by Deryn Lake
His friend looked so discomfited that John felt he should attempt to retrieve the situation. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Verity, your name came up in conversation, that is all. A lady of our acquaintance said you were the finest milliner in town, and was extremely flattering about you. The reference to Kensington was a mere aside.’
‘Oh, I see.’
But it was perfectly obvious that Amelia Verity was disconcerted and John guessed that there had been something secret about her visit to the village and now she was thoroughly upset that she had been caught out. Had she, he wondered, been calling on Mrs Harcross? Because, if so, the remark made in the inn and overheard by Serafina that she was not at home would make perfect sense. Jasper’s widow would have been travelling to London in the company of Sir Gabriel at that time. Thinking that he should call at Bow Street and report these latest events, John bowed.
‘Thank you so much for letting us take up your valuable time, Miss Verity. I really do appreciate it.’ Samuel recovered amazingly. ‘I would like the red hat for my great aunt, Miss Verity,’ he said in a grave voice. ‘I will come for it within the next few days.’
‘Will you not send a servant?’
‘I fear that I am only in lodgings. I must wait to see if my goldsmithy succeeds or fails before I can begin to organise a household.’
‘Quite so.’ She curtsied once more. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’
John thought, as he made his way into the street, that it was one of the most delicate dismissals he had ever seen.
It was dark when he and Samuel left Bow Street and parted company. John, aware that he must soon get ready to leave, took a chair to Nassau Street in order to have sufficient time to pack his clothes. The Blind Beak had decided that he and Coralie, who was coming from her sister’s house, where she had kept herself concealed for the last few days, should move into Lord Delaney’s home during the dead of night, at a time when few people would be about. Meanwhile, several of the Beak Runners and one or two chosen peachers, these being the most trustworthy of that vulpine gang of villains, had taken up residence in the Berkeley Square house disguised as servants.
And yet, the Apothecary thought, there was no guarantee that this highly elaborate plan would work. The murderer might, thinking he was in the clear, merely heave a sigh of relief and let the matter drop. But still the strange words of Mrs Martin continued to haunt him. Was it possible that she could be right? Or was his original idea of the revenge of a jealous mistress or husband the correct one? One thing was clear. Clarice herself believed that James was involved in some way, though surely not as the slayer of the child?
Yet if it truly was the killer’s intent to remove all trace of Jasper Harcross, just as if he had never existed, it was only logical that, in time, he would come after Sarah Delaney, who carried in her body the actor’s last blood tie.
An announcement had appeared in the Public Advertiser that morning. ‘It is recommended to all persons having any knowledge of the whereabouts of Miss Coralie Clive, formerly of Drury Lane Theatre, that they come forward to JOHN FIELDING Esq., at his house in Bow Street, Covent Garden. A reward will be paid for any information leading to the capture of Miss Clive, who is wanted for questioning in connection with two recent murders.’
The Magistrate had gone as far as he dared, now he and his associates could only wait to see what would happen.
He had listened most gravely to John’s account of his call on Mrs Martin, and also to the story of the Veritys’ extraordinary behaviour in Kensington, but had laughed aloud when the Apothecary had told him Mrs Harcross was now living beneath Sir Gabriel’s roof.
‘What a wily fox your father is. He has brought her to his home in order to keep an eye on her, that’s for sure.’
‘Do you think so? I thought he might be genuinely worried for her safety?’
‘Only if he is convinced that she is not the killer. And I’m not, are you, Mr Rawlings?’
‘I was until I saw her skulking about in Seven Dials, now I’m not so certain. Yet, if Mrs Harcross is guilty, who was the woman who threw the witchcraft symbol into Jasper’s grave?’
The Blind Beak had shrugged. ‘It could have been anyone, even her maid dressed up in order to put you off the scent.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘In the case of an actress as multi-faceted as Mrs Egleton, I am prepared to believe anything.’ Mr Fielding had held out his hand to John. ‘Let us hope that we don’t have to wait too long before the truth comes out. I wish you luck, my brave young friend, though I have no fears for your safety, nor that of Miss Clive. My Brave Fellows won’t let a hair of your head be harmed, let me hasten to assure you.’
