Death at the Beggar's Opera

by Deryn Lake

  ‘I’ll never get there,’ John muttered to himself as he walked out of Rupert Street, named after Charles I’s heroic nephew, then into Coventry Street and right into Shug Lane. ‘I shall spend the rest of my days as the only apothecary in London not to be a Yeoman of the Society.’

  But he wasn’t serious and whistled as he sought the shop key in his pocket. It was just as he located it and headed for his front door, that a sedan chair coming from the direction of Marybone Street came into his line of vision, and John stared in amazement as the chairmen set it down before his entrance. Hurrying forward, he was just in time to see Miss Coralie Clive set her foot upon the cobbles and search in her reticule for the fare.

  ‘Miss Clive,’ he said, and bowed so low that his springing cinnamon hair briefly swept the ground.

  ‘You’re not wearing a wig,’ she answered, obviously faintly astonished.

  ‘I don’t when I’m in the shop, though I carry one with me in case I am called out.’

  ‘Your hair suits you, though. It’s such a wonderful colour.’

  If I go pink, John thought grimly, I shall never speak to myself again. And in order to make such a terrible occurrence appear as if it were caused by natural exertion he whirled round and opened the door with a flourish.

  ‘And to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ he asked, still with his back turned.

  ‘To the terrible events at Drury Lane, alas,’ the actress answered quietly.

  ‘You want to continue our conversation of the other night, I take it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do.’

  ‘Then come in. I have quite a comfortable room at the back where I do my compounding. I also have a kettle and some very good tea in there. Would you like some?’

  ‘I would like it more than anything.’

  ‘Then please take a seat while I get the shop ready for the day. I’ll only be a few minutes and then we can talk.’

  ‘Can I help in any way?’

  ‘You can take the covers off those shelves if you like. But mind not to spill anything. Some of the physics could stain your dress.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ she said, and smiled.

  John’s heart gave an exuberant bound and he was vividly reminded of how he used to feel in the company of the Masked Lady, as Serafina had once been known. He coughed a little. ‘You can borrow one of my aprons if you wish,’ he said, hoping that he didn’t sound utterly pompous.

  Coralie smiled again. ‘I have an even better idea. Why don’t you organise the shop while I brew the tea? In that way I can keep clean and the work will be done in half the time.’

  ‘A good idea,’ answered John and put on one of the long coveralls that he always wore for preparing his potions.

  As he worked swiftly round the place, removing the covers from the shelves and dusting the various bottles and jars beneath, it occurred to him that Miss Clive seemed in comparatively good spirits, and he wondered just how saddened by Jasper’s death she had been. Her words came back to him ‘I wished him dead, Mr Rawlings,’ and again the icy hand of fear clutched at his heart as the Apothecary reiterated to himself what he had said to his father about her being guilty.

  Quite spontaneously and without stopping to think about what he was doing, he called out, ‘Did you hate your lover enough to kill him?’

  Equally spontaneously and with a speed that was to convince John that she was entirely free of blame, Coralie called back, ‘Oh yes, but I didn’t do it. However much I detested him, however badly he had treated me, I could never have struck him down. It is not in my capability.’

  John appeared in the doorway of his compounding room, watching her where she bent over the kettle and teapot, the water heating on a little oil stove that he used in his experiments. ‘Are you going to tell me everything?’

  ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘Omitting nothing?’

  ‘I promise you.’

  ‘Then start,’ he said.

  He must have given her an unreadable look, for Coralie stared at him for a second before she took her cup of tea and sat down on one of the stools. ‘Where should I begin?’

  ‘Perhaps with when you met him. Was it at Drury Lane?’

  ‘Yes. My sister, Kitty, was playing Isabella in The Old Debauchees written by the Magistrate’s brother, Henry. I had a very small part, a mere few lines, while Jasper had one of the main roles.’ Coralie finished her tea and looked straight at John. ‘Mr Rawlings, how old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-three. I only finished my apprenticeship earlier this year. Why?’

