Death at the Devil's Tavern (10 page)

The widow's ferociously beautiful features contorted. ‘In answer to your first question, no I was not present. I am not the type that dances on the grave of another. And a grave it would have been if he had married her, for the weeping bride is no one to be pitied, you can believe me. She is a wretched little schemer and an unprincipled slut. As to her whereabouts, I have absolutely no idea where she can be found. I believe Sir William had set her up somewhere, no doubt in the lap of luxury. But if you want her exact address, you'll have to ask Luke Challon.'

‘Luke Challon?' the Apothecary repeated.

‘My father-in-law's private secretary. He is privy to all his affairs.' Lydia laughed bitterly at the double entendre.

John assumed his most sympathetic expression. ‘I take it that Miss Lambourn was a thorn in the family's side?'

‘Then you take it correctly. She is a common strumpet after every penny she can get hold of. While my father-in-law is that archetypally foolish figure, the old man clinging desperately to his youth by means of an association with a female considerably younger than he is.'

‘The seasoned campaigner struggling to win his last battle. Alas, I have many such patients.'

For no particular reason that John could see, this struck Lydia as extremely funny and her forbidding face lit as the red lips turned up at the corners and she burst out laughing. ‘Oh la la!' she gasped. ‘And what a battle it is, no doubt.' Then she sobered. ‘But he lost his, didn't he, poor old fellow? Oh Mr Rawlings, how did Sir William die?'

‘He was struck over the head with a great stick, or at least by something that bore an ornamental fox's head for handle. Then he was thrown into the river.'

Lydia swung to the other extreme and became immensely still. ‘God's life,' she murmured. ‘Who could have done such a thing?'

‘Someone who wanted to prevent his marriage at all costs, perhaps.'

She regarded him solemnly. ‘But only his family desired that, and none of us would have harmed him.'

John looked at her very seriously. ‘For all that I will have to ask your relatives questions. Do you have a few moments to tell me about them?'

Lydia stood up. ‘No, I don't think I have. I believe it best that you request Luke Challon to help you. He can give you an impartial view whereas I cannot.'

The Apothecary nodded. ‘And where may I find this Luke?'

‘He's at the country house in Bethnal Green at the moment. He was very concerned when Sir William did not turn up for the wedding and I believe has gone there to initiate enquiries.'

‘I see. But you were not?'

Lydia frowned, the black brows sweeping downwards into a line. ‘Not what?'

‘Not concerned when your father-in-law didn't appear?'

‘It was the general belief that he had seen sense at last, had decided not to proceed with the marriage, and consequently was lying low for a few days.'

‘And what would you have done if he hadn't returned?'

Mrs Hartfield looked marginally irritable. ‘I don't know. Someone would have gone in search of him, I suppose.'

John got to his feet and bowed. ‘Thank you so much for giving me your valuable time. Tomorrow I shall call at Bethnal Green. But meanwhile I am going to have to ask Mr Roger Hartfield to accompany me to the mortuary to claim the body. The Coroner will only release it to a member of the family.'

‘Oh dear, why him?' Lydia exclaimed. ‘Can't Luke do it?'

‘I am afraid not. It has to be kin.'

‘Then why not ask horrible Hugh. He would be far more suitable.'

‘And who is he?'

‘My brother-in-law, the third of the four brothers. As he displays all the emotion of a swabbing bucket on every occasion, I think he would perform the task best.'

‘Is this particular Mr Hartfield readily available?'

‘No, Sir, he is not. He has gone on a short journey.'

‘Then Roger it must be. That body must go for decent burial without undue delay.'

Lydia whitened. ‘Please say no more. I will try and find out where he is and the current state of his nerves.'

And with that she left the room, her extraordinary face drawn and tense. Thinking that she was rather a splendid woman despite her inclination to be aggressive, John crossed to the window and looked out, only to hear the door open behind him once more. He turned to see who had come in and felt his eyes widen at the sight of the newcomers. For there stood the twins, just as fascinating and brilliant as he remembered them. Well aware of the fact that he was staring in open admiration, John made them a formal bow.