‘Good,’John had answered, but now as he took leave of his father he wished he felt as confident as he had sounded.
They were alone, Mrs Harcross having retired early to bed, yet Sir Gabriel still turned the key in the library door before he crossed to his desk and removed a pair of duelling pistols, both exquisitely made and still in their fine rosewood case.
‘My child, I want you to take these with you. I last used them in 1712 when I gave my opponent a choice of weapons and he, being no great swordsman, elected to face my pistols.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Sadly, the flash from their muzzles must have been the last thing he saw upon this earth. They are quite deadly, I assure you.’
‘Do you think I am going to need them?’
‘I pray not. It is my fervent hope that you will be surrounded by a cordon of stout hearts and even stouter arms. I am only lending them to you as a last resort. But if you should need to use them, don’t hesitate. Whoever comes creeping into Lord Delaney’s house is a vicious killer, you must remember that.’
‘You say it as if it is someone I know.’
‘I believe it is, my son.’
John shuddered. ‘The sooner this is over the better.’
‘I quite agree.’
The Apothecary deliberately changed the subject. ‘Father, why have you brought Mrs Harcross here? Is it to keep an eye on her as Mr Fielding believes or do you truly think she is in danger?’
Sir Gabriel shrugged his satin-clad shoulders. ‘For both those reasons, and another one too.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I enjoy her company, John. She is a fund of stories about the great days of theatre and, now that she is freed from the yoke of Harcross, is witty and amusing. In short, I find her a good companion.’
His son smiled unevenly. ‘Is this the start of an affaire d’amour?’
‘Most certainly not. We have both reached a sensible age.’
‘There is no such thing,’ John answered promptly. ‘If you had studied the human condition as deeply as I, you would know that.’
‘Oh I see,’ Sir Gabriel said solemnly. ‘So I presume this great knowledge puts you entirely in command of your own emotions? Not for you the foolish mistakes, the nights of passion, the coming home at dawn?’
The Apothecary stared at him suspiciously, wondering how much Sir Gabriel had guessed about Polly. Then saw that his father’s eyes were twinkling as brightly as the many diamonds he wore with evening dress.
‘Don’t tease me,’ he said. ‘Obtaining information from books is one thing, putting it into practice is another.’
‘Quite so,’ answered Sir Gabriel, and kissed his son on the cheek before he went out of the room.
An hour later John left Nassau Street in his father’s coach, which rolled quietly through the empty streets of London. It was very late, even beyond the hour when the beau monde retired to bed or fell down drunk, and only a handful of people, those who had been gambling or whoring the night away, were about. None the less, the conveyance stopped at the entrance to Berkeley Square and John proceeded the rest of the way on foot, gaining admittance to Lord Delaney’s house by means of the tradesmen’s entrance. Rudge, the Runner with whom he had first gone to Kensington, now smartly dressed as a liveried footman, was up and waiting for hi
m and showed him into the dining room where a very late supper had been prepared.
‘May I sit down with you, Mr Rawlings?’
‘Yes, of course. We mustn’t carry this play acting too far.’ The Apothecary took in the fact that only one cover had been laid. ‘Is Miss Clive not joining us?’
‘The lady presents her compliments, Sir, but asked me to tell you that she has retired for the night.’
‘Is she quite comfortable?’
‘She seemed so, Sir. As comfortable as anyone could be in this uncertain situation.’
‘I wonder how long Mr Fielding wants us to stay here? I mean we can’t go on waiting indefinitely for something to happen.’
‘I don’t think we will have to,’ Rudge answered calmly.
‘But supposing the murderer decides to strike at someone else?’
‘It is a risk we will have to take. However, the Beak seems fairly certain that Sarah Delaney is next.’
‘I hope he’s right.’
