Death and the Black Pyramid

by Deryn Lake

  He and Joe Jago had arrived at the home of Lord Lechdale an hour earlier, driving along in the dying light of the sun. It had been an amazing experience to pass through a landscape from which the colour was slowly being bleached away, watching the trees and fields grow dark then black, with here and there a point of light where something caught the amber rays and was brilliantly reflected. As they had approached Wych Manor every window in the place had gleamed red, while the building itself had appeared gaunt and unreal. But as they drew nearer and the sun moved round they saw that it was after all a Tudor mansion house lit with nothing more than candles and that their eyes had been affected by the strange light of sunset.

  The fight was to be held in the Great Hall which had at one time been the entire house, medieval in its origins, the rest of the building having been created by later members of the family. In this Hall Lord Lechdale had constructed an arena by dint of placing together a host of sturdy trestle tables and on this cordoning off a ring with rope. At the moment the ring stood empty as the guests mingled, drank and eyed up the women. John noticed an old fellow, wrinkled and gnarled as one of last Christmas’s nuts, with a whore on each knee, caressing them both, while they, in their turn, each had a hand on his vital parts to his obvious great delight.

  Joe grinned. ‘Poor old dolly monger. He’s having the time of his life.’

  ‘And not only him,’ answered John, and pointed to where the youthful Grevil Sedgewick was succumbing to the charms of a beauteous young whore.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ answered the clerk, scratching his head so that his wig sat askew. ‘I hope someone has told him the facts of life.’

  ‘Well, if they haven’t he’s on the point of finding out,’ answered John, and held out his glass for a refill.

  At that moment a thunderous voice called for silence and into the expectant hush came the announcement, ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Black Pyramid.’

  Looking as if his body had been recently oiled the black man stepped into the ring, the ropes held up for him by Nathaniel Broome, and raised his hands above his head. There was a roar of approval from the crowd gathered, many of whom had seen him fight before and who had staked a great deal of money on him winning again.

  ‘And now, gentlemen, Mighty John Elmwood.’

  A man who lived up to his name clambered into the ring to receive a slightly less enthusiastic welcome. But for all that he was a marvellous sight, standing at least six feet five in height – a veritable giant – and packed with powerful muscles and enormous arms. Looking at him, John had a sinking feeling. He ran his eye over the man’s heavy breasts, thick neck, and the tracery of black hair that encased his entire body, and silently said a prayer for the Black Pyramid.

  Bets were being laid and men crowded round the ring. The whores watched idly, fanning themselves with affected boredom, except for those who had made a conquest and disappeared with their victims. The gnarled old man had sought a private chamber with both his women and young Sedgewick had disappeared in the company of his doxy, presumably to have the veils finally removed from before his eyes.

  Lord Lechdale stood up and declared the bout about to begin but was drowned out by a great roar of cheering and shouting. Nat Broome whispered some final instructions to the Black Pyramid and stepped out of the ring. John drew a breath.

  With a fleetness of foot that the Apothecary had not realized he possessed, the Black Pyramid began to circle his man, landing a punch now and then which the mighty fellow obviously considered no more than he would a fly settling on him. His tactic was clearly to land a punishing blow on the black man’s jaw and send him flying to the floor. However he had some difficulty in achieving this because the Pyramid stayed just out of arms’ reach, constantly dodging and weaving his way around the ring.

  John turned to Joe. ‘I’ve got a feeling he’s going to lose.’

  ‘He can’t do that, Sir. I’ve just bet a guinea on him.’

  The bell went for the end of round one and more bets were placed and a great deal more wine consumed.

  ‘It’s a good match though,’ said the clerk, removing his wig and displaying to the world the thatch of red hair that lay beneath.

  ‘I think we’ll see some action now,’ John answered.