They were as similar as any two people can be who are not of the same sex. Burnished red hair, tight in natural corkscrew curls, whirled round the girl's head, and though the boy had shaved his short in order to accommodate his wig, today he wore none and it was clear that had he allowed his curling locks to grow they would have been identical to his sister's. Their eyes were of the same light blue, a disconcertingly unusual shade like a certain variety of meadow butterfly, while their features had been cast in a precise mould the only difference a certain hardness of the boy's skin caused by shaving. In physique, too, they were of equal build, both inclined to be small, though there all similarity ceased, for the girl had pretty feminine curves which the Apothecary considered alluring.

He bowed again. ‘My name is Rawlings, John Rawlings. Whom am I addressing, please?'

They responded together, bowing and curtseying simultaneously. In any other situation it would have been amusing, but knowing that a close relative, presumably their father, had been done to death, John found himself unable to smile.

The girl spoke first. ‘I am Juliette Hartfield, Sir, and this is my brother Julian.'

The two men bowed to one another.

‘Do please tell us what is afoot,' Juliette went on. ‘We glimpsed your arrival and were much intrigued that whatever you said caused Roger to take to his bed declaring billiousness. Also that Lydia swept from the room looking more like a fury than ever. Do you know something about them? Something scandalous, that is?'

The Apothecary shook his head. ‘No, it isn't that. I had some news to impart to them, news that they were not happy to hear. And before you ask me what it is, let me say that I do not feel it my place to tell you.'

Identical eyes exchanged a glance and the twins's entire aspect changed.

‘It's Father, isn't it?' asked Julian tightly. ‘I felt certain when he didn't appear at his wedding that all was not well.'

Juliette clung to her brother's arm. ‘Is he dead? Is that why he hasn't been seen?'

John, knowing that they would have to hear the ill tidings sooner or later, decided to tell the truth. ‘Yes, I'm afraid he is. Please accept my sincere condolences.'

Both of them fought back tears, a sad and touching sight. ‘How did he die?' asked Juliette in a whisper.

The Apothecary cringed, not wanting such a terrible duty. ‘I fear he fell victim to a murderer's hand, and that is why I am here,' he said quietly. ‘I represent Mr Fielding of the Public Office, Bow Street, and it is my task to try and find the perpetrator of this evil crime.'

Juliette gave a snort. ‘If financial gain was the motive then I doubt you need look further than my father's mistress.'

‘That's not fair,' Julian responded roundly. ‘Papa was entitled to his happiness. Just because Amelia comes from a lower walk of life there is no need to lay all ills at her door.'

‘Huh,' his sister answered in a most unladylike fashion, ‘to hear you talk anyone would think you had a fancy for her yourself.'

‘How dare you!' Julian replied furiously, and then he pulled himself up short. ‘Juliette,' he said in a completely different tone, ‘here we are arguing while Father lies dead. We should be ashamed.'

‘Don't, don't,' she answered, and fell sobbing into a chair, while he made fists of his hands and gulped furiously in order to stop himself doing likewise.

‘Take deep breaths,' the Apothecary advised gently.

Julian turned a stricken glance in his direction. ‘But what a terrible thing. Our own father victim of an assassin's blow. Surely robbery must have been the reason for his death.'

‘If so, not a great deal was taken,' John answered grimly. ‘His rings and watch were missing, that is presuming he wore them …'

Julian nodded. ‘He did.'

‘… but it seems that those are considered honest pickings by the watermen whose duty it is to land bodies.'

‘God's life, are you telling me that he drowned?'

The Apothecary shook his head. ‘I think not. It seems more likely that he was thrown into the river after he was killed.'

Once he had spoken, John wished he hadn't said a thing, for this grim picture finally reduced Julian to tears. But with the extraordinary communication that exists between twins, Juliette stopped crying at that moment and rising from her chair went to comfort her brother. Thinking that he had handled it all very badly, the Apothecary produced his smelling salts and passed them to her.

She gave him a perceptive glance. ‘What's this? Have the Beak Runners taken to carrying medicines?'

