Death on the Rocks (8 page)

‘I’ll want more than two shullin’ for what I’m about to tell yer.’

John, somewhat reluctantly, produced another three and said, ‘You had better make this good.’

There came the deep rumble of a chuckle. John’s eyes, which had now adapted to the darkness, saw that the man was wearing a hole-ridden and no doubt flea-infested striped jersey and that his greasy hair was tied back in a pigtail. He was talking to someone who had once been a sailor.

‘Ben’s the name, your worship. Ben Bull, pressed into the Navy from this very establishment. That is till I got too old to be of service to them and they slung me out.’

‘But surely there is a hospital to which you could have retired?’

Ben spat a yellow glob onto the floor. ‘That old place in King Street? Why, I’d rather die of drink than set me foot in such a hell hole.’

John thought to himself that it wouldn’t be long, judging by the smell of the man.

‘Anway, I knew Gussie when he were just a lad. He had this dog, see, and his mother didn’t care for the brute. Gus used to take it to the Rat Pitt and old Sam became a champion.’

‘I know this already,’ John answered. ‘Tell me the next part of the story.’

The other man spat again. ‘Gus was a bit of a rebel and eventually he ran away from home. I knew him from the Rat Pitt and I offered that he could come and live with me. Well, he moved in, in secret ’cos he didn’t want his ma to find out, then I was pressed into the Navy and was at sea for three years.’

‘I hope this is going to be worth five shillings.’

‘When I comes ’ome again the lad was in bad trouble.’

Despite the rank bodily smells, John leant forward. ‘What sort?’

A laugh full of spittle ran out. ‘Chasin’ the girls, he was.’

‘Did he catch any of them?’

Another laugh, this one wheezy. ‘Too many. In fact two of them gave him the Scarborough warning.’

‘Two?’

‘Aye, truth to tell he filled two cradles before he went to sea.’

‘Did he take responsibility for either of these little bastards?’

Ben laughed for a third time. ‘No, not our Gussie. A likeable enough fellow in his way but a precious ass for all that. He loved life and women and gambling but little else beside. In the end he went to trade with the settlers in New Zealand.’

‘And that was the last you heard of him?’

‘Yes, he just upped sticks and went, dog and all.’

John was tempted to ask whether Ben had heard any rumours of Gus’s return, but thought better of it. Ben coughed disgustingly, then wiped his hand across his mouth and said, ‘Was that worth the five shullin’, governor?’

John tossed him another coin and said, ‘What happened to the two children? What sex were they? Or don’t you know?’

‘I never found that out. About that time a ship sailed for the West Indies and I went on it. Then sailed back and then out again. It was six years before I saw Bristol once more.’

John got up. ‘You have been very helpful. Thank you.’

Ben receded before his eyes, merging into the darkness, a bundle of rags that someone had thrown into a corner and forgotten all about. For all John knew, the old sailor could well stay there until the day he rotted away.

On returning to the Hotwell, John proceeded to the Long Room and there found his father, reading a newspaper, occasionally lowering it to reveal a pair of golden eyes hidden behind a pair of wire-framed spectacles, regarding with interest the woman sitting opposite him.

She was like a haystack blowing in a strong wind, constantly listing from side to side, her hair falling down from her cap and untidily moving round her shoulders, her arms flailing about in a series of apparently meaningless gestures as she talked incessantly to her companion, an elderly gentleman slumped in a Bath chair, lids falling down over desperately weary eyes.

‘And then I said to Mrs Phoebe Lightpill, “Rahlly that was not a nice thing to do, my good man.” What do you think of that, Sir Geoffrey?’

‘Eh? What?’ said the old fellow, struggling up from sleep.

‘I said … Oh, never mind. I do wish you would listen sometimes.’ She sighed loudly and dropped one of the many unfashionable scarves with which she adorned her person.

John stooped and picked it up for her, handing it back with a slight bow. ‘I believe this is yours, Madam.’

She fluttered like a small gale. ‘How clumsy of me. Thank you, Sir. Thank you indeed. I am the clumsiest woman on earth, you know. Oh why am I so clumsy?’

John bowed again and would have joined Sir Gabriel but the woman continued without check.

