Death at the Beggar's Opera

by Deryn Lake

  There was a stunned silence, as if nobody could believe what they had just heard. Mrs Martin sat down again, turning her face away behind its concealing cover, and John noticed that James had put his arm around her shoulders in a comforting gesture. Then the voice of Adam Verity broke the silence, ‘I admire you for saying that,’ he called, and another person cried, ‘Hear, hear.’

  ‘Pray continue, Mr Rawlings,’ said the Blind Beak as soon as silence was restored.

  ‘I was obviously not the only one to discover the truth about Will. The Egletons must have found out too, and in their fevered brains their quest became to erase Jasper and his progeny as if they never had been. Thus they concluded that the theatre boy must be done away with. You know the rest. He was hanged by the neck until he suffocated on the same gallows on which his father had perished.’

  Now there was the silence of pure horror as that imaginative collection of people considered the wretched child’s fate. During this pause, John sat down again. Responding to the lightest tap on his arm from Joe Jago, Mr Fielding took up the tale once more.

  ‘It was Mr Rawlings who first began to query the whereabouts of Mrs Egleton’s two children. When he had asked her about them she had told him they had vanished when the boy had been sixteen, the girl ten. Mr Rawlings added to this the fact that a mysterious young woman, heavily veiled, warned Coralie Clive to break her association with Jasper Harcross. Then saw another, answering the same description, throw a witchcraft symbol into Jasper’s grave. This made him wonder whether someone from Mrs Harcross’s past hated her enough to wish her dead within the year.’

  Coralie’s voice interrupted the proceedings. ‘May I ask a question please?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Why was I warned off? Why did one of the killers come to see me? Surely I could just have been left to play my dangerous game and take the consequences?’

  Mr Fielding paused. ‘We shall probably never know the answer to that but I wish to think that one or other of the pair – indeed perhaps even both – liked you well enough to try and turn you away from Jasper Harcross.’

  ‘Do you mean that they did not want me to conceive a child by him and thus put myself in mortal danger at their hands? In other words they had no wish for me to die but would have murdered me if I was carrying his baby?’ Coralie asked boldly, though her lips trembled with the strain of actually saying the words.

  ‘Yes, that is just what I do mean. Now, let us leave the matter. After the two appearances of this veiled woman, Mr Rawlings concluded Mrs Harcross’s missing daughter might fit that bill very well. I think it was at this stage we both realised something very frightening was afoot. Mr Rawlings, would you care to continue?’

  John stood up again. ‘It was something my father said to me that made me decide to follow their trail. He used words to the effect to watch out for the young Egletons. So I made up my mind to locate them. Then slowly I became convinced that they had been under my nose all along, right here in Drury Lane. My suspicions fell on various people, none of whom seemed quite right. But I did not know for certain who the boy was until I finally managed to visit Mrs Camber in Chelsea. There I had a conversation with her daughter, who could tell me little except how close the two children had been. And then I saw a sampler stitched by Mrs Camber when she was a young girl. It was signed with the name Emma Weatherby. At that moment I realised that when George Egleton, whom I have subsequently learned was baptised George Richard, absconded from his apprenticeship and took his sister with him, he adopted the first name that came into his head, the one that he had seen on the wall for so many years of his childhood. However, this still left me with the mystery of the identity of the missing girl.’

  Mr Fielding spoke once more. ‘While Mr Rawlings sought the Egletons, I became convinced that the killer would strike again and felt certain the intended victim was Sarah Delaney. An effort had been made to incriminate her by dropping Lucy Lockit’s bow at the scene of the first killing. Then a glove appeared at the second. But in that the murderers made their first mistake. The glove belonged to Coralie Clive, though they obviously did not think so. And Miss Clive’s whereabouts at the time of Will’s murder could be fully accounted for. Thus to lead them into a trap – though please remember that at this time we were not certain that there were two of them – we announced that Miss Clive had vanished but was wanted for questioning in connection with Will Swithin’s murder. Lord Delaney cooperated fully and removed Sarah from harm’s way and Miss Coralie, with great bravery and courage, took her place.’