  He was right. Mighty John Elmwood put on a sudden turn of speed and rained blows down on the top of the Black Pyramid’s head. Hurt, the black man punched at his opponent’s chest and actually got into a clinch with him. The referee, a small neat man dressed entirely in white, circled them trying to break the hold but neither of the two fighters were listening to him. Instead they parted of their own accord and stared at one another menacingly. Then the Pyramid shot out a snake-like arm and landed a terrific blow on the point of Mighty John’s chin. The great man rocked back on his feet but stood his ground, having first spat out a tooth with all the nonchalance of one disposing of a quid of tobacco. Then he thundered after the Black Pyramid at full pelt. There was a cry from the crowd as the black man fell to his knees.

  ‘This is it,’ shouted John, aware that he was about to lose two guineas.

  ‘God’s teeth but I think you’re right,’ answered Joe, jumping to his feet.

  There was a huge roar as the white man, apparently forgetting that he was in a boxing tournament, picked up the hapless Black Pyramid and threw him clean out of the ring and flat on his back onto the stone floor. The referee raised one of Mighty John’s huge arms, like the side of an ox, above his head and shouted, ‘The winner’. The boxing match was over.

  John got to his feet and was immediately surrounded by a crowd of pushing young men, some jubilant, some downcast, depending on whether they had lost or gained small fortunes. They were shouting excitedly at one another, refilling their wine glasses, and generally charging about. But the Apothecary was making for the figure lying motionless with only one person taking any notice of him at all, that being Nathaniel Broome. Feeling somewhat anxious, John knelt down beside the unconscious Black Pyramid and felt for his pulse. It was faint but it was there.

  ‘Can you lift him?’ he said to Nat. ‘He’ll get trampled to death in this melee.’

  ‘If you can assist me, Sir.’

  Together they lugged the massive frame to a side of the room, John taking the head end, Nat the feet. The black man was packed with muscle that weighed heavily, so much so that both men were gasping by the time they put the fighter down again.

  ‘Has he been knocked out before?’ John asked, dragging in breath.

  ‘Oh yes. Once or twice. But this is the most severe beating he has ever had.’

  ‘I’ll try to bring him round. Go and fetch a damp cloth, there’s a good chap.’

  Joe Jago appeared at their side, squatting down and peering into the Black Pyramid’s face.

  ‘Still alive I see.’

  ‘But in dire need of revival. Lift his head, Joe.’

  Scrabbling round in his pocket the Apothecary located a small bottle of salts which he placed under the Black Pyramid’s nostrils. The black man’s eyelids twitched and his eyes opened, then rolled up in his head alarmingly. At that moment Nat reappeared with a grubby cloth which John put on the bare-knuckle fighter’s head.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Jack Beef, rolling his eyes down again.

  ‘You lost the fight,’ Joe answered with a glint of icy humour.

  The Black Pyramid gave a groan and gingerly shifted his shoulders. ‘I’m in agony,’ he said quietly. His eyes closed once more. ‘I haven’t had such a beating since the night Mr B . . .’

  ‘Keep quiet,’ admonished Nathaniel urgently. ‘Don’t talk. It’s bad for you.’

  ‘I think we should try to move you,’ said John as the circle in which the black man lay began to grow smaller as the rips of Exeter crammed forward to claim their winnings. He looked at Joe and Nat. ‘Help me get him to his feet.’

  With a great deal of effort and cries of ‘Heave’, John and Joe managed to raise the Pyram
id up, where he stood with buckled knees, lolling like a large dark doll, an arm round each of their shoulders. Nathaniel, meanwhile, propped him up from behind, sweating with the strain.

  ‘Time to go I believe,’ said John, and this said the party left the Great Hall, solemnly bowing their heads to their host who stared at them astonished as they passed by.

  Once outside, the three men managed to haul the barely conscious fighter into the coach that Elizabeth had loaned John for the evening.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ the Apothecary asked Nathaniel.

  There was a momentary pause. ‘With friends in Exeter.’

  ‘Then we’d best take you back there.’

