In contrast to the day he had left London for Devon, this morning was fine and fair. The words ‘Golden October’ ran through the Apothecary’s mind as he climbed aboard the London-bound stagecoach in company with a thin nervous lady whom he helped into her seat. Somewhat to his surprise he saw that sitting directly opposite him was Lucinda Silverwood. He half rose and bowed to her.
‘Good day, Madam. How nice to be travelling with you. I take it your daughter has had her child?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. A healthy boy. So my job is now done and I am going home.’
‘Which is where?’ the Apothecary enquired.
‘In Sussex. I live just outside Lewes.’
‘What a coincidence. That is where I am heading.’
An infinitesimal look of anxiety crossed her face to be rapidly replaced by her usual serene expression. ‘How delightful. I shall have a travelling companion.’
‘It will be entirely my pleasure.’
They relapsed into silence and John thought about his meeting with the Constable earlier that morning when they both had to admit that they were no further forward with the case.
‘It’s the very devil, Sir. I’ve interviewed them all bar the German woman and you say that she is coming to see me this morning.’
‘I am certain she will. Her sister is very different from her and she is driving Fraulein Schmitt in in a trap, so I have no reason to doubt it.’
‘Well, though none of them has an alibi, they seem a fairly straightforward bunch to me.’
Straightforward would have hardly been the word he would have used to describe such a diverse mixture of people considered John. But he had said nothing. Instead he had offered the information that he was on his way to Sussex to discover as much as he could about William Gorringe’s past.
‘Well, I wish you luck, Sir. But don’t be too disappointed if you come away empty-handed.’
And with that comforting thought the Apothecary had left to go to The Half Moon to catch the stagecoach. As he had gone he had spotted a trap in the distance being driven by the redoubtable Matilda Mitchell and had given a small sigh of relief.
Now he sat in the coach while the horses were backed into the traces amidst a certain amount of encouragement and swearing from the hostlers and the horsekeeper. Looking out of the window he saw with a certain amount of surprise that the Black Pyramid and Nathaniel Broome had come into the yard. Then he noticed they were carrying luggage and realized that they were going to travel with him as well. He watched as the great black man swung himself up onto the roof and put down a mighty hand to pull Nathaniel up to sit beside him.
‘All aboard, ladies and gentlemen?’ called the driver.
‘Wait for me,’ shouted an elderly man, puffing into the inn yard at the last minute. He was hauled up by unseen hands and the coachman cracked his whip.
‘Well, we’re away,’ said Mrs Silverwood, wiping a tear from her eye.
‘You will miss your daughter no doubt,’ John answered her.
‘Oh yes, I shall. She is my only child, alas. And Nicholas my only grandchild.’
‘So far,’ the Apothecary said cheerfully, and brought a smile to her lips.
The journey to London was a repetition of the excursion down but done in reverse. Having left Exeter at nine in the morning — as opposed to mid-evening — they stayed once again in Bath. During their first break John, having gallantly handed the ladies out and assisted a clergyman to descend, found himself face-to-face with Jack Beef, alias the Black Pyramid.
The black man had swept him a fulsome bow. ‘My word. So we meet again. How delightful to see you Mr Rawlings.’
‘The pleasure is entirely mine,’ the Apothecary answered, returning the compliment.
There was a great flash of white teeth. ‘I take it that you are returning to London?’
‘Actually I am travelling on further. What about yourself?’
‘I am going to a fight in Islington. At Stokes’s Amphitheatre to be precise.’
‘Oh, I like that place. I went there years ago and saw a female boxing match.’
‘Well, now it’s Jack’s turn,’ said Nathaniel, coming round the corner and tipping his hat in the direction of the Apothecary.
‘Did you do well from your bout in Exeter?’ John asked conversationally.
‘Extremely well. In addition to my purse I got a reward from some young blade who had wagered a great deal on my winning. It was a most enjoyable trip.’
‘But marred by the murder of William Gorringe no doubt.’
The black man straightened his face while Nathaniel swept his hat from his head.
‘That was an unfortunate business. Both Nat and I have seen the Constable but we found it hard to give him any information. I imagine it was some burglar who crept in and was surprised during the robbery.’
