Death at the Beggar's Opera (23 page)

First to patronise him, wearing a beaming smile and looking as full of vitality as was possible for a man of his age, came Lord Delaney, bearing another long list.

‘My dear young friend, I simply cannot tell you how vigorous your various lotions and potions have made me feel. As for Sarah, she is blooming with health. As you can imagine, though, recent events have upset her and she has decided to retire from the theatre immediately.’

‘She knows about William Swithin?’

‘Alas, yes. News travels quickly. Melanie Vine called with one of her gentlemen friends and told her everything. They all cried for quite a long while, saying that they had always been fond of the child.’ Lord Delaney looked serious. ‘Who is doing these terrible things, Mr Rawlings? Is it a person deranged?’

‘In a way, yes.’ Remembering Mr Fielding’s plan, John continued, ‘The most common view is that the crimes are being committed by someone who has a grudge against Jasper Harcross which, as far as I can see, amounts to about ninety per cent of the population. In fact the Beak is advising everyone who was connected with the man to leave London, so soon the city will be completely empty!’

Lord Delaney did not smile. “Zounds, then it is serious indeed. What a relief that Sarah was no more than a working companion to him, so that we can safely stay,’ he said, mopping his brow.

Cursing himself for his blunder, John attempted to retrieve the situation. ‘None the less, it might be wiser to remove Lady Delaney to your country seat. For all we know, this killer might be attacking people who so much as spoke to the dead man.’

Lord Delaney paled. ‘Do you really think so?’

The Apothecary told the truth. ‘I don’t know what to think, my Lord. Even Mr Fielding admits that he is baffled, there are so many possibilities. All I know is that if I had been even vaguely friendly with the victim I would remove myself as quickly as possible.’

The older man fingered his chin anxiously. ‘Can you dine with us soon, my friend? Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, no later. Just send a note round when you would like to come. I know that Sarah respects your judgement and will listen to what you say.’

‘Does she not like your country place, then?’

‘Not in the winter. She says it’s too damnably cold.’

‘Better that than cold in the grave,’ John said thoughtlessly, then wished he had guarded his tongue as Lord Delaney shot him a stricken and wretched glance. ‘Don’t worry, Sir,’ the Apothecary continued, realising that his cheery tone was falling flat in the frightened silence. ‘I will come tomorrow, and between us we can surely persuade Lady Delaney to leave town until this terrible business is over.’

‘I think I’ll return to her straight away,’ answered his Lordship. ‘Can you make this list up and bring it with you?’

‘Certainly. Now, my Lord, would you like a quick tonic? Something to restore your spirits?’

The old man nodded feebly, and feeling extremely ashamed of himself for being so tactless, John put a good measure of brandy into the reviving drink.

It was obviously going to be one of those extraordinary mornings, for no sooner had John waved farewell to his elderly visitor than a sedan chair put down outside his shop. Half expecting it to be Coralie, for the simple reason that that was the method of transport she had used when the actress had visited him before, the Apothecary felt a momentary thrill of disappointment when the Comtesse de Vignolle’s buckled and brocaded shoe set itself on the cobbles. But this feeling passed instantly and he hurried into the street to help his friend inside.

Today, Serafina looked particularly lovely, her smile captivating, her eyes brimming with gaiety, her elegant racehorse figure showing her clothes to advantage. And yet, John thought, in surveying her, there was something different about her. He let his eyes drop rapidly to her abdomen and there, sure enough, was the first sign of waxing. Certain that he was right, the Apothecary kissed her hand. The woman he had once adored was with child.

‘My dear,’ she said, sweeping into his shop and embracing him. ‘How is everything? Are you any nearer reaching a solution?’

It was perfectly obvious that, being outside the theatrical circle, she had not heard about Will Swithin and John hesitated whether to tell her. She was clearly so happy, so delighted with the miracle of her child, that to spoil her joy would have been cruelty itself. And yet she was such a highly respected and fascinating woman that her views were listened to, particularly by haughty young ladies like Coralie Clive. John decided to compromise.

‘Unfortunately, Comtesse, there was another murder on the very night that I supped with you last. A child called Will Swithin, the theatre boy, was done to death. It was very shocking and very terrible but good may yet come out of it. Mr Fielding has formulated some masterly plan by which he can draw the murderer into the open. You might be able to help.’