‘That remains to be seen. None the less, Mr Fielding has taken the precaution of placing various extra men near the homes of the other members of the Drury Lane company. To be honest we are at full stretch, so much so that the villains of London will have easy pickings.’
John frowned. ‘Mr Rudge, I wonder if you can advise me. I work in my shop on alternate days, the others I devote to the Public Office. So obviously I need to be out and about during daylight hours. But will Miss Clive be safe if I leave her? Is it possible that the murderer might strike during the day time?’
‘It’s possible but unlikely, in my view. I think it is at night that we will have to be most vigilant. And as to your other question, she’ll be as safe as anyone can be with a house full of Runners to protect her.’
‘Then in that case I shall go to Chelsea early tomorrow morning. Can you tell Miss Clive that I hope to be able to dine with her but that she is to start without me if I do not return?’
‘Indeed I will. You’ll use the back entrance for going in and out, won’t you, Sir. We don’t want anyone to know that you are here.’
‘I’ll be very careful,’ John answered.
‘Then I’ll bid you good night, Mr Rawlings. Miss Clive is in Lord and Lady Delaney’s room, you are in the bedroom immediately opposite. I am sleeping further along on the same landing.’
‘And are you leaving a window open as Mr Fielding suggested?’
‘Oh yes, Sir. The trap has been baited and now it is set. Whoever it is who has murder in his heart will not find it too difficult to get in.’
And this said, Rudge left the room, leaving John to listen intently to every sound, however faint, that disturbed the small hours of that chill November night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Remarkably, the bitter, foggy weather of the last few days had cleared while John slept and he woke feeling refreshed and well, having enjoyed a most comfortable rest in one of Lord Delaney’s magnificent beds. In fact the entire room, now that he could see it properly in the dawning light coming through the window, was grand, and John thought that had it not been for the nature of his stay in Berkeley Square he would be about to enjoy himself immensely. For not only was he to live in luxury but was also to have the pleasure of Coralie Clive’s company every evening. And then the Apothecary thought of Polly Rose in her drab little room in Seven Dials and felt ashamed.
It was as well for him, with his thoughts going down this disturbing path, that John’s wish to find Mrs Camber of Jews Row was now bordering on the obsessional. Briskly shaking off any ideas that might come between him and total concentration on pursuing that course of action, the Apothecary dressed as if the devils of hell were after him, then left the house quietly, using the discreetly hidden back way.
Even though it was so early, a hackney coach plied for hire at the entrance to the square, the horse with its head down as if it were still asleep, the driver stretching and yawning on his box.
‘Jews Row, Chelsea,’ John called, his foot on the mounting step. ‘Do you know it?’
‘Not far from Ranelagh, I believe.’
‘That would be the one,’ and the Apothecary climbed in.
The carriage turned out of the square and down through Curzon Street to Tyburn Lane, then on to Hyde Park Corner, where it turned right and, having passed through the turnpike, proceeded on to the broad sweep of Knight’s Bridge. The town had by now been left behind and on either side were green fields and pastoral land, the only sign of civilisation being the occasional glimpse of two parallel roads, The King’s Old and The King’s New Roads to Kensington. The carriage plodded on, taking its time through the pleasant scenery, then eventually turned left down a narrow path, running through the fields towards a clump of trees. Hoping that the driver knew what he was doing, John stared out of the window at the landscape, bare with winter but for all that glowing in the crisp morning sunshine.
The carriage headed into the trees, their leaves fallen long since, and now the lane twisted serpentine, extraordinarily convoluted, a nightmare for the driver as he urged his horse round ever sharper bends. And then suddenly the path vanished and the conveyance emerged from the trees as they crossed The King’s Road, another of His Majesty’s private thoroughfares, this one leading him direct to Chelsea. On the far side of the royal highway the narrow lane continued, still twisting though not quite so crazily as before.
‘Where are we going?’ John called to the driver.
‘To Jews Row. It lies just off the path, barely a stone’s throw from the Hospital.’