  ‘Your juvenescence appeals to me. It makes me feel that you will understand the follies of youth. I was sixteen when I met Jasper and I fell madly in love with him on sight. Do you follow?’

  ‘Only too well,’ answered John, remembering how Serafina had haunted his days and nights.

  ‘He did not pay me any attention for two years, other than for the pleasure of flirting with a child who adored him. Then, having tired of his current favourite, he took me for his mistress, and so I remained until Sarah Seaton came upon the scene.’

  ‘Mrs Delaney?’

  ‘One and the same. Then he secretly dallied with us both and I, like a fool, believed his denials, that is until a few months ago.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Sarah became pregnant and when Jasper refused to marry her, saying most cruelly that he did not believe the child was his, she panicked and married Lord Delaney in great haste. He, poor soul, is only too delighted to think that he is potent enough to impregnate a young woman.’

  ‘And this turned you against him?’

  ‘I thought it unspeakable behaviour and was just about to tell him so when a very strange thing happened.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘A woman called on me, a woman who declared she was Jasper’s wife, though I had never heard that such a being existed. Anyway, she warned me off. Said that I was to leave her husband alone or she would not be responsible for the consequences.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I showed her the door, though I was mightily upset afterwards, you can believe. Mr Rawlings, do you think she was what she said she was? Does – did – Jasper have a wife?’

  The Apothecary sighed. ‘I’m afraid so. Mr Garrick was party to the secret and I went to see the lady yesterday. She was very much older than her husband, quite astonishingly so. But then you must have noticed that.’

  Coralie frowned. ‘No, I can’t say that I did.’

  John’s lively eyebrows rose. ‘Really? How incredible! Did you meet her by candlelight?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I could have sworn that the woman in question was not a great deal older than I am.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked John, thinking himself mightily clever to find out Coralie’s age in so subtle a way.

  ‘I was twenty last June.’

  ‘Um,’ said the Apothecary, and fingered his chin thoughtfully. ‘How very strange that his wife should call on you.’ He changed his tack. ‘Miss Clive, what did you mean when you asked me to convince Mr Fielding that you did not kill Jasper Harcross?’

  ‘Simply what I said. I believe that, as the wronged mistress, I must be the principal suspect.’

  ‘What about Mrs Delaney?’

  ‘She has married her lord and has too much to lose. She may have hated Jasper, but I assure you she is no fool. She wouldn’t give up a fortune even for revenge.’

  ‘Then, if you did not kill him and neither did she, who do you think is responsible?’

  Coralie sighed deeply and the Apothecary realised that the atmosphere between them had changed, much to his disappointment. Even while he had been asking her questions, she had gone on the defensive again. John made one last effort to put things right. Leaning forward, he took the actress’s hands in his, enjoying the sensation of her cool fingers lying amongst his own.

  ‘Miss Clive,’ he said seriously, ‘please accept that I be
lieve you completely. I am absolutely certain that though you may have had every reason to kill Jasper Harcross, you did not do so. Because of this I will do everything in my power to convince the Magistrate of your innocence.’

  Her emerald eyes glistened. ‘Is it not dangerous for anyone solving a crime to like and trust a suspect?’

  ‘Highly,’ answered John, and very lightly kissed the fingers that he held.

