by Deryn Lake
‘Yes, that’s it, Mr Rawlings. Just where Mr Garrick said it would be.’
‘I still think it strange that he kept the fact of the marriage secret,’ Samuel continued in much the same tone of voice.
‘David Garrick, d’you mean? Or Jasper Harcross?’
‘Well, both really. It seems so odd that none of the other actors appeared to know about it.’
‘In my view, there might lie the motive,’ put in Benjamin Rudge.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That somebody happened on the fact that her lover was already married and therefore merely trifling with her affections. And, as a result, love turned to hate – with fatal consequences.’
Remembering the tightly stretched skin of Coralie’s face, almost as if it were frozen, John audibly drew in his breath.
‘We must not rule out the male sex from this affair. Any one of them might well have loathed Jasper Harcross enough to do away with him.’
The Runner nodded. ‘That’s true enough. Now, gentlemen, shall I undertake the task of breaking the news? Then you can stand by to give medical aid if need be.’ He looked at the Apothecary.
‘Very tactfully put,’ John answered. ‘I’d rather you than me.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Samuel, as the carriage drew to a halt before a small, neat house of pleasing proportions.
Swiftly checking his bag for the correct remedies to treat shock, John alighted with the others and mounted the two steps that raised the front door from the level of the street. Then he stood, staring in anticipation, as the Runner gave a loud and portentous knock.
‘Who’s there?’ called a voice. ‘Jasper, is that you?’
‘No, Ma’am,’ Benjamin Rudge shouted back. ‘I’ve come from the Public Office at Bow Street. Would it be possible to speak to you for a moment?’
‘Of course,’ the voice replied, and John heard the sound of bolts being drawn back and a key turning in the lock. Then the front door opened.
The Apothecary did not know what he had been expecting, though he had harboured vague notions of a fresh-faced country girl, a bucolic milkmaid, as the only sort of person who could be married to Jasper and not be aware of his philandering. But the woman who stood in the doorway was most certainly none of those things, indeed it was an intelligent, humourous and sophisticated face he found himself regarding. Framed by a cloud of silver hair which she wore swept up beneath a lace cap, were a pair of shrewd eyes, crystal grey, the lines of experience and worldliness round them revealing that this woman was far from young, indeed had probably seen her fiftieth birthday some while ago. Her nose, too, strong and aquiline as it was, had grooves running beneath it. While her lips, sensuous still, were surrounded by that faint tracery of lines which denotes the passing of the years.
It shot through John’s head that this could only be Jasper’s mother-in-law, and before he could stop himself he found he was saying, ‘We are sorry to trouble you, Ma’am, but we wondered if we might have a word with your daughter.’
The woman frowned. ‘My daughter?’
‘Yes,’ John blundered on. ‘For she is Mrs Harcross, is she not?’
She shot him a glance of amused contempt, as if she were thoroughly used to this kind of remark. ‘No, I am Mrs Harcross.’
‘Mrs Jasper Harcross?’ asked the Runner incredulously, compounding John’s terrible gaffe.
She cut across him impatiently. ‘What is all this? You said you came from the Public Office. Kindly state your business.’
‘May we step inside?’ asked Benjamin.
‘No you may not. How do I know who you are? You could be any kind of thief or blackguard.’
‘Then I am afraid you must prepare yourself to receive some bad news where you stand, Madam.’
John found himself automatically opening his bag and slipping his hand in for salts as the voice of authority continued, ‘I am sorry to have to inform you that Mr Harcross met with an accident in the theatre last night.’
Her skin went the colour of her hair but she did not falter otherwise. ‘An accident?’
‘Yes, Mrs Harcross. I am grieved to say that your husband died as a result of a misadventure on stage.’
Now she clung to the door for support and John automatically ran to help her, administering the salts as he led her inside and sat her in a low chair. Close to Jasper’s widow like that, he could feel the grace with which she moved and sense the power of her charm. It occurred to him in that split second that she had once been an actress, and in that fact lay the key to the extraordinary relationship she and her husband shared.