‘And if we continued along this winding lane?’
‘We’d end up at Ranelagh Gardens.’
‘What an ingenious route. I’ve been to Chelsea many times to visit the Physick Garden but have never come this way.’
‘Aye, it’s a thoroughfare not known to many.’
‘Does the path have a name?’
‘Some call it Sloane Lane, after Sir Hans Sloane.’
‘Who lived in Chelsea until eighteen months ago, when he died. There’s a statue of him in the middle of the Physick Garden, you know.’
‘Aye, so there is,’ answered the driver, and concentrated on manoeuvring the animal round the rest of the bends, until they emerged into the outskirts of the village and at long last houses came into view.
‘There’s Jews Row to the right. What number do you want?’
‘I’m not certain. I think it best you drop me here and I’ll make a few enquiries. But I shall be needing you for the return journey so can you wait somewhere?’
‘I’ll be in the Chelsea Bun House just over there, Sir. If you are longer than an hour you will find me in The Seahorse, down by the river.’ So saying, the driver went off at walking pace towards the small shop which on Good Fridays was besieged by crowds of many thousands demanding its famous buns. John, for his part, turned away towards the small clean houses of Jews Row.
Despite the coldness of the air, a woman was outside one of them, pushing her baby up and down in a bassinet to stop it crying. The Apothecary, putting on what he thought of as his honest citizen face, hurried towards her.
‘Forgive me for troubling you, Madam, but I am seeking a Mrs Camber who used to live here at one time. I wonder if by any chance you might know whether she is still in the neighbourhood.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed visibly. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I am trying to trace two friends from childhood who were once fostered with her,’ John lied glibly.
‘Do you mean the Egletons?’
He was shaken to the core. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Because Mrs Camber is my mother and a very old lady now. And not long since we had another one here asking the same question. Why are those two so popular all of a sudden, that’s what I’d like to know?’
‘Look,’ said John, ‘if I could come in a moment I’ll tell you everything. It’s rather cold out here and the public walkway is not the place in which to exchange confidences.’
; The woman gave him a reluctant glance. ‘Oh, very well. But I don’t want my mother upset, do you understand?’
‘Perfectly.’
It was a neat house they entered, bearing all the hallmarks of an old fisherman’s cottage. There were heavy beams and whitewashed walls, rugs on the polished floor, and wooden ships collected together on a shelf. In front of the fire an old woman dozed in a rocking chair, a cat upon her lap.
‘George and Lucy must have been very happy here,’ said John, staring round at the welcoming surroundings.
‘They wouldn’t have been happy anywhere,’ the woman answered surprisingly, removing her cloak. She held out her hand. ‘I’m Mrs Atkins. My husband is a soldier and I live in this cottage with my widowed mother, it’s easier for all of us. Now, who are you, Sir?’
‘John Rawlings, apothecary, presently seeking the whereabouts of the Egleton children. You knew them then?’
‘Knew them? I was brought up with them, for all the good it did me. And they had no friends, Sir, so I’m afraid you will have to think of a better story than that.’
John looked official. ‘Well, the truth is that I am here representing Mr John Fielding of the Public Office, Bow Street. I cannot tell you why this information is so urgently needed, I’m afraid you will just have to trust me, but to know the whereabouts of the Egletons is of vital importance to us.’
The soldier’s wife was no fool. ‘May I see your letter of authorisation, Sir?’ she asked with a pleasant smile.
Thanking heaven that he had put it in his pocket, the Apothecary sat down in the chair she indicated while she read the Blind Beak’s note.
‘Well, that seems fairly straightforward. Mr Fielding asks that full co-operation be given to his representative, and indeed I would gladly do so. But, alas, I cannot help you. The Egletons left here a good fifteen years ago and have not been heard of since.’
John’s heart sank. ‘Not a word?’
‘Nothing.’
He pondered a moment. ‘I gather from your tone, Madam, that you did not like the children very much.’
‘I detested them,’ Mrs Atkins answered shortly.