Death at Apothecaries' Hall by Deryn Lake Page B

said John, and kissed her hand.
    Sotherton Backler rose from his place beside the fire and regarded his visitor with all the aloof grandeur of a dignitary of the Worshipful Society. As Beadle he was its chief ceremonial officer and held a position of considerable importance.
    â€˜I believe that you are assisting Mr John Fielding with his investigation into the alleged poisoning at Apothecaries’ Hall.’
    John bowed low, humble as only a Yeoman could be. ‘Sir, I wish that I could concur with the word alleged. Unfortunately the poisoning was a fact. A fact that led to a death.’ He straightened and looked the Beadle in the eye. ‘If only it were not so.’
    Sotherton Backler stared at him with a gaze intended to cut the little upstart to size. John assumed his official face, all the while smiling politely and thinking that Mr Fielding had obviously changed his mind: the tactic of gleaning information by means of social chit chat had been replaced by a smack of officialdom. Wondering what his future would be in the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries in view of all this, John continued to smile.
    The Beadle glared. ‘According to Mr Fielding an unknown hand deliberately poisoned the flour used in the high sauce. Now what possible motive could there be for that? Personally I find it almost impossible to believe.’
    John looked contrite. ‘It seems, Sir, from what I have learned so far, that certain persons bear a grudge against apothecaries in general, whilst others have a particular dislike of the Master. It is quite conceivable that one of those people added arsenic to the food simply to make everyone ill, perhaps never dreaming that in one case the dose would prove fatal.’
    At the back of the room Jane rustled slightly, then said, ‘I am thankful, Sotherton, that the arsenic was found. Up till that moment I had been living with the reproach of others. It was one of the worst experiences imaginable.’
    The Beadle looked across at her, then pursed his lips, apparently on the point of speaking. John attempted an encouraging expression. Finally, Sotherton Backler cleared his throat. ‘No doubt it is common knowledge that the Master and I fell out on the morning of the Livery Dinner.’
    Realising how much it must have cost him to make such a statement to a mere Yeoman, John spontaneously shook the Beadle’s hand, then bowed. ‘I thank you for telling me, Sir.’
    â€˜Had you heard the rumour?’
    â€˜No,’ lied the Apothecary, saving all kinds of trouble.
    Sotherton Backler relaxed slightly, his tall, rather full-bellied frame easing its stance. ‘It was over a point of internal business. We did not see eye to eye about a certain administrative matter.’
    John nodded but remained silent.
    â€˜To my shame I must admit that we shouted at one another and I believe that our voices carried.’
    â€˜They did,’ said Jane succinctly.
    â€˜But …’ stated the Beadle with emphasis, ‘… I most certainly didn’t conceive the idea of making the Master ill or of disrupting the Dinner. Such a spiteful act would be beneath me.’ His light blue eyes, dominated by a pair of bushy black and white eyebrows, stared at the Apothecary with an almost pleading expression.
    â€˜I trust that my word is good enough, Mr Rawlings.’
    â€˜Of course, Sir.’
    â€˜He’s telling the truth,’ said the Butler, flashing one of her gappy smiles. ‘Had he come into the kitchen and gone to the flour pot I would have seen him.’
    â€˜Where exactly was the pot kept?’ John asked. ‘You mentioned something about a pantry.’
    â€˜No, it wasn’t there. It was on the dresser. A big earthenware jar standing on the bottom shelf’
    â€˜That would indicate that whoever did this knew precisely where it was stored.’
    â€˜Not necessarily. I did indeed say to you, Mr Rawlings, that a stranger