  Simultaneously, both Jack Masters and Tom Bowdler called out, ‘Bravo,’ and ‘Well done,’ smiling broadly in the direction of Coralie’s box. At this Melanie Vine let out an audible clucking sound and John, staring at her, suddenly realised that the older actress was jealous of the high esteem in which both her lovers held the younger. At last understanding her look of triumph on hearing that Coralie was suspected of murder and had disappeared from the scene, he grinned to himself.

  There was a long pause, then Adam Verity asked, ‘But what made you suspect Polly Rose?’

  Mr Fielding’s face became unreadable. ‘I think Mr Rawlings can tell us that.’

  John looked into the middle distance, afraid that his eyes might reveal the truth. ‘I regret that I didn’t suspect her, Adam. Not until the very night she and her brother came to kill who they believed to be Sarah Delaney. I knew Polly, of course. Had interviewed her about the murders. But I simply couldn’t believe that …’ His voice trailed away and there was a slightly uncomfortable silence.

  Help came from an unexpected source as Coralie spoke.

  ‘Dick broke into the house by climbing a tree close to the wall, then smashing the glass of my bedroom window. At first he thought I was Sarah but when he recognised me knew that I would be able to identify him so therefore had to die. But I do not hate him for attacking me. Dick Weatherby will always be the stage manager to me. As far as I am concerned George Egleton was the evil part of him, and that is how I intend to think of the situation.’

  Her sister, Kitty, applauded and remarked, ‘Well said!’ and there were murmurs of agreement.

  Mr Fielding rose to his feet. ‘And that I believe is a fitting epitaph for this tragic pair, as doomed as Romeo and Juliet. Though the murder of a child is beyond forgiveness, let us remember them simply as Dick and Polly, so helpful about this theatre. It was their other sad, neglected lives which finally led them to commit so atrocious and terrible a crime.’

  ‘It is Mrs Harcross I blame,’ said Jack Masters, lighting his pipe.

  John shook his head. ‘No, Sir, she is as pathetic as her offspring. A silly feckless woman, though for all that talented and witty, retribution came to her when she married Jasper. She loved him to distraction and he gave her a life of misery. But finally, after I had set her wondering about them, she went to see Mrs Camber to find out about her children, and presumably followed the same path as I. She must have seen the sampler, recognised the name as that of the stage manager, and come in search of the missing pair. For one bitter night I saw her in Seven Dials, where she must have heard they lived, frozen with cold and obviously near to tears.’

  ‘Will she be told all this?’ asked Amelia Verity.

  ‘No doubt she will discover it,’ John answered heavily, ‘but I for one intend to remain silent.’

  Again there was a murmur of agreement, sufficiently strong to give him hope that the terrible truth about Mrs Harcross’s children would not come from the people of Drury Lane. Somebody unseen asked the inevitable question. ‘How did Dick and Polly die?’ The Blind Beak’s voice sounded amazingly matter-of-fact. ‘Dick wounded a Runner and, in turn, was shot himself. Polly chose suicide and put a pistol to her head. She obviously could not face Tyburn Tree.’

  Coralie spoke again. ‘And you really had no idea about her, John?’

  He hesitated, then said, ‘Mr Jago, the Magistrate’s clerk, swore that I would know the identity of the murd
erer after the announcement that you had disappeared. And, strangely, I did intercept a look Polly gave me. It was dark and black, unreadable. But I thought she was annoyed with me over some trivial matter and did not interpret it for what it actually was. In other words I closed my mind to the idea that she could be guilty, even though the evidence was there all along.’

  ‘I see,’ said Coralie, and John thought, Oh God, she does!

  Mr Fielding broke in. ‘Are there any more questions?’

  David Garrick spoke for the first time. ‘Fellow members of the company, I believe that we owe a great debt of gratitude to John Fielding, whose brilliant brother contributed so much to the literary splendour of this fair realm. And also, of course, we must give thanks to John Rawlings, the young apothecary who first tended both Jasper and Will, and who has helped so much in bringing their slayers to book.’