John smiled sheepishly. ‘No, the truth is I am an apothecary. I only work with Mr Fielding from time to time.'

‘I see.' Juliette administered the salts to her brother. ‘Come Julian, we must rally. Let us give Mr Rawlings what help we can. We shall have plenty of time for grief after he has gone.' She turned her lovely streaked face back in John's direction. ‘Do you really mean to find the person who killed our father?'

‘I'll do my best, though a cunning criminal could well elude me.'

Juliette looked at him pleadingly, her expression hard to resist. ‘I beg you not to let that happen. Now, Sir, what can we tell you? Would a description of the events leading up to Papa's disappearance be of any use?'

John motioned her to sit down, tactfully turning the two chairs away from Julian, who was struggling hard to control himself. ‘Could you go back a little further, Miss Hartfield? Perhaps you could tell me how Sir William came to be involved with Miss Lambourn in the first place. I mean, how long has he known her?'

She crinkled her delightful nose. ‘I am not certain about that. I believe some time. Probably before our mother died.'

‘How long ago was that?'

‘Only seven months. It is all quite, quite shameful.'

Julian interrupted from behind them. ‘It was a natural thing, Mr Rawlings. Ten years ago, when Juliette and I were nine, our mother suffered a stroke which led her to be paralysed. My father was quite hale and strong at the time, in the early part of his fifties, and I believe sought the comforts of marriage elsewhere. My twin and I were too young to know about such things but we overheard family gossip and had the long ears of childhood. Then he met Amelia and she became his mistress. My grandmother found out and took great exception to this, as did other members of the family who considered her a money-seeking flap. However, my father obviously cared for the girl because he planned to wed her.'

‘I know about that,' John put in.

‘The marriage was to have been secret but Grandmama got wind of it …'

‘How?'

‘By terrorising Luke Challon into telling her. Then she ordered us all to go, dressed in black, to try and put a stop to it.'

‘But how could you have done that?'

‘Had the marriage proceeded she intended to shout out yes when the preacher asked if anyone knew any just cause or impediment.'

‘But she had no right. Your father was a widower after all.'

‘She considered that Mother – who was her daughter by the way – was not yet cold in her grave. Why, she swore that she would go to any lengths to see that her son-in-law did not remarry. Did she not, Juliette?'

‘Yes,' said his sister, going pale as the full import of the words dawned on her.

John glided over the awkward moment. ‘And what was your opinion of Miss Lambourn, Mr Hartfield? I presume from your general tone that you take a man of the world's view of your father's transgression. Am I right?'

Julian blossomed and the Apothecary, remembering that the young man considered himself something of a gamester and blood, smiled inwardly.

‘I certainly did not disapprove. She is a very pretty delicate soul, albeit something of a dell.'

‘Really, Julian,' said Juliette crossly, ‘she is a lowlife little harlot and well you know it.'

‘Men and women see these things differently,' he answered carelessly.

Sensing that they were about to bicker again, the Apothecary determinedly changed the subject. ‘Tell me of the other members of your family apart from your grandmother. Describe them to me.'

‘Well, there's Aunt Hesther, Grandmama's daughter and our late mother's sister. She never married and now acts as the old lady's companion, poor creature.'

John nodded as into his pictorial memory flashed a picture of a fluttering female and a nasty old woman sitting together in church.

Juliette took up the tale. ‘Father had five children, Roger, Thomas – who drowned at sea – Hugh, then us. Roger never married …' She exchanged a sudden mischievous look with her brother which spoke volumes. ‘… so he brought no wife to the house, though Thomas did. You've met her, Lydia the dark lily. She's odd, a bit maddish, in total contrast to our brother Hugh, who is such a prim it is hard to believe he is a Hartfield. And the same can be said about his wife Maud. Needless to say they have no children. Julian reckons that they don't know how to set about getting one.'

She giggled naughtily, her radiance restored, and John considered how ephemeral were the emotions of youth. Then, as if she had picked up his thought wave, Juliette's face grew stricken again. ‘We shouldn't be laughing, should we, with poor Father dead?