‘This misadventure,’ she asked, in a low beautifully modulated voice which only served to confirm John’s theory. ‘What was it exactly?’
The Apothecary decided to tell the truth, knowing that to protect her further was only going to delay and worsen the shock.
‘I’m afraid he was hanged during the gallows scene. The planking beneath his feet had been tampered with so that he fell through. The fall broke his neck.’
Mrs Harcross’s hands flew to her throat. ‘Oh how terrible! Who could have done such a thing?’ Then her face changed and a worldly-wise expression crossed her features. ‘But how silly of me to ask. Jasper played with fire and has done so for years. One cannot treat women as if they are gloves to be picked up, used, and then tossed aside. I suppose one could say that retribution has finally caught up with him.’
There was a noise from the doorway as Benjamin and Samuel, tired of waiting, entered the small hall. Mrs Harcross drew John’s head down so that she could murmur in his ear and, seeing her so closely, he was struck by the fact that she had once been a great beauty.
‘Listen to me,’ she said urgently. ‘Return here tomorrow and bring the Blind Beak with you – yes, I know all about him, I do visit town you know. I am prepared to tell him everything I can to help him find Jasper’s killer but I refuse to bare my soul in front of those two. Now I shall play faint so please to tend me.’ And Mrs Harcross swiftly rose from her chair, flung herself down on the sofa, and closed her eyes. John could not help it, his curved smile appeared before his expression grew serious and he went to fetch a damp cloth for his patient’s brow.
‘Is she fit to answer questions?’ asked Benjamin anxiously
John shook his head, keeping his face very straight. ‘I’m afraid not. She is weak with shock and should rest for a while. I think it might be better if someone came back tomorrow.’
Samuel groaned. ‘Well, I can’t for a start. My father and I are going to look at possible premises for the goldsmith’s business I hope to open soon. I must devote some time to my own affairs.’
The Runner scratched his head. ‘This is very awkward. I shall have to consult with Mr Fielding.’
The Apothecary nodded, adding in an undertone, ‘That would be the best plan. Being the extraordinary sort of woman she is, it occurs to me that the Beak might like to question Mrs Harcross himself.’
Benjamin Rudge looked relieved. ‘I reckon you’re right there, Mr Rawlings.’ He turned his attention to the figure on the sofa. ‘Now, Ma’am, do you have a neighbour who can keep an eye on you? For the fact of the matter is that these gentlemen and I will have to return to town. But that won’t be the last of it I’m afraid. The Public Office is duty bound to ask you some questions about your late husband, and to that end someone will return here tomorrow when you are more in control of yourself.’
Mrs Harcross smiled faintly. ‘It is kind of you to be so considerate. And, yes, I shall be perfectly all right. This is only a small village and everyone is very friendly.’
‘Then I shall leave you some compound,’ John said solemnly. ‘Swallow a spoonful every hour to help you keep calm. And tonight I would like you to take some of these tablets so that you will get a good night’s sleep.’
‘I will do as you say,’ she answered, then added in a softer voice, ‘Until tomorrow, Sir.’
‘Until then,’ John answered as he made his departu
re.
The carriage arrived in Bow Street shortly after one o’clock, but John, knowing that he was to dine with the Blind Beak that evening, resisted the temptation to call on Mr Fielding. Instead he directed the driver to Nassau Street, where the Apothecary enjoyed a luxurious soak in his bath tub before changing into twilight clothes and going to seek out his father in the library. By the time these preparations were done it was dark, there being little light after three o’clock on such bleak November days, and John, as always, felt a glow of almost sensual pleasure as he walked into the exquisite room to see the rich floor-length curtains drawn against the night, the candles lit and the fire gleaming in the hearth. These were the feelings he always associated with his father, comfort and companionship coupled with two rather oddly related attributes, style and rare intelligence.
‘Well,’ said Sir Gabriel, looking up from his newspaper, ‘there has obviously been much going on since we spoke last.’
‘You know the bare bones of it?’
