was an unbelievable silence, a silence which spread round the entire room. All play ceased and everyone present looked across to where the Masked Lady sat with her three card partners. Very deliberately, John turned to her. ‘It has, hasn’t it?’
She stood up, aware that every eye was upon her, then wheeled round to face the door. But she had not moved quite fast enough, for the Comte, too, had risen to his feet. The couple stood staring, like two cats confronting each other before the opening hiss.
‘Well?’ he said at last.
‘Well, what?’ answered that strange gruff voice.
‘Are you who John Rawlings says you are?’
‘Yes, are you?’ called out a fresh young nobleman.
‘I challenge you to remove your mask,’ said Louis between gritted teeth.
‘And if I do,’ the Masked Lady answered, ‘what is it worth?’ She turned to face the assembled company. ‘Well, gentlemen, let’s hear your wagers. Am I the Comtesse de Vignolles or am I not? Lord Dorchester, I see you nod. Will you take my wager for five thousand pounds that I am the Comtesse de Vignolles?’
‘Certainly,’ the young gamester replied. ‘You’re too spirited, Madam, to be that wan creature. I’ll take you.’
‘Two thousand guineas that you’re a wealthy widow,’ called somebody else.
‘Ten thousand pounds that you are my wife,’ said Louis quietly.
The Masked Lady laughed her fascinating, husky laugh. ‘Come, come, gentlemen, this is not like you. Surely you are not all done?’
Entering into the spirit of the occasion, there was a general chorus of ‘No’, and private bets began to be laid throughout the room until everyone, with the exception of Sir Gabriel and his son, had made a stake of some kind or another.
Then came the call of ‘Show yourself’, and the Masked Lady laughed yet again. Then slowly and with obvious enjoyment, she untied the strings of her domino and let it slip downwards about her neck. Beneath it, it could be seen, was revealed the face of a stunning beauty wearing a scarlet eye patch, the ultimate disguise.
There was a roar of approbation and Lord Dorchester shouted out a proposal of marriage, to which the Comte replied, ‘I believe she is already spoken for.’ Then, with shaking hands, he raised the patch to reveal his ailing wife, lovely and vivid and full of zest.
‘By God’s wounds,’ called out old Lord Ilchester. ‘I would never have believed it. If this is the result of your physick, Apothecary, I’ll take a case.’
‘Gladly, Sir,’ John called back. ‘You will find me in my shop in Shug Lane tomorrow. Or, better still, I’ll compound for you this very night and deliver personally in the morning.’
There was a sudden rush of gentlemen to his table, demanding to know whether his medicine was truly strengthening.
‘Oh very,’ said the Comtesse, flashing her handsome eyes, ‘just look at what it did for me.’
&nbs
p; ‘I love you,’ said Louis.
‘I know, fool,’ she replied, and kissed him as if it were something she had wanted to do for a very long time. ‘Now, no more roving, d’ye hear?’
‘My darling,’ he answered quietly, ‘I roved from a boring girl but now I find I am married to an exciting woman.’
‘Enough said on that score, I think,’ put in Sir Gabriel, laughing.
The Comtesse wheeled to face John. ‘How did you know?’ she asked.
Raising her fingers to his lips, the Apothecary kissed them. ‘Your hands, Madam. Your beautiful strong, yet slender, hands. When you snapped your fingers beneath my nose it seemed to me that they were somehow familiar. That I had seen them before, so adeptly handling both cards and dice. Then there was Patty Rigby, who knew you personally. She thought she saw you at Vaux Hall on that fatal night, and when I mentioned it to you your face momentarily gave you away. And yet it seemed odd to me that nobody else had seen the sickly Comtesse de Vignolles out at night and remarked it. So I finally concluded that what Miss Rigby had observed was the back view of the Masked Lady, as she strolled alone as was her custom.’
The Comtesse nodded, smiling. ‘I once told you that I thought you a clever creature and, my dear friend, I am still of that opinion.’
Her husband put his arm round her waist and turned to the assembled company. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said clearly, ‘I would like to give you a toast. Let us raise our glasses to a young man who has worked a miracle. I give you the health of John Rawlings, Apothecary.’
‘John Rawlings,’ they chorused, and drank deep.
Historical Note
John Rawlings, Apothecary, was born circa 1731, though his actual parentage is somewhat shrouded in mystery. However, by 1754 he had emerged from obscurity when on 22 August he applied to be made Free of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. He became a Yeoman of the Society in March, 1755 – the reasons for the delay are interesting but not to be told here – giving his address as number two Nassau Street. Well over a hundred years later, this was the address of H.D. Rawlings Ltd, Soda Water Manufacturers, proving conclusively that John Rawlings was probably the first apothecary to manufacture carbonated waters in this country. His ebullient personality has haunted me for years and now, at last, I am bringing him out of the shadows and into the spotlight.