‘I think not,’ John answered briefly.
‘Oh? Why do you say that?’
‘The man was attacked with unbelievable savagery. All the evidence points to him being killed by somebody who really hated him.’
The Black Pyramid looked grim, his face tautening into deep lines and dark furrows. ‘Must have been someone from his past,’ he said.
‘And that,’ replied John, ‘is precisely what I am about to investigate.’
He raised his hat to the pair, who stood staring at him, astonished, and proceeded into the inn to partake of a light repast.
They reached the Gloucester Coffee House late the next night, having raced back from Bath only stopping to allow the passengers food and comfort. John had tried to sleep as darkness fell but he had found his brain too full of thoughts to allow him to doze. Opposite him Mrs Silverwood had slept deeply, so deeply that John had been forced to wake her when they arrived in London. He had gone immediately into The Gloucester Hotel to book himself a room for the night; Lucinda had followed him, yawning. The Black Pyramid and Nathaniel Broome, however, had hired a hackney coach and had disappeared into the night without further ado.
The only room left had been one for two persons and John had turned to Mrs Silverwood.
‘Do you object to sharing with me, Madam? I promise that I will not embarrass you in any way.’
‘I would share with anyone tonight,’ she had answered, her voice sounding exhausted.
So John had signed them in as Mr and Mrs Rawlings and they had been shown to a small attic dwelling at the very top of the house.
Without false modesty Lucinda had removed her upper and outer garments and had lain down in the bed in her stays, shift and under-petticoat. She had immediately fallen asleep. John longed to take off his breeches but did not dare strip down to his drawers. Instead he removed his shoes and stockings, his coat and waistcoat, and also dived into bed, making sure that he kept a good distance between himself and the slumbering Mrs Silverwood.
He, too, must have slept deeply because he awoke the next morning to find her missing. He sat up in bed, slightly annoyed that she hadn’t woken him to go to breakfast, where he presumed she was. But having made his way downstairs he was informed that his wife had already left the inn and further had settled the account for the two of them. Grateful but for all that puzzled, John ate a somewhat indifferent breakfast, then made enquires about coaches leaving for Lewes.
‘They leave from The Borough, Sir. From The White Swan.’
John recalled with a mixture of mirth and misery his memories of the place at which he had stayed when he had been on his way to the Romney Marsh.
‘Thank you very much. You are quite sure Mrs… er… Rawlings has paid the bill?’
‘Positive, Sir,’ answered the man, and gave John a lewd wink.
Not feeling in the least like walking, John hired a hackney coach and proceeded in this conveyance to the busy part of London known as The Borough, crossing the Thames by means of a slow progress over London Bridge. When he eventually arrived he found that a stagecoach was leaving for Brighthelmstone at eight o’clock and felt a great sense of relief that he only had to wait ten minutes before it departed. Hurrying, he managed to secure a place on the roof in a rather precarious seat at the very back. As he scaled the coach’s side he realized that he was probably on a fool’s errand.
‘First stop is Croydon,’ called the guard and with a turn of wheels and a crack of the whip, John set off on this extremely nebulous adventure.
They reached Lewes approximately nine and a half hours later having stopped at Croydon, Godstone, East Grinstead and Uckfield before they reached their destination. Dropping John and another woman, large and grumpy and wearing eyebrow wigs made of mouse fur, at an establishment named The White Hart, the Apothecary decided to book himself a room for the night and afterwards go into the taproom to pick up any local gossip.
But first he must dine, feeling very empty and decidedly in need of a good glass of claret. He made his way to the dining parlour which was totally devoid of people and addressed an ancient waiter.
‘Good evening. I have just arrived off the stagecoach. Am I too late to get a bite of supper?’
‘Provided you take what the cook has to offer, Sir, no, you are not.’
‘Then fetch me some pottage and pie and I’ll be happy.’
‘And what would you like to drink?’
‘Some wine, if you please.’
‘Certainly, Sir.’
The waiter left the room and John was just starting to read a newspaper when the woman with the eyebrow wigs, which John regarded as quite the most monstrous fashion, came in and sat down at a table adjacent to his.
