Death on the Rocks by Deryn Lake

cheek. ‘Forgive me, Mr Rawlings, but as you can tell I was fond of the fellow. I even saw him off on his boat headed for New Zealand where he hoped to trade with the natives.’
    ‘Did he take the dog with him?’
    ‘Yes, decrepit though it had become. It was minus an eye and its ears were covered with rat bites. Still he took it. He was a strange fellow, with many misplaced loyalties. But I was devoted to him.’
    ‘And you believe this newcomer is a fraud?’
    ‘Sir, I would stake my life on it.’
    ‘Is that because he doesn’t resemble the old Augustus?’
    ‘Not only that. His character is utterly changed. When I ask him questions about the past he says he cannot remember. When I ask him about Sam he just says that the creature died but without giving me any details. I tell you that this chap probably met Augustus and now is masquerading as him in order to get his mother’s diamonds and his stepfather’s money.’
    The Apothecary would have answered, but at that moment a side door opened and a positive army of men walked in, all shouting and yelling at the tops of their voices. The session at the Rat Pitt had obviously ended for the day. A particularly obnoxious-looking dog bounced up to John and began to bark unnervingly.
    ‘Go away,’ he said between gritted teeth.
    The owner, a fine-looking buck wearing the tightest pair of breeches that John had ever seen, came up and drawled, ‘You don’t like my dog, eh?’
    ‘I don’t like any dog until we have been properly introduced,’ John replied evenly.
    The youth grinned. ‘Well, damme, I’ll introduce you then. Sir, this is Tray. Tray, say how d’ye do to the nice man.’
    Tray growled discouragingly and the Apothecary said, ‘I really don’t think he likes me. Excuse me but I’ll pass on this proposal if you’ve no objection.’
    The young man bowed, somewhat drunkenly, and said, ‘Then I’ll introduce myself. I’m Henry Tavener, well-known figure round Bristol. And you, Sir, are …?’
    John rose and returned the greeting. ‘John Rawlings of Nassau Street, London.’
    ‘Ah, the big, bad city, eh? Do you have spectator sports there?’
    As the reference was clearly to Rat Pitts, John decided to treat the remark seriously.
    ‘We have thousands, Sir. Arenas in which the human race can leer and shout and show its ugly face at the cruelty meted out to defenceless animals. I personally long for the day when a young man, such as yourself, should be pitted against a team of bulls or bears for the delectation of the audience.’
    Henry pulled a face, then said, ‘I see that you are not my sort, Sir. I’ll bid you good day.’
    And with that he rejoined his bellowing crowd of friends, who were banging on the bar and demanding service.
    Commodore let out a sigh and said, ‘Don’t be too hard on him, Mr Rawlings. He is just one of the many young men who hang round Bristol trying to find something to relieve their boredom.’
    John felt terribly old as he replied, ‘Has he thought of working?’
    Commodore gave him a sideways grin and said, ‘He couldn’t possibly do that, Sir. You see, he is the adopted son of Lady Tavener, widow of Sir Charles Tavener.’
    ‘And what did Sir Charles do?’
    The black man gave him a sideways grin. ‘He was Mayor of Bristol, Sir. Have I said enough?’
    ‘Quite enough.’ John smiled crookedly. ‘Shall we get out of here? I think the place is getting a little overcrowded.’

Six
    As they left the inn they were joined by Irish Tom, who had parked the coach at a nearby livery stables and gone into The Hatchet for a swift pint of porter.
    ‘Oh, Sorrh, but there were a lively crowd in there.’
    ‘Yes indeed. Now, Commodore, how are we going to get you home without traversing that terrible road again?’
    ‘Don’t you worry about me, Mr Rawlings. I came in a trap and left it in the care of a chap I know down on the docks.’
    ‘Well, I could do with a little exercise. May we escort you?’
    ‘Yes,