‘Yes. Serafina called on me today to play cards. She told me everything that happened up to the moment when she had to leave the theatre. She also added that the talk is of murder rather than accident.’
‘Yes, that’s true enough. The planking of the gallows had been sawn through to breaking point. All it needed was Jasper’s weight before they splintered.’
‘And they were all right prior to the performance?’
‘According to Dick Weatherby, the stage manager, the whole contraption was in perfect working order at the dress rehearsal.’
‘I see. So it would appear to point to another member of the company. How much do you know about them?’
And Sir Gabriel listened intently as John described Mrs Delaney, Jack Masters, and all the others of whom he had taken particular note, ending with a brilliant word picture of Mrs Martin and her little husband. The description of Coralie Clive his son kept to a minimum, however, omitting the conversation they had had together in the darkness of the empty theatre.
Sir Gabriel must have sensed this reticence and with his unerring instinct for any of John’s attempts at deception, said, ‘And Miss Clive? What about her? Could she possibly be implicated?’
The Apothecary sighed and helped himself to another glass of sherry. ‘I’m afraid that she must be, in a way. She was having some sort of liaison with Jasper Harcross, more’s the pity.’
‘But so were half a dozen other women, by the sound of it.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘They can’t all have killed him so why should she be more involved than anyone else?’
John laughed out loud. ‘Father, you are so refreshing. The truth is that she is walking about looking guilty as a thieving child and it is decidedly unnerving.’
‘Why?’ asked Sir Gabriel mildly.
‘Why what?’
‘Why should it unnerve you?’
‘Because I like her. Because she saved my life once. I don’t want her to be a murderess, she is too agreeable.’
‘Ah!’ replied his parent, and said no more.
Nor was the subject of the killing raised again until both Sir Gabriel and John were sitting in the pleasant salon which stood directly above the Public Office in Bow Street. Since the time of Sir Thomas de Veil in the late 1730s, it had become the tradition for the Principal Justice of the Peace to live in the Bow Street house, occupying the four floors situated over those rooms devoted to the law. John Fielding had moved in there when his half-brother Henry had sought to restore his shattered health by sailing for warmer climes. But, sadly, it was to be the great writer’s last voyage, and now his younger sibling not only ran the Public Office but also bore the entire responsibility for policing the capital.
‘I was so sorry to read of the death of your remarkable brother,’ said Sir Gabriel now, echoing a remark of David Garrick’s.
‘He was broken by overwork,’ answered the Magistrate sadly. ‘Do you know, he was only in his forty-eighth year.’
‘What a terrible waste,’ Sir Gabriel commented softly. ‘Why is it that so many with something to offer to the world are taken from it? While others live on and on, contributing nothing?’
‘Blind justice,’ answered John Fielding, and laughed just a tinge bitterly. He turned to John. ‘Now tell me of Mrs Harcross. I gather from Rudge that the lady is old enough to be the dead man’s mother. Is that correct?’
‘It certainly is. It was really quite extraordinary to meet her. She is a woman who has once been beautiful and is also extremely sharp witted in my estimation. What she was doing with a rascal like Jasper Harcross is beyond comprehension. Incidentally, Sir, she says she will speak to no one but you and requests that you visit her tomorrow.’
‘So Rudge informed me. He also said that she seemed to trust you, which makes things damnably awkward.’
‘In what way?’ asked Sir Gabriel, slightly irritated on his son’s behalf.
The Blind Beak rumbled his deep and melodious chuckle ‘Because Mr Rawlings and I have come to an arrangement. Namely, that he would work in his shop on alternate days in order to keep his business thriving. If I honour this agreement, as indeed I must, then he will not be free to accompany me when Mrs Harcross reveals the secrets of her past.’
Sir Gabriel thoughtfully adjusted the white lace cuffs of his jet satin coat. ‘Perhaps I could be of help in this regard. An apprentice apothecary in need of some practical experience might well be released by his Master in return for a consideration. I shall go searching for one first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, could the lady not be visited tomorrow night?’