  There was a round of mild applause which died away, it obviously being considered a tasteless way of expressing appreciation. The Blind Beak got to his feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I hope one day to meet you again in more pleasant circumstances,’ and with that he tapped his way across the stage and vanished from view.

  Everyone stood up, all looking slightly stunned, and though John was longing to stare round at Coralie, he felt it wiser not to do so. Then the Veritys came towards him, smiling broadly, and his attention was distracted elsewhere.

  ‘Mr Rawlings,’ said Amelia, holding out a hand which he kissed, much to the annoyance of Samuel. ‘I do vow and declare you thought Adam and I were the Egletons at one stage. Am I right?’

  ‘You most certainly are. Particularly after the Comtesse de Vignolles saw you behaving somewhat strangely in Kensington, a fact which she reported back to me.’

  Adam’s bright eyes flashed. ‘Ah, yes. Well … er … there is an explanation for that.’

  John gleamed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking for it.’

  “Zounds, but you’ll hear it none the less, my dear fellow. The truth is that I have been indulging in a liaison with a married lady of some renown, titled in fact. Well, not to mince words, my fancy has recently strayed elsewhere, you know the way it does?’

  ‘Only too well,’ said the Apothecary, and sighed.

  ‘Anyway, she cut up damnably awkward and said she would tell her husband all if I did not stay with her. She got so savage about the whole thing that I had a mind to tell the Public Office of her blackmailing threats. Amelia, who is a damn fine woman as well as being my sister, came with me to Kensington, where the lady in question has a country place, and we attempted to see her to beg her to be lenient. But she was out and there was an end to it.’

  ‘How did it all resolve?’ asked Samuel, open-mouthed at such frank revelations.

  ‘Amelia conceived the brilliant notion of introducing her to a friend of ours, another actor from the Haymarket, much better looking than I. The stratagem worked and Madam has decamped with my supposed rival.’ He burst out laughing.

  The Goldsmith, who was obviously longing to say something, could be seen adopting a bold stance before he asked, ‘Mr Verity, if you are agreeable, I would like to invite Miss Verity to accompany me to a ridotto at Ranelagh Gardens on this forthcoming Friday.’

  Adam grinned. ‘That depends entirely on my sister’s wishes.’

  Samuel whirled, windmill like, to face Amelia. ‘Madam, it would give me great pleasure if you would allow me to escort you.’

  ‘How could I refuse so charming an invitation,’ she replied, and curtsied.

  Samuel lit up like a beacon and John suddenly felt rather saddened and alone, memories of poor dead Lucy, completely crazy though she clearly had been, filling his thoughts.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Adam, sensing something of the Apothecary’s unhappy feelings and trying to put things right. ‘May I invite you to New Bond Street to sink a bumper or two? There’ll be no more work for me today.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Amelia spiritedly. ‘I’ll put the shop in the hands of my head girl.’ She turned to look at John. ‘Anyway, my dears, sad though it is, I feel we should drink to the safe passing of troubled spirits. May they rest in peace.’

  ‘Yes,’ answered the Apothecary quietly, ‘may they all rest in peace.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  That Christmas of 1754, Sarah Delaney, large with child and glowing with triumph, gave a ball in order to show off her new house to all her friends. She had returned from the country, once assured that danger was past, and immediately announced to her adoring husband that she could never set foot in the Berkeley Square home again. Having spent one night there and thrown into the argument a pale ghost with a peony red mouth who roamed the place crying out and weeping, her doting spouse, thinking of his unborn son, had given way and had bought his vivacious wife a splendid new establishment.

  Situated in a prime position in Pall Mall, its elegant exterior decorated with a frieze depicting classical figures, its interior sumptuously filled with crystal chandeliers and alabaster pillars, Lady Delaney’s residence was considered one of the most beautiful places in London, and invitations to the house warming had been fought over by members of the beau monde. But despite the smattering of Princes and Dukes amongst the guests, Sarah had not forgotten her old friends, and everyone from Drury Lane theatre had received one of the highly-prized gilt-edged cards, together with all those who had been involved in the tragic circumstances surrounding the death of Jasper Harcross.

