Death at the Beggar's Opera (19 page)

‘Quite easily. He weighed little and could have been subdued without difficulty. There’s nothing that points directly to a man as his killer.’

‘As I thought,’ said Mr Fielding, and sighed deeply.

Samuel came over to join them, his expression one of dismay. ‘The Martins have arrived and apparently she is creating a scene fit to burst her skin.’

And indeed, into the relative quiet of the stage area burst the most fearful commotion, Clarice Martin’s voice rising to a crescendo above all other sound.

‘How dare you bring me here at this hour of the night? Are honest citizens no longer allowed to sleep peacefully in their beds? What is going on? That is what I would like to know.’

In one powerful movement, the Blind Beak lunged off the stool on which he had been sitting and loomed to his full height of six feet and three inches. His vast shoulders shook, though not with suppressed mirth, and his expression was merciless. John, who had seen the Principal Magistrate gentle as a lamb with his adopted child, Mary Ann, trembled despite himself.

‘Bring her to me,’ roared John Fielding, drowning the din from the stage door. ‘Bring that damnable woman to me and tell her if she utters one more word I’ll charge her with impeding the course of justice.’

The hubbub ceased as abruptly as it had begun and across the stage, very red in the face and accompanied by Joe Jago, foxy hair on end and minus a wig, came the perpetrator of all the din.

‘Stand before me, Madam,’ said the Beak commandingly, ‘and utter not one word until I have finished speaking.’

‘Now see here …’ she began, though somewhat halfheartedly.

‘I cannot see,’ he retaliated, his voice harsh as a whip, ‘that is why I wear this black bandage. But I can see in my imagination and I have built a very clear picture of you, Mrs Martin. You are a spoilt and selfish woman who has spent her entire life besotted with one ignominious creature, for whom you have sacrificed both your husband and your child. But now your deserts have come. That very child whom you ordered your poor wretched spouse to abandon at the Foundling Hospital, though it broke his heart to do so, tonight met his end at the hands of a murderer. As his natural parent I thought you should be informed, it even occurred to me that you might wish to make your farewells.’

‘What are you saying?’ asked the actress hoarsely, her flushed face suddenly the colour of frost.

‘I am saying that William Swithin, your son sired by Jasper Harcross, whom your husband adored, having lost his own child through a tragic accident, was hanged tonight, presumably by the same hand which took the life of his father.’

‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, though John, looking for genuine signs of distress, could see few.

Yet the same could not be said for James Martin, who now came to join them, his small orderly features already contorting with grief. ‘Will is dead?’ he asked in a hoarse, unrecognisable voice.

‘Yes, Mr Martin,’ answered the Magistrate unremittingly. ‘I know it is grievous news but there is no other way of breaking it.’

‘Murdered, you say?’

‘I fear so.’

‘Oh my poor little boy,’ James muttered brokenly, and started to weep silently.

Very gently, John Fielding took him by the arm. ‘But he wasn’t really your little boy, was he?’

Mrs Martin interrupted, her voice surprisingly subdued. ‘No, he was my son by Jasper Harcross, as you correctly guessed. We had had a child, James and I, but he died in his cradle. So when I became pregnant by my lover I tried to deceive my husband into thinking this next baby was also his. But as soon as Will was born, James seemed to guess the truth. It was uncanny, for the poor creature did not resemble Jasper in the least. After the facts came out I could not and would not tolerate the situation. As James began to dote on the lad so I turned more and more against him, to the point where I could not bear the baby to be under the same roof.’

‘So you insisted that your husband leave him at the Foundling Hospital?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did you think about that?’ the Blind Beak gently asked the sobbing musician.

‘It broke my heart to abandon him. I loved him as much as if he had been my own.’

John Fielding’s tones became extremely solemn as he addressed Clarice Martin once more. ‘I am glad that it is you who must live with your conscience, Madam, and not I.’

The Apothecary broke in, anxious to ask a question. ‘I presume that Jasper Harcross knew who the boy was and that was why he brought him to Drury Lane to work?’

Mrs Martin shot him a baleful glance. ‘Naturally he knew. But I did not approve of Will coming here. I said it would make trouble and so it has.’

Her husband’s tragic voice interrupted their conversation. ‘May I see him please?’