  Half an hour later the actress left him to go to the theatre where, so she said, David Garrick had called a meeting to discuss the possible cancellation of further performances of The Beggar’s Opera. Left alone, John would have liked time to collect his thoughts, particularly with regard to Coralie’s strange assertion that Mrs Harcross was not a great deal older than herself. But this was not to be. There was a rush of custom from the streets, culminating in a frantic husband sending for John to come and examine his wife who appeared to be in the early stages of labour. Fortunately for all concerned a physician was found who had studied with William Hunter, the great obstetrician. Having prescribed raspberry leaf tea and juice of the white poppy, the Apothecary felt quite justified in leaving the mother in the doctor’s care, thankful that the midwife she had originally asked to deliver her was away from home. By this time darkness had fallen over London and it was the hour for him to go home and change. Sir Gabriel being out of the house, having already left for an evening of cards, John hurried over his toilette, then took a chair to Bow Street where John Fielding awaited him. There the two men boarded a carriage and set off west, an armed guard sitting beside the coachman for the rural route to Kensington was infested with highwaymen. Turning down The Strand, the conveyance made its way to Hyde Park Corner in order to traverse the park itself, waiting by the gates where bells were being rung so that travellers could gather together in numbers. Then several coaches went off in convoy down the King’s Old Road to Kensington, His Majesty having given permission only recently for this thoroughfare to be used by the public.

  ‘Having built himself a grand New Road,’ Mr Fielding commented succinctly.

  ‘In view of the hazards of the journey, do you think Mrs Harcross could have made her way to the theatre and tampered with the gallows?’ John asked his companion, who sat in the semi-darkness, his bandaged eyes seeming to stare straight in front of him.

  ‘Why do you use that tone of voice, my friend?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I had altered it.’

  ‘Oh yes. Last night you spoke of the lady in quite a different way. What has happened to change your opinion of her?’

  ‘Well, to tell the truth I had a call from Miss Clive this morning,’ John answered, feeling the usual surge of reluctance to say anything against the actress. ‘It seems that Mrs Harcross recently sought her out and they had some kind of disagreement.’

  The Blind Beak cleared his throat but said nothing.

  ‘But what was extremely odd was the fact that Coralie swore the lady who visited her was young. In fact she believed her about the same age as herself.’

  ‘Strange indeed! For Rudge confirmed your impression that Jasper’s wife was old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘Samuel thought so too.’

  ‘Surely there can’t be two Mrs Harcrosses,’ the Magistrate said thoughtfully.

  ‘Bigamy!’ John exclaimed. ‘Well, I suppose I wouldn’t put anything past him.’

  ‘I take it then,’ Mr Fielding said quietly, ‘that all the rumours are true? That art held the mirror to life and he was having affairs with all and sundry, particularly his two leading ladies?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, though there is no way that Miss Clive can possibly be implicated in the crime. She told me so herself. It is not in her nature to take the life of another human being.’

  ‘Admittedly, murder is only in the nature of those who are deranged in some way, whether it be through hatred, greed, maliciousness or cruelty. Yet, let any of us be faced by a man wielding an axe when we hold a pistol and I swear there is not one incapable of firing.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘There are no buts, Mr Rawlings. If Miss Clive felt sufficiently threatened even she would defend herself.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Yet,’ the Magistrate continued in a more kindly tone, ‘I can well appreciate how difficult it must be for you to equate her beauty and charm with such an ugly thing as murder.’

  John rallied. ‘Mr Fielding, I do not find it difficult but impossible! Despite the fact that Coralie had every reason to do away with the wretched man I vow that I shall prove to you she did not.’

  ‘Good,’ said the Blind Beak, ‘that is the very thing I like to hear.’

  And he changed the subject, talking to John about his impressions of those members of the company the Apothecary was due to see the following morning.

  ‘I have called them into the theatre for ten, if that is convenient to you. There are seven of them, eight if you include the stage manager, nine with the boy.’

  ‘And the reason why you have picked these particular people?’

  ‘Everyone else could account for their movements on the night before the murder, the night when the planking was sawn through. Yet all of these others either had flimsy excuses or, so it seemed to me, were telling downright lies.’

  ‘What about Jack Masters?’

  ‘He still wouldn’t give me the name of the woman with whom he is supposed to have spent the night. I thought you should have one final try.’

  ‘And if he won’t reveal it?’

  ‘Then I shall charge him with impeding the course of justice.’