‘But there now, I’m in a right how-do-you-do. I should have introduced myself. Miss Abigail Thorney, companion to Sir Geoffrey Lucas. I was a companion to his dear wife, Lady Effie, before she passed to the realm beyond. I know it is not considered the done thing for those of the gentle sex to be attendant upon gentlemen, but I am more of a nurse, if you follow my meaning.’

John was somewhat at a loss, but was just about to introduce himself when Sir Gabriel rose from his chair and spoke.

‘Madam, allow me to present myself and my son to you. I am Gabriel Kent of Kensington and this is John Rawlings of Nassau Street, Soho. We hope to have the honour of your acquaintance.’

She rose and made a complicated movement which resembled a bell tent descending to the floor, from which position she had some difficulty rising. Sir Gabriel graciously extended a hand which she clutched with desperate fingers, giggling coyly all the while. The old gentleman finally woke up and called out, ‘Damme, what’s going on?’

John shouted into the old man’s ear horn, ‘We are introducing ourselves, Sir Geoffrey.’

‘Producing what?’

‘No, I said introducing.’

‘Oh, leave it to me,’ said Miss Abigail with resignation, and bellowed at Sir Geoffrey, ‘These fine gentlemen come from London.’

‘Oh good. I used to live there. In St James’s Square. Do you know it?’

Sir Gabriel raised his ear trumpet in a gesture of companionship and the two elderly men sat shouting at one another, leaving John to converse with Abigail. Desperately seeking for something to say, he gratefully noticed Titania Groves from the corner of his eye.

‘Ah ha, there is someone I recognise. Will you excuse me if I go and speak to her?’

Miss Thorney looked thoroughly put out and said grumpily, ‘Ah yes, Miss Groves. I know her, of course. But then, who doesn’t? She is quite the little flirt of the Hotwell, you know. But then I suppose we all were once upon a year.’

She sighed drearily and John, relieved in more ways than one to see the attractive Miss Groves, bowed and crossed the Long Room to greet the new arrival.

Much later that evening, when his father had retired for the night and the buzz surrounding the community visiting the Hotwell had died down to a mellow murmur, John and a few others strolled along the riverside walk. He was silent, locked in his thoughts. It seemed unlikely to him that the great oaf passing himself off as Augustus Bagot could be the same person that both Commodore and the old sailor remembered with a certain fondness – a wild, naughty young man who had owned a dirty dog called Sam and who had got at least two girls into trouble before running away to sea. Yet how to prove it? Admittedly the juvenile Augustus had had a birthmark on his buttocks. But short of demanding that the present Augustus bare all – a thought that made the Apothecary feel definitely nauseous – John could think of no other answer.

It was a silver night, the moon drenching the river and the fisherboats sailing quietly on its breeze-ruffled surface. The avenue of trees threw sable shadows of branches on to the walkway below, tracing delicate patterns of leaves beneath John’s shoes, the buckles gleaming in the moonshine, the points of light dancing ahead of him as he walked along. There were not many people about at this hour of the night, a few going for a rapid constitutional, but mostly couples, many young and in love, whispering into each other’s ears. And then John heard the sound of hurrying footsteps and turned to see Commodore trying to catch up with him. He stopped walking and the slave panted up to his side.

‘Oh Mr Rawlings, the Master thought there was something else I should tell you.’

‘How did you get here?’ asked John, astonished to see him.

‘I came down the steps, Sir, and I held my breath on every one.’

‘Why did you do that?’

Commodore rolled his great dark eyes. ‘Because of the danger, Sir. They are cut out of the rock and are always wet. I would never have risked them but I felt there was something further that I had to say to you.’

‘About young Augustus?’

‘Yes. Well, I know of one person locally who would remember him. But the present Mr Bagot refuses to call on him, says he is a scoundrel and a wastrel and refuses even to see him.’

‘So who is this interesting man?’

‘Sir Roland Tavener, Sir. A most respected member of our community, whose only fault seems to be that his late brother Charles beat young Augustus into a pulp over an argument concerning Sir Charles’s sister.’

‘I met an old sailor in Bristol who told me that Augustus went to live with him when he ran away from home. Apparently young Bagot was very free and easy with the ladies.’

Commodore’s great set of white teeth flashed vividly in the moonlight. ‘You could say that, Sir. I would not disagree.’

‘Tell me exactly how old was Augustus when he ran away from home?’

‘Fourteen years, Sir, just after he found that rough bit of canine.’