‘Where’s the serving man?’ she enquired abruptly.
‘He’s just gone out to put in my order,’ John answered, lowering the paper.
‘Well I hope he hurries back. I’m starving to death after that journey.’
As she looked as far from her demise as was humanly possible the Apothecary merely smiled and started to read once more.
‘Well, how did you fare whilst travelling, Sir?’
‘I have been on the road for some days,’ John answered pleasantly. ‘I have come from Exeter.’
‘Goodness me. That’s a fair way to travel. What brings you to this part of the world?’
‘Business. Just business.’
At that point the waiter came in and after grumbling that there was nothing decent left to eat the woman ordered an immense amount of food and a bottle of wine. John’s claret had arrived by this time and he politely offered the woman a glass as she was still waiting.
‘Very kind of you, Mr…’
‘Rawlings, Ma’am.’
‘I’ll accept.’
He poured it out and saw her get the look in her eye of someone who was longing to talk.
With a mental sigh he relinquished the newspaper.
‘I’ve come to visit my daughter,’ she started. ‘She lives close by but, alas, has too many children to warrant my staying with her, every bedroom being taken if you follow my meaning.’
John nodded.
‘Of course, I am a native of these parts. I was actually born in Lewes but shortly after my arrival my father got employment on the Vinehurst estate — he was assistant gamekeeper, don’t you know, and rose to become the head man. Anyway, my mother and I — there were just the three of us in the family at that time — moved to a tied cottage. When I was old enough I became a maid in the big house but I was courted by a very pleasant gentleman — he was the son of the jewellers, you know, Ludden’s of Lewes they are called to this day.’
John’s pottage arrived and he started to eat it but the woman continued regardless.
‘Of course that marriage gave me the start in life I had always wanted. Deep inside me I had always had the craving to be something else, a woman of importance, a creature of note.’
John supped his soup and nodded, hoping her food would arrive soon and there would be a merciful silence.
‘Well, I achieved my ambition. I went to London and was accepted for small parts at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’
The Apothecary wondered whether to mention Coralie Clive but realized he wouldn’t get a word in anyway.
‘I had to leave my husband behind me, alas. But when I was rising up the ladder…’
John grinned wildly at the thought.
‘… he was taken ill, poor soul, and so I left my career and returned to nurse him. I had two daughters by him, you know, and then I lost him.’
John longed to ask where, but forbore.
‘Oh, that was a sad day. But I gave him a splendid funeral. We had the most magnificent lying in state, I can tell you. The whole of Lewes came to pay their respects. Anyway as I had no son the jewellery company passed to his younger brother, which was most unfortunate. Still, he left me well provided for and…’
At that moment the woman’s meal arrived and she dug in with relish. There was total silence and John gave a sigh of relief as he ate his pie in comparative comfort. But no sooner had she consumed her pottage than she started once more.
‘Of course, I am a lady of leisure these days.’ She looked at John from under her mouse fur brows and he felt a sinking of his heart.
‘My congratulations,’ he murmured.
‘But I do find it lonely, being on my own. It is so difficult to meet any gentleman with whom one has anything in common. I may have been born in humble circumstances but I played with the Bassett children as a young girl, I’ll have you know. And now I am a woman of means. So I am looking for a husband,’ she concluded archly. ‘Do you know anyone, Sir?’
‘Unfortunately not off-hand, Madam. Why don’t you place an advertisment in a newspaper?’
‘Now that,’ she said, digging into her chicken with gusto, ‘is a very good idea.’
John had been too tired to visit the taproom and so had gone straight to bed. But during the night he had awoken from a dream and sat bolt upright. Something the woman had said earlier had come back to him while he slept, and now he turned it over in his brain. She had mentioned the name Bassett and the Apothecary began to puzzle where he had heard it before.
And then he remembered. He had been sharing a room with Cuthbert Simms and had heard a disembodied voice say, ‘Take care, Fulke Bassett. Take great care.’
As he put his head back on the pillow, John Rawlings determined to ask the woman exactly to whom she had been referring — at the risk of being considered an interested suitor.