Death at the Devil's Tavern by Deryn Lake Page B

paint, and crashed noisily to the floor, sending an exquisite clock flying as he did so.
    â€˜He’s fainted!’ screeched the startled servant, taking a step backward.
    â€˜So,’ answered John, reaching for his salts, ‘it would appear.’

Chapter Six
    Roger Hartfield was far more heavily built than his elegant clothes would suggest. Bending over to pull the unconscious man into a sitting position, John found his arms straining in their sockets and was obliged to call the terrified footman, not an ideal companion in a crisis, to heave alongside him. But finally, as a result of their combined efforts, they managed to roll the beau into a ball and John thrust the head of the patient between his silk stockinged knees, simultaneously administering the salts to his flaring nostrils.
    â€˜What, what, what?’ screeched Roger, sniffing, and cast a bleary eye in the Apothecary’s direction before once more lapsing into oblivion.
    Fighting off a terrible suspicion that the beau was playing the scene to the full, John controlled himself and looked professional. ‘I need cold compresses for his head. I think that’s the only way I’m going to bring him round. Can you get me some ice and cloths?’
    â€˜Certainly, Sir,’ the footman replied with alacrity, and left the room with considerable speed.
    The door had barely closed behind him when it opened again. Turning from where he knelt beside Roger’s body, John found himself the subject of a very cold stare emanating from an extremely arresting woman. ‘And who might you be?’ she asked the Apothecary coolly, making it quite clear that she did not enjoy entering her own salon to find a member of the family lying on the floor with an entire stranger leaning over him.
    John administered more salts. ‘John Rawlings, Ma’am. An apothecary. Presently calling on you on behalf of Mr Fielding, the Magistrate.’
    The cold look did not falter. ‘And what possible business could that man have with us?’
    â€˜The business of identifying a dead body,’ John answered, somewhat irritated by her attitude. He stood up and brushed at his knees.
    The woman came into the room and closed the door behind her. She had grown paler but had lost none of her chilling attitude. In fact she seemed to glare even more as she said, ‘What body is this? Explain yourself more clearly.’
    â€˜It was that of a man found floating in the Thames. Certain articles upon the victim’s person have led the Coroner to the conclusion that the remains are those of Sir William Hartfield.’
    She drew in breath sharply. ‘Are you sure?’
    â€˜Perhaps you would like to see for yourself.’ And John passed the snuff and pill boxes into her reluctant hands.
    She looked at them for a moment, then said quietly, ‘Yes, those belonged to my father-in-law.’
    From the floor Roger began to make sounds of recovery, groaning noisily as he struggled to sit up. Seeing the newcomer, he exclaimed, ‘Lydia! I thought you were out.’
    â€˜I returned and walked into the room to find you splayed upon the ground,’ she answered tartly. ‘This man, here, told me you had fainted.’
    Helped by John, Roger struggled to his feet. ‘It was the shock. Apparently, a body has been found in the river which they believe to be Papa’s. God’s life but the strength went clean out of me when I heard the news.’
    â€˜Well, it may not be so. It might be that of a common cutpurse who had stolen the goods and died with them on him.’
    â€˜There was also a marriage certificate in the name of Sir William Hartfield and Miss Amelia Lambourn found in the dead man’s pocket book. I doubt very much that a thief would have bothered to keep that.’
    Roger clutched his throat. ‘It all makes a terrible sense. That would explain why he did not appear at the wed …’
    Lydia cut across him.