‘And he got a place to live and enough money to support himself?’

‘Oh Master Rawlings, as soon as he was inducted into the Rat Pitt he never looked back. Old dog Sam earned him a fortune. But still he remained living in squalor.’

‘But if you knew where he was, why didn’t his parents try to get him back?’

‘Well, he never told me his actual address, said he wouldn’t burden me with the knowledge. So when his parents went looking for him – and they tried repeatedly, believe me – he would disappear with some of his raggety friends and not emerge again until he knew the coast was clear.’

‘Did he hate his mother and stepfather so much?’

‘No, but he was a naughty character, though I forgave him everything. It was just that he enjoyed the freedom of not having to go to school and being his own master.’

‘So is it true he sired a couple of little bastards before he left Bristol’s shores?’

Commodore looked at the ground. ‘I’m not rightly sure of the number, Sir. But he did mention to me that he had given at least two damsels a belly-bump.’

‘And you don’t know who these damsels were?’

‘Have no idea, Master.’

But the bending away of Commodore’s head and the fact that he kept his eyes firmly on the ground made John a little suspicious that there might be more to the yarn than he was being told. However, he let the matter rest for the time being.

‘So what age was he when he finally sailed for New Zealand?’

‘Twenty-five, Sir. He’d had his birthday about three weeks before and told me he was still full of hugmatee.’

John smiled, thinking how well Commodore had mastered the English language, slang and all. He looked at the slave’s broad countenance.

‘Commodore, tell me the truth. You were devoted to young Augustus, weren’t you?’

The black man wept, suddenly and silently. ‘He and I were like brothers. I could not have survived the ordeal of my horrific journey here without his friendship. He was an impish boy, I admit that, but I loved him just the same. That is how I know this new man is an imposter.’

‘How?’

‘When he first arrived here at Clifton, all perfumed and powdered, smelling like a molly-mop’s marriage, the better to cover the stink of his armpits no doubt, he cut me dead.’

‘What do you mean exactly?’

‘I answered the door to him, standing upright and straight as I have been taught to do. He walked past me, never even gave me a second glance. We had been as close as blood brothers and even though the years had flown by, I know he would have recognised me at once. He is a fraud, Master.’

At that moment they were interrupted by a late walker, whom, as he drew closer, John recognised as the tight-trousered buck from the Rat Pitt. He drew level with them and stopped.

‘Damme, but don’t I know you?’ he said, staring at John.

‘We met in Bristol, you were coming out of the Pitt,’ came the dry reply.

A grin split the young man’s features. ‘Oh yes. You were the miching malicho who gave me a dirty look. I thought it rather funny.’

‘I’m delighted you found it amusing. Personally I don’t like the sight of a handsome man with his apparel hanging half off and looking as pleased with himself as a fiddler’s friend.’

‘Don’t you now? Well, Sir, let me tell you something. I don’t like strangers making remarks about my appearance, be damned if I do.’

And with that he let fly a blow to the Apothecary’s chin that had John reeling on his feet. Commodore moved rapidly between them.

‘Now, now, Master Henry, don’t be so hasty. Master John is not the kind of man to deliver insults. He spoke in jest.’

John had expected a string of rhetoric to flow from Henry’s lips, but he turned to Commodore with affection.

‘You old nigger-nogger, now you’re giving me a hard time. I thought I spotted you earlier in The Hatchet. Is this a friend of yours?’

‘Mr Rawlings, young Master, is a gentleman from London and an associate of Mr Huxtable. And he ain’t no damn fool.’

At this Henry burst out laughing, nudged Commodore in the ribs, and said, ‘Then I’d better make my apologies.’ He swept his hat from his head and said, ‘Forgive me for hitting you hard, Sir. Trouble is I’m a peacock when it comes to my appearance.’

Slightly mollified, John said shortly, ‘Apology accepted. I’m sorry if I caused offence.’

But Henry had already turned back to Commodore and was saying, ‘And who did I see the other night hanging round the kitchen and flirting with our Venus?’

Commodore smiled. ‘She is a very pretty young woman, Master Henry.’

‘Well you are not to misbehave with her. She’s my mother’s special piccaninny.’ Henry bowed to John and raised his hat. ‘Evening, Sir. Please excuse the mill.’ And he walked off as fast as he had come.