  John would have commented that the Magistrate was obviously running out of patience, but at that moment the coach began to slow down and the Apothecary saw dim lights through the window and realised that they were coming towards civilisation, if such a term could be used for Kensington at night. Lying among green fields, rushing brooks and farmhouses as it was, the hamlet appeared to be utterly without signs of life. Had it not been for the dull and distant glow of candles coming from the various homesteads, the place would have appeared totally deserted.

  ‘You’ll have to help me to the door and beyond,’ said John Fielding into the darkness. ‘I have learnt every inch of my home and the Public Office, but when I am on strange territory it is something of a different matter.’

  For the first time in their acquaintanceship, the vulnerability of the Blind Beak came home to the younger man and he felt a moment of tremendous closeness to one who was so mighty and yet at the same time so powerless. ‘I’ll be delighted to lend you my arm, Sir,’ he said, with the merest catch in his voice.

  ‘And I want you to watch the woman with a falcon’s eye. I shall mention Miss Clive and then it is for you to see how she reacts. Now, let us go to business.’ So saying, the Magistrate rose from his seat and let John help him down the precarious steps which led from the carriage to the ground below.

  Mrs Harcross was clearly expecting them for her little house shone with light, the only one in the entire village to do so. And on this occasion she had obviously had more than enough time in which to prepare herself for, just for a moment as she answered the door, the gentle candlelight worked its charm and John could have sworn that it was indeed a young woman who stood there. Beautifully dressed, lightly enamelled, with beauty spots positioned cunningly about her lips and cheeks, he understood immediately how Jasper Harcross must have been attracted to such a handsome creature. But as the Apothecary led the Blind Beak through her tiny hall and into the small but exquisitely furnished salon where she politely bade them sit down, the lines on Mrs Harcross’s face and her world-weary expression became apparent once more.

  ‘Before I take a seat,’ put in the Magistrate, his melodious voice echoing round the walls of the little room, ‘will you not introduce me to our hostess, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘Certainly.’ The Apothecary bowed. ‘Mrs Harcross, may I present the Principal Magistrate of London, Mr John Fielding.’

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bsp; ‘Delighted, Sir,’ she answered, putting her hand into that of the Beak as she dropped a polite curtsey.

  ‘Mr Fielding, Mrs Jasper Harcross,’ John continued.

  ‘A pleasure, Madam,’ he answered, making a polite bow.

  ‘It was good of you to come to my house,’ the actor’s widow went on. ‘I felt I should tell you all that I know in order to help you track down my poor husband’s killer. Yet there are certain things that I would rather not say before the gentlemen who called the other day.’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Mr Fielding, removing his hat and cloak which he handed to John. ‘I quite understand.’ He felt for the chair behind him and carefully lowered his great frame. ‘If I may make so bold, Madam,’ he went on almost as if the Apothecary were not there and he was speaking à deux, ‘you have the most beautiful voice. When I lost my sight at the age of nineteen certain delightful compensations became mine, the arts of contemplation and conversation being but two of them. Yet another was the charm of listening to voices – and identifying their owners. Surely, if I am not mistaken, I have heard yours somewhere before.’

  There was a long pause interrupted by a very small maid, obviously a girl from the village, coming in with a tray of bottles and glasses. ‘Shall I pour, Mam?’ she asked nervously, very flustered by the grand company.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Mrs Harcross, obviously also much confused. ‘Do so.’

  There was another strained silence during which the girl gave John a gin so strong that it made him sneeze. Mr Fielding, meanwhile, accepted a glass of claret and sat with a benevolent smile on his face, waiting for his hostess to make the next move. Eventually, when the girl had gone, she said, ‘I think you must be mistaken, Sir.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ the Magistrate answered. ‘None of us is infallible. Yet I could have sworn that I am speaking to Mrs Egleton, the great actress, who, if my memory serves me correctly, took the part of Lucy Lockit at the very first performance of The Beggar’s Opera, then went on to retire into obscurity after playing the finest Lady Macbeth of her day.’