  An orchestra played music for dancing in the first-floor circular saloon, reputedly one of the finest rooms in England, its walls made up of sparkling mirrors in which the lovely clothes worn by the guests were most splendidly reflected. Tables had been set for supper in the drawing and dining rooms, and card tables put up in the library and music room. In this last John Fielding sat, his wife beside him whispering the denominations of the cards he held, playing whist with the Duke of Marlborough, the Duchess of Bedford and Sir Gabriel Kent, one of the most exquisitely dressed men present, his usual garb of silver and black heightened by a great flurry of diamonds. Not to be outdone, his son, so very highly regarded by the host, was wearing a new suit of deep purple figured silk embroidered with clusters of glittering rhinestones, shiny black shoes with fancy buckles upon his feet, and a lilac coloured silk ribbon tying the queue of his wig.

  In order to celebrate the Yuletide, the incomparable house had been decorated throughout with trails of greenery, and yule logs spluttered in every fireplace. A huge silver punch bowl, constantly topped up by servants with steaming jugs of potent spicy brew, stood amongst festoons of holly and ivy, scarlet ribbons tied to its handles and to the great ladle that lay beside it. One glass having a very powerful effect yet being utterly delicious and demanding a second be consumed, there was consequently a good deal of merriment, and conversation flowed easily, particularly amongst the younger people.

  Standing near the bowl, glass in hand, talking to Samuel and the Veritys, John, noticing the effects of the punch give him a slightly heady feeling, found himself constantly glancing into the great overmantel mirror above the fireplace, looking to see whether Coralie Clive had come into the room. She was in the house somewhere, he knew, having watched her arrive in company with her sister and the celebrated actress Peg Woffington, David Garrick’s mistress. But after a charming smile in his direction, she had disappeared to join the dancers, and he had not been brave enough to follow her.

  After the double tragedy in the house in Berkeley Square they had drawn close to one another for an enjoyable few days, comrades in misfortune. Then, when Coralie had recovered sufficiently to return home, a noticeable distance had grown between them. Of course, John had to admit, the actress’s coolness had coincided with his admission to the Drury Lane company that he had been unable to accept Polly Rose, born Lucy Egleton, as a murderer. An admission which anyone with any knowledge of the world must surely have been able to see through.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Amelia, breaking in on his train of thought.r />
  The milliner wore the most interesting headdress in the entire gathering, a swirl of flowers and butterflies, shimmering and iridescent, and all made up of rainbow hues. An excellent advertisement for her own establishment.

  John smiled at the clever little business woman. ‘I was thinking.’

  Amelia exchanged a glance with Samuel with whom, it was perfectly obvious, she now enjoyed a certain degree of intimacy.

  ‘Mr Swann, our friend is in a fit of gloom. What are we going to do with him?’

  ‘I suggest we all dance,’ her escort answered gallantly.

  ‘An excellent thought! Let’s find some partners,’ put in Adam, grabbing John by the arm. ‘Look, there’s Melanie Vine without either of her lovers. I’ll ask her.’ And he bowed low before his fellow thespian, who graciously extended her hand.

  The Apothecary looked round, seeing whom he might lead into the ballroom, and there was Elizabeth Fielding, released from her duties at the card table, heading towards the punch bowl.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, with a flamboyant salute, ‘will you do me the great honour of joining me in a dance?’

  She smiled delightedly. ‘Mr Rawlings, it would be a pleasure,’ and Elizabeth put her arm through his.

  The saloon glittered with a hundred extra candles, the reflections of which shimmered and sparkled in the gilded mirrors and in the jewels of the dancers. Everyone was there, jolly Tom Bowdler puffing round the room with Peg Woffington, while Garrick himself danced with his legal wife, Madame Violetta. Jack Masters was leading out Madame Ruffe, who had once employed poor Polly, while Clarice and James Martin danced together, John was much touched and gladdened to see. Even Sir Gabriel had come into the room, his son observed, his partner none other than the Comtesse de Vignolles, now noticeably rounding, while Comte Louis danced with Kitty Clive. Of the girl John wanted most to see, there was no sign at all.