John Fielding turned his head in the direction of the sound. ‘My young friend Mr Rawlings will escort you in a moment, but first let me ask you one more thing.’

‘Which is?’

‘Did Jasper consult you about bringing the boy here or was that kindly action all his own?’

‘I begged him to do it and as soon as the child was of an age, he agreed. I think it amused him to have one of his little bastards about the place.’

‘Who else knew that Jasper was Will’s actual father?’

‘Nobody, as far as I know. The child certainly didn’t.’

‘But is it beyond the bounds of possibility that Jasper joked about it to someone, perhaps even boasting of his virility?’

Clarice Martin spoke up, her voice bitter. ‘I am sure he mentioned the fact. I was never comfortable with Will around the place. I always felt that people were sniggering at me behind my back.’

‘Well, that won’t be a problem to you any more, will it?’ said the Blind Beak, and his voice was like shards of ice.

She blanched beneath the power of it so that now she seemed almost as pale as her pathetic son. ‘Oh poor Will!’ she said brokenly.

‘Too late now,’ snarled her husband. ‘The child was sacrificed to your enormous ego, in every sense.’ He turned his back on her. ‘And now, Mr Fielding, if I may say farewell to the boy.’

‘Of course.’ The black bandage shifted in John’s direction. ‘Mr Rawlings, if you would be so good.’

It was a bleak experience. John stood with his back to the room, staring out of the window at the dark street beyond, only too aware that behind him James Martin had lifted the cloak from Will’s body and was at present cradling the fragile form in his arms, speaking to the boy as if he were still alive.

Through the Apothecary’s mind rushed a torrent of thoughts: what evil being could possibly murder an innocent child; were there two murderers involved in this equation or had the same bloodied hand committed both crimes; was Mr Fielding right in thinking that the killer wished to implicate Coralie and Sarah together, or had an error been made in dropping Miss Clive’s glove?

He must have made some small sound or movement at this juncture, for James Martin spoke into the stillness.

‘What will happen to the body?’

‘I don’t know. I am sure Mr Fielding will release it to you if you so wish.’

‘Yes, I would like to see the lad given a decent funeral and not be put in some pauper’s grave. He had little enough in life, after all.’ Mr Martin paused. ‘Jasper is to be buried tomorrow, so I hear.’

‘I wonder where?’

‘In Kensington. I believe his widow wanted it to be a quiet affair.’

‘I think she will get her wish,’ John replied austerely. ‘I expect Mr Fielding will require everyone here for questioning.’

James Martin stood up, then gently laid the body back on the floor and covered it with the magnificent cloak. ‘Jasper wore this when he played Othello and now it shrouds his tragic son. What irony, what irony!’

‘Mr Martin,’ John said quietly. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you? Should I mix you a soothing potion of some kind?’

‘Perhaps you could see to it that Mrs Martin gets home safely.’

‘Will you not be accompanying her?’ the Apothecary asked, astonished.

James shook his head sadly. ‘I simply cannot continue with her after this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That our marriage is at an end. I shall seek lodgings elsewhere.’

‘Isn’t that a little extreme?’

‘If I had done it years ago, Will might still be alive today.’

John froze with horror. ‘Exactly what are you saying, Sir?’

Mr Martin gave a tragic smile. ‘If you think I am accusing my wife of murder you would not be far off the mark.’

‘Did she kill him?’ John asked, thunderstruck. ‘Surely no mother, however harsh, would take the life of her own child?’

‘I don’t suppose that, in the sense you mean, Clarice murdered William. But she set the wheels in motion by sending him from our house.’

The Apothecary shook his head. ‘Don’t go down that twisted path, I beg you. Life is nothing but a series of “if onlys” and there is no point in torturing oneself by thinking about them. It would appear from the little we know that William stumbled on something which was highly dangerous to the killer. Though I cannot be certain, I imagine that that is why he was silenced.’

James Martin paused reflectively then echoed Samuel’s words. ‘I could forgive anyone for murdering Jasper, it would have been a true crime of passion. But the putting down of an innocent child is another matter. It is an act of pure horror, the work of a maniac.’

John nodded gravely. ‘Dreadful though the thought is, when one considers the members of the theatre company, I am afraid that you are right.’