‘Me?’ echoed Serafina, and listened intently as John explained everything to her. ‘But surely,’ she said when he had finished, ‘Coralie will not refuse to do this for, if so, I shall be mightily disappointed in her. Why, I would give my eye teeth to help thwart such a monster.’

John smiled his irregular smile. ‘Comtesse, I rather imagine your days of being the most mysterious and talked-about woman in London are drawing to a close. I fear you will not be able to play Coralie’s part.’ And he winked at her.

She stared at him suspiciously. ‘Why, you little devil…How did you know?’

He assumed pomposity. ‘Madam, I am an apothecary and trained to observe the human physique in all its many …’

But he got no further. Serafina fell upon him, laughing joyfully, and tickling him until he admitted defeat. Just for a moment, though, when she was close, John held her in his arms and looked into her face. ‘I was in love with you once,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’

‘Of course I did. And I loved you too, for all the good you did to my morale. It was exciting to be admired, even from afar, by one of the most attractive young men in town.’

‘Are you referring to me?’

‘Certainly I am.’

‘Then I thank you,’ John answered, and kissed her with enthusiasm. Life being what it is, it was into this scene that Coralie Clive decided to walk.

‘I am extremely sorry to interrupt,’ she stated icily.

The Comtesse turned a radiant smile on her. ‘My dear, you are not. John and I are friends of long standing. In fact, I would go so far as to say that had I not been married to Louis, I would seriously have considered him for a lover at one stage in my life. But now, come and join our fun. Today I am announcing to the
beau monde
that I am
enceinte.
Please share my happiness.’ And she held out her hand in such a welcoming gesture that Coralie could not resist and was swept into the mutual embrace.

Very conscious of the actress’s body close to his, John broke away for the sake of decorum. ‘My dear Miss Clive, you called in to see me. How may I help you?’

‘Perhaps by explaining this.’ And she showed him the letter from Bow Street, requesting her to attend Mr Fielding as quickly as possible about a matter of some urgency which he wished to discuss with her.

Making a lightning quick decision, John decided to plead ignorance. ‘I am terribly sorry, Miss Clive, I have no idea why the Beak should ask to see you. I am not privy to all his thoughts. Perhaps he would like your help with something.’

‘But how could I possibly assist him?’

‘Oh come, come. There are so many ways in which a woman could be useful,’ put in Serafina, her eyes gleaming. ‘After all, you are an actress, my dear.’ She paused momentarily, then added, ‘I do wish I were closer to it all. How pleased I would be if Mr Fielding asked help of me.’

‘Why?’ asked Coralie, astonished.

‘Because I would like to be the one who sends a child slayer to Tyburn Tree, I mean it truly.’

‘Did you know,’ said John, ‘that the killer left one of your gloves at the scene of Will’s murder?’

‘Yes, Kitty told me. But for what reason? Is he trying to implicate me?’

‘I’m not sure,’ the Apothecary answered. ‘You see, when I showed that glove to Polly Rose she thought it belonged to Sarah Delaney. It seems to me that she is the one at whom the killer is trying to point the finger.’

‘But why?’

‘Because she is carrying Jasper Harcross’s child, I would imagine.’

‘It is all so horrible,’ said Coralie, with emotion. ‘I no longer feel safe in my bed at night.’

‘Then the sooner the murderer is captured the better,’ the Comtesse stated firmly. ‘If Mr Fielding calls for your assistance then give it my dear, I beg of you.’

‘I shall certainly think about it.’

‘May I hail you a chair, Miss Clive?’ John asked pointedly.

‘Thank you, I can manage,’ she answered primly.

Overwhelmed by a desire to shake her really hard, the Apothecary for all that pressed a small bottle of perfume into her hand. ‘Please accept this as a gift. It is a new fragrance which I have created myself.’

‘And what is it called?’

‘It does not have a name as yet. Perhaps you can think of one for me.’

‘How about Eau de Bow Street?’ she replied instantly, and with that turned on her heel and was gone.

‘I would like to strangle that girl,’ said John forcefully.

Serafina laughed. ‘It is only because you are strongly attracted to each other and neither of you knows how to respond – as yet.’

‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘That there is still such a lot of living left for you to do, both you and she. You have met too soon. It would have been better in ten years’ time.’