‘A splendid notion,’ John Fielding answered, so rapidly that the Apothecary wondered whether he had had it in mind all along. ‘Then that is settled. And now for some refreshment,’ he continued as a servant came in bearing an excellent selection of drinks. ‘What will you have, Sir Gabriel?’
The conversation turned to who desired what beverage and was further diverted by the entry of Elizabeth Fielding and Mary Ann, who was in fact Mrs Fielding’s niece though being brought up by the couple as a daughter.
‘Mr Rawlings,’ said the pretty child, ‘how nice to see you. Are you working with my uncle again?’
‘Yes. This time we are hunting down the murderer of Mr Jasper Harcross, the actor.’ John said the words slowly and deliberately, knowing how much the little girl relished the details of what was going on, but all the while with a decided twinkle in his eye. ‘And now may I present my father to you?’ And with great solemnity he went through the rituals of introduction.
The child adored it, miniature adult that she already was, and curtsied and extended her hand as neatly as any woman of society.
‘I hope one day to have the honour of your close acquaintance,’ Sir Gabriel said very seriously, and was rewarded with a swift kiss on the cheek.
‘Shall I take her away?’ said Elizabeth. ‘Do you gentlemen want to discuss the case?’
‘Oh, let her stay,’ answered her husband affably. ‘I only want to talk about the characters involved in the affair, one of the most interesting of whom is a child.’
‘Who? Who?’ asked Mary Ann excitedly.
‘Will, the theatre boy. As I told you, Mr Rawlings, I am leaving you to interview him directly. But I have in the meantime found out a great deal about him. It appears that he is indeed a foundling but was taken from the Hospital by Jasper Harcross himself, after which David Garrick gave him the job of dogsbody. Drury Lane is the boy’s home, he knows no other. When I expressed surprise at this I was told that it is not the first time such a thing has happened. Adam Verity, the young man who plays Filch, also began his theatre career in that way, after having run away from his foster mother.’
‘Tell me about the others you questioned,’ said John. ‘Is there anybody who cannot answer for themselves?’
‘Several,’ answered the Blind Beak, almost with an air of triumph. ‘And for that reason I have asked Joe Jago to make a list so that you might quiz them furth
er, Mr Rawlings.’
‘But why me? Wouldn’t one of your regular Runners do it better?’
‘I trust your eyes, Sir. I trust your eyes.’
‘Oh don’t be sad, Uncle,’ said Mary Ann, suddenly throwing herself into John Fielding’s arms and looking very tearful. ‘It doesn’t matter that you can’t see, truly it doesn’t. Mr Rawlings will help you. Won’t you, Sir?’
The Blind Beak picked the child up and placed her on his knee, planting a kiss on her cheek, which turned the colour of a wild strawberry.
‘There now, I’m not miserable. I was just telling our friend what great faith I have in him.’
Sir Gabriel laughed, a golden sound. ‘D’you know, John, I always thought that marvellous memory of yours would stand you in good stead.’
‘But only on alternate days it would seem,’ the Apothecary answered, and slowly smiled his crooked smile.
Chapter Six
The next morning dawning very bright and fair, a crisp and sparkling autumn day, John set off for his shop in Shug Lane with his spirits much revived by the sunshine. Meanwhile, Sir Gabriel, creature of the night though this outward appearance might suggest him to be, had risen early and, having breakfasted lightly, set forth in a sedan chair to find John an assistant. ‘It’s a pity that I haven’t my own apprentice,’ the Apothecary had said as they had parted company.
‘Well, you won’t get one until you’re made Free and there’s an end to it.’
‘Free!’ John had exclaimed sarcastically. ‘I vow and declare there’s some kind of spell on me and the Court.’
And it was true that he had been most unfortunate with his application to be made Free of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. The after effects resulting from his first involvement with a case of murder had ruled out his attending the June Private Court Day. However, in August he had finally managed to attend the Court, but it had broken up just before his application to be admitted to his Freedom had been heard. Then, in October, urgent attendance at the site of a street accident had once more stopped him from going. And now it was dangerously near the December meeting and he had no idea when he would be finished with this particular investigation.