Death in Hellfire (3 page)

Samuel said something and John jerked back to attention. “I’m sorry, Samuel. What did you say?”

“I said that I am pleased you are coming to dine tomorrow.” John looked him straight in the eye. “I’m glad you mentioned that because I wasn’t sure that you were.”

Samuel dropped his gaze, saying quietly, “Shall we speak outside? Privately.”

“Yes. I am bored with cards. Probably because I’ve never been any good at “em.”

Something like Sam’s old familiar grin spread over his features. “I confess my liking of them has increased since my marriage but I am certainly quite happy to throw in my hand.” John stood up. “Comtesse, will you forgive Samuel and me if we take a stroll round your beautiful garden? We haven’t seen one another in an age and have a great deal to catch up on.”

Jocasta looked up with a bright stare but Sir Gabriel gave a nod of approval. “About time you two lads had a conversation
a deux.
At one time people used to think they were brothers, you know.”

He looked round him benignly and the Apothecary thought that he was being terribly cosy, suspiciously so. He gave his father a swift grin and left the room.

Descending the delicately curving staircase side-by-side with Samuel, he made his way out through the large French doors that led on to the terrace. The scent of the summer garden hung heavy in the air and the sun was descending behind the house. It was high season, the weather was hot and all should have been at peace. Yet despite this, John knew perfectly well that the criminal classes were hard at work, stealing, whoring and murdering. At that moment he was sorry that he had to argue with Samuel, but the air had to be cleared for once and for all. Making his way to a shady seat, he sat down and motioned for his friend to do likewise. “Now, Sam, tell me why you are angry with me.”

Samuel adopted his pompous face, a look that John was not used to seeing. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“You know perfectly well. Why have you and Jocasta turned against me?” Samuel started to explode and expostulate but the Apothecary cut across him. “Don’t try to deny it. You have given me black looks ever since I arrived here.”

Samuel stood up and walked a few steps, then he said over his shoulder, “I was more hurt than annoyed, John. Why did you stay away so long?”

“Godammit, man. I know that I have seen little of you over the last few years but if you will recall I was accused of my wife’s murder and had to go into hiding. And that meant not seeing anyone, not even my father. But I did come and visit you as soon as I could and admired your son and tickled him. And after that I went to the West Country a couple of times. But now I am back and it ill becomes you to be so petulant with me. I beg you, Sam, if I have given cause for offence please forgive me. If I have caused you pain let me assure you that it was completely unintentional.”

Samuel’s back was a masterpiece of various emotions. Rigid at first, it slowly began to relax, then to quiver very slightly. John realised to his horror that Samuel was silently weeping. He got up and put his arm round the other man’s shoulders.

“Sam, please don’t. I truly am sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings.”

The Apothecary realised, even as he said the words, that he was now apologising profusely, had, indeed, taken on the role of the bad boy, but frankly he didn’t care. It was not worth upsetting Samuel just to prove a point.

The big man turned, all the pomposity gone from his face, which shone large and round in the last rays of the sun. He gazed at John earnestly.

“What was it about the West Country that so appealed to you, my friend? Was there some woman there that you wanted to see?”

Lying in his teeth, John answered, “No. I just like the place, that is all.”

Much as he had once loved Samuel, he knew that to mention Elizabeth’s name would be fatal. Sam would tell Jocasta, who no doubt would pass such a juicy bit of gossip on to her circle of women friends, and soon half of London would know how besotted the Apothecary had been and conjecture as to what would happen next. Which, John knew in his heart of hearts, would be precisely nothing.

But now he held Samuel close to him. “My dear friend, please can’t we get back to the relationship we once had? I treasured it deeply, you know.”

“It can never be quite the same,” Sam answered honestly. “Because now I have Jocasta and Tobias and another child on the way. But as to my friends, I confess that none has ever come as close to me as you once did.”

“Then can we agree to start again?”

“Gladly,” said Samuel, producing a large and sensible handkerchief with which he dabbed his eyes.

“Then you still wish me to dine with you tomorrow?”

“Of course I do. It will be a great opportunity for us to reminisce.”

“Indeed it will. Now, let us rejoin the party.”

“And get slightly drunk.”

“Why not,” said John, and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

What had begun as a disaster ended as a most cordial evening. With the tensions between John and Samuel clearly resolved, the rest of the company - even Louis de Vignolles who had been blissfully unaware of anything - relaxed and engaged in frivolous conversation, abandoning their game of cards, somewhat to the annoyance of Sir Gabriel. Jocasta too, who had obviously turned against the Apothecary for reasons best known to herself, was clearly not sure where she stood and remained huffily silent until carriages were called for. Then she turned a frozen cheek toward him and murmured, “I shall see you at six o’clock tomorrow.”

“I’ll be delighted,” he beamed back, disconcerting the poor woman completely.

Afterwards, as he and Sir Gabriel were driven home by Irish Tom, John said, “Sam has changed, of course. But I think he and I can get our friendship back on an even keel.”

His father considered the remark in silence, then said, “That woman - his wife - was she ever in love with you? A long time ago, during the Aidan Fenchurch affair I mean.”

John thought about it. “Possibly. I’ve never really considered it.”

“Well, think about it. I believe therein your answer might lie.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I say, my boy. It is very easy for a love once held to turn to hatred you know.”

“You might be right at that.”

Sir Gabriel turned on him a piercing glance. “What do you mean, might? I am always right in matters concerning the heart.” And with that he pulled his hat forward and appeared to go to sleep.

Chapter Three

 
“
R
eally?” said Samuel, his eyes widening in his round face. “Good gracious! I do envy you, John. I truly do.”