‘Yet I feel attracted to others too, that’s the devil of it. There’s a funny little seamstress with a mouth that beggars description, so beautiful and so savage that I long for its touch. Then there’s Amelia Verity who runs a hat shop in New Bond Street. What a neat and charming girl – with a business to match.’ He turned to the Comtesse in genuine bewilderment. ‘What is the matter with me, Serafina, that I like them all?’

She held his face between her hands. ‘You are a perfectly normal young man, John. That is all that is wrong with you. If you do not believe me, ask your father.’

‘But what of Coralie? Is she the heartless wretch I sometimes believe?’

‘She is probably in exactly the same predicament as yourself, not knowing which way to turn. Remember that the affair with Jasper Harcross must have hurt her badly.’

The Apothecary sighed. ‘Yes, you are right, of course …’

But he could say no more, his next words drowned by a terrible commotion in the street outside. Wheeling round, both he and the Comtesse stared in amazement at the scene. Approaching his shop at great speed, not so much running as galloping, came Jack Masters of the craggy face and pipe. Right behind him, loping like a gazelle, came the tall red-headed figure of Melanie Vine. Bringing up the rear, puffing and crimson-faced and groaning with the exertion, was the rotund form of Tom Bowdler, fanning himself with his hat as he ran. Even while John gazed in astonishment, Jack shot inside.

‘You must come at once,’ he panted. ‘There is not a moment to lose.’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked John, automatically reaching for the bag he used when visiting the sick.

‘It’s Clarice Martin, she’s dying. We don’t know what to do.’

‘What are her symptoms? You must tell me so that I can bring the right things.’

‘She’s been poisoned,’ gasped Melanie, hurling herself through the door. ‘We called round to see her and when we got there she was unconscious on the floor, cold as ice but in a terrible sweat.’

‘Has she vomited at all?’ John demanded, throwing medicaments into his bag.

‘Oh no,’ puffed Tom. ‘If she had I would have known at once. Can’t stand the smell.’

‘You should have called a local physician,’ John said frantically as they piled into a hackney obtained by Serafina from Piccadilly. ‘It’s a fair stretch to Portugal Street. She may be dead by the time we get there.’

‘We felt no one else should know.’

‘God’s great wounds! This is no time for sensitivity.’ And John groaned in despair as the driver hurled them through Leicester Fields, down Bear Street and through all the back alleys of Covent Garden in order to get them to their destination before a woman’s life came to its untimely end.

Afterwards he never knew how he had saved her. She lay on the floor, billowing like a sail, but as still and white as a ship becalmed. Kneeling down beside Mrs Martin’s body, John sniffed her breath and thought he detected, beneath the brandy fumes, the sweet smell of an extract drawn from the unripe seed capsule of a poppy. He, himself, had compounded it many times to help those in pain or who could not sleep. But it seemed that in this case a fatal dose had been administered which, together with the effects of alcohol, had all but done for Clarice Martin. To confirm his diagnosis John raised her slumberous eyelid. The pupil of the eye was minute, a mere pinpoint, while the breathing was so depressed as to be almost non-existent. Desperately, John turned to Melanie Vine, who hovered beside him like an anxious dragonfly.

‘She must get rid of the poison, it’s the only way. Where is her kitchen?’

‘Out there.’

‘Then bring me a bowl, a cup and a kettle full of warm water. Go on, hurry!’

He had brought common salt, that great cure-all, with him and now he prepared to make the emetic while poor Melanie, having found the things he wanted, wept nearby.

‘It’s not so much that I was fond of her, in fact she was really quite terrible at times, but for all that she had a good side, a generous side. Besides, I have known her for years and I don’t like to lose my old acquaintances.’

‘She’s not gone yet,’ John replied grimly, administering a feather to the back of Mrs Martin’s throat.

‘Is this an accident or has the murderer struck again?’

‘It may be neither.’

‘What do you mean?’

But John could not answer as his wretched patient began to rid herself of the fluids that were killing her, barely conscious though she was.

An hour later it was all over. The contents of her stomach were gone and Mrs Martin had been put to bed by all four of the rescue party, lifting as one. She lay against the white sheets, totally drained of strength, still fighting for survival, for the poisonous combination of brandy and opium would by now have entered her system and there was little further that anyone could do. For all that, John sent Jack Masters, the fastest on foot, to fetch a physician.