There was to be no sleep for any of them that night. John Fielding having overseen the removal of Will Swithin’s body to the mortuary, pending further arrangements to be made shortly by Mr Martin, set a Brave Fellow to guard the theatre and the properties room. He then made his way through the darkness to the home of his friend, David Garrick, before going back to the Public Office. John Rawlings, meanwhile, having been bidden by the Magistrate to go home and change into something suitable for a funeral before returning to Bow Street, took a carriage provided by the Public Office back to his house. Samuel, somewhat exhausted after his exertions but proud to be of service, went with a wretched James Martin to find him a room in The Pillars of Hercules, a commodious coaching inn situated at Hyde Park Corner. Clarice Martin, very deflated and as silent as John had ever seen her, was escorted home by a Beak Runner, having refused to bid farewell to her son, saying that she wanted to remember him as he was. A remark that caused several cynical glances to be exchanged amongst the rest of the company present.

Creeping into the house at almost four o’clock in the morning, John did his very best not to disturb its sleeping occupants. But Sir Gabriel, who he was convinced slept with one ear fully alert, heard him and swept into his son’s bedroom, a satin turban upon his head and a gorgeous black nightrail covering his sleeping shirt.

‘My dear child,’ he said, clearly amazed to see John up and still in his evening clothes, ‘whatever are you doing coming home at this hour?’

‘I’m afraid there’s been another murder,’ the Apothecary answered harshly, and told Sir Gabriel everything while he changed into a suit of sombre black without embroidery.

‘Mr Fielding told me to prepare to attend a funeral which, I can only presume, must be Jasper’s,’ John said by way of explanation, seeing his father’s eyebrows rise at his sober garb. ‘I don’t quite know his reasons, but he no doubt will tell me. I am to return to the Public Office as soon as I am ready. There is a conveyance waiting for me outside.’

Sir Gabriel stroked his chin. ‘At what time is this interment?’

‘In Kensington, later this morning. Why?’

‘I’ve a strong notion to come and observe. Furthermore, I would like to see the divine Mrs Egleton again. How beautiful that woman once was.’

‘And still is in her way.’

‘Then I shall prepare myself to be at Kensington church at ten o’clock. The funeral will certainly be no earlier and if it is later, then I shall repair to a hostelry and await events.’

There was no arguing with his parent in this mood and John merely smiled and said, ‘Then I shall see you there, for now I must get back. Mr Fielding is opening up the Public Office as soon as he returns, and is calling in all his Fellows. By the time they wake up, every member of the Drury Lane company, including the great names, will have received a notification ordering them to the theatre to make a statement. The Beak is determined to leave nothing to chance.’

Sir Gabriel looked thoughtful. ‘The mentality of a child slayer is unique, I believe.’

‘How?’

‘There is a depravity in it that sets it apart from all other types of killer. You are dealing with someone both cruel and cold-blooded, John.’

‘I know.’

‘Then tread carefully, my son, tread carefully.’

‘I will.’

And they parted, the Apothecary, now looking as gloomy and dark as a professional mourner, into the carriage; Sir Gabriel to his bed to get a few more hours’ sleep.

The famous house in Bow Street glowed with light, except for the two upper floors where the females and the servants slept. Though the Public Office on street level was open and manned by a Runner, Mr Fielding had invited everyone else into his salon, where stimulating beverages were being passed round by Joe Jago, with a view to keeping those present awake. The only person to have slipped through this net was Samuel, who lay back in his chair like a becalmed ship, fast asleep and snoring softly.

‘Leave him,’ said Jago, with a grin, seeing the direction of the Apothecary’s eyes. ‘Mr Fielding only let him return out of the kindness of his heart. I doubt he’ll wake till morning.’

‘Is this a full meeting of the Runners?’ John whispered.

‘Them, plus every peacher in our employ. It’s the Beak’s intention, with Mr Garrick’s connivance, to put them into the theatre as stagehands, that sort of thing.’

John stared round at the motley bunch of individuals, sitting uncomfortably on the upholstered chairs or squatting on the floor. A greater gathering of desperados he had yet to see, for these were the people, petty criminals in the main, who informed against their own class and brought many a thief or murderer to book.