The Apothecary, flattered despite himself, looked down modestly. “Oh come now, Samuel, you have a highly successful business, in fact you are spoken of as one of the principal goldsmiths of London. How could you leave such an enterprise?” His friend surprised him by answering, “Very easily. Nowadays I have two assistants and several apprentices. I could hand the business over to one of them and get away for a few days.”

John sat silently, thinking of the times when Samuel had been given tasks to do by the Blind Beak, tasks that even a child of five could have carried out. He remembered his friend’s over-exuberant manner with witnesses, frightening the life out of them. He also recalled with fondness Samuel’s great enjoyment, his relish in working on an investigation. And now he felt certain that by admitting he was about to undertake an enquiry on behalf of the Magistrate, Samuel had once again got the bit between his teeth. He looked at the Goldsmith and smiled, rather feebly.

“So your quarry is a prominent member of parliament, eh?” Samuel asked excitedly.

John sighed inwardly. The dinner had been excellent - clearly a peace offering - and Jocasta, though frosty, had warmed up a little during the course of the meal. Rose had behaved impeccably, sitting silently and straight, but had jumped up as soon as dinner was done and had gone with Jocasta to the nursery to play with three-year-old Tobias. Left alone, the two men had imbibed rather a lot of port with the result that John had said too much about his latest quest. Though not mentioning Sir Francis Dashwood by name, he had told an avid Samuel as much as he dared about the new commission given to him by John Fielding. And now Sam’s face was taking on a conspiratorial expression as he narrowed his eyes.

“D’ye know, John, I’ve a mind to accompany you wherever it is that you are going. I could adopt a disguise if you like.”

The Apothecary allowed a fleeting smile to cross his features before he answered, “I don’t know about that, my friend. I would have to admit to the Blind Beak that I had told you something of what lies ahead.”

“I don’t see why,” Samuel protested. “Supposing I just went independently and stayed at a nearby inn. I mean to say, I am free to travel where I please without Sir John’s say-so.”

There was no arguing with this logic but nonetheless John answered, “But you don’t know where I
am
going, do you?” Samuel gave him a pathetic glance. “You surely couldn’t withhold that information from me, John. After all, all I want to do is help you.”

The Apothecary drained his glass, then held it out for a refill. “If you must know I am going to West Wycombe in Buckinghamshire.”

Samuel goggled. “But that is the home of Sir Francis Dashwood, is it not? Good God, my friend, is he the subject of your next investigation?”

John grinned ruefully. “The trouble with you, Samuel, is that you’re too clever by half. You worm out even my deepest secrets. But swear to me that you will tell no one else of this. I promise you that Sir John would have my head if he thought I had confided in anyone.”

The first part had been said in jest, of course, but Sam turned on him a look so earnest, so overjoyed at his own supposed cleverness, that it moved the Apothecary almost to tears, and he felt ashamed and cheapened that he should have made fun of his old friend in such a way. Humbly, he put out his hand.

“Listen, my dear, if you should want to visit West Wycombe at the same time as myself then of course I cannot stop you. But be warned I might disappear for several days. That is if I am lucky enough to get an invitation to visit the house.”

The Goldsmith looked mysterious, an expression which was so at odds with his happy moonface that John fought to control threatened tears.

“You’re planning something,” he said.

“I was actually thinking how good it would be to accompany you once more on an investigation,” Samuel answered reflectively.

“It will be helpful to have you,” John answered, and prayed that he would be forgiven for such a downright lie.

*
 
*
 
*

Later that evening, sitting in the quiet of his house, with Rose gone to bed and Sir Gabriel out calling on friends, John penned an advertisement for
The Public Advertiser.
It read as follows:

A Gentleman of London seeks a clean, honest, educated Lady to act as Companion to his motherless Daughter. Must be proficient in Speech and Sewing, Music and Dancing and not be Above the Age of Thirty-Five. Applications should be made to J. Rawlings, Esquire at 2, Nassau Street, Soho.

This done he sealed it and sent it round with a footman, together with a shilling to pay for the insertion, to the Editor, Henry Sampson Woodfall, at his office nearby.

Then he sat down in the library and took a book from the shelves. But he could not concentrate, his mind wandering over the fact that he was going to be forced to conduct this investigation with Samuel, hearty and keen, panting by his side. Yet, when all was said and done, did not the years of friendship, the hours of devotion and somewhat poor advice given, count for nothing? How could he in all fairness turn aside so loving a comrade? Angry with himself, John Rawlings tried desperately to concentrate on the printed words but found himself unable to do so.

A picture of Elizabeth came into his mind and he saw her beautiful face with its ugly scar as clearly as if she were in the room. Memories of their first meeting, of how he had kissed her and known even then that she was dangerous for him, came back to taunt him with their bitter-sweet recollections.

He sighed and stretched in his chair and then he heard Sir Gabriel come in.

“Father,” he called, “I’m in the library. Come and join me.” There were the sounds of the older man removing his cloak and then progressing towards the room. John opened the door and peered into the hall, seeing Sir Gabriel advancing, leaning on his stick, the only outward sign of his father’s great age.

“My boy, I thought you might have retired. How was the dinner?”

“It was very good. And your granddaughter behaved impeccably. I believe she has thoroughly endeared herself - to Samuel at least.”

“Madam Jocasta still unfriendly?”

“She’s warming up.”

Sir Gabriel sipped his brandy and looked at his son over the rim of the glass. “Mark my words, my dear, she must once have had a passion for you. And now she is angry that you have come back to annoy her. But she will slowly see reason.” John poured himself a glass and said, “I’m not so sure of that. Samuel has discovered that I am off on behalf of Sir John and wants to come with me to help.”

“Will that be allowed?”