  It seemed to John, ministering to the Pyramid as best he could in the small space and the darkness, that the coach trundled its way through the night interminably. Lord Lechdale’s mansion was situated outside Exmouth and they crossed the wooded land that lay between there and their destination with an almost creaking slowness. Occasionally the wounded man let out a deep-felt groan but other than the flicking of his eyelids gave little sign that he had regained consciousness. He was naked except for the tights he had fought in and a cloak which Nathaniel had flung hastily around him, and was shivering with the cold.

  ‘It is kind of you to take us back to our lodging, Sir,’ said Nat, breaking the silence.

  ‘We could hardly have abandoned you,’ John answered. He changed the subject. ‘I think you should send for a physician in the morning. Jack Beef is in a poor state.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll recover,’ Nat answered, almost in an offhand manner. ‘He’s endured worse than this in his time.’

  ‘But I thought he rarely lost a bout.’

  ‘That is true, he doesn’t.’

  ‘But you said . . .’

  John was interrupted by Joe. ‘Draw your pistols, gents. I think we are about to be visited by a gentleman of the road.’

  Peering out of the coach’s window John saw a shadowy figure moving amongst the trees. ‘I’m not carrying a weapon,’ he said. ‘Are you?’

  For answer Joe gave a quiet laugh and drew from the depths of his coat a gun, the butt of which shone silver in the dim light. But his fears were false. The figure disappeared into the woodland and the coach trundled on in peace.

  ‘I wonder who that was?’ John murmured.

  ‘Probably one of Lord Lechdale’s men,’ answered Nat.

  ‘Why should he be following us?’

  ‘Who knows?’ came the laconic reply.

  Forty minutes later they reached the outskirts of the city and entered through one of the gates.

  ‘Leave us here, gentlemen, if you would,’ said Nathaniel.

  ‘Why, is your lodging close at hand?’

  ‘Just across the road. We shall be all right.’

  ‘But you can’t manage the Black Pyramid on your own.’

  ‘He’ll walk the few final steps.’

  ‘No he won’t. Not without help,’ John answered firmly.

  The coach pulled to a stop and the three men heaved the fighter’s inert body out into the street. The Pyramid, meanwhile, was groaning and muttering, quite definitely alive but lacking any will of his own.

  ‘Gentlemen, please leave us,’ said Nathaniel with a certain amount of force.

  John and Joe did not reply, too out of breath staggering beneath the formidable weight.

  As if by magic the door in the house they were approaching opened and a figure stood silhouetted by the candles which burned brightly behind. John stared, hardly able to believe his eyes. It seemed as though the Black Pyramid and Nathaniel Broome had sought lodging with somebody they had met on the coach on their original journey. For it was Paulina Gower who stood there in the darkness waiting to greet them.

  Eighteen

  ‘You are sure it was her?’ said Joe Jago. stretching himself and still managing to look alert despite the fact that he was yawning.

  John put out a hand and touched his arm. ‘Positive. Look, Joe, I know this is rather late in the day but will you come and spend the night at Elizabeth’s house? I really need to talk to you about this case and we can be private there. Besides it is time you caught up with her again.’

  ‘It will be a pleasure to do so, Mr Rawlings. But I have no clean linen with me. No shaving accoutrements.’

  ‘I can lend you anything you like. Joe, please come. I honestly feel as if I am walking through a maze.’

  ‘Very well, Sir. You have persuaded me. Now, as to Paulina Gower, could it not be mere coincidence that she has rented a room in the same house as the Black Pyramid?’

  ‘But you saw her. She had heard them coming and opened the door to greet them. Surely that is the act of an established friendship. What is going on, Joe?’

  ‘I have no idea, Sir. But as long as she did not get a good look at me I intend to play the role of an ardent admirer and theatregoer who has followed her down from London particularly to see her Lady Macbeth.’

  John fingered his chin, a sure sign that he was thinking. ‘The light from the door was shining out but you and I stood in the shadows. I would not be surprised if she saw neither of us.’

  ‘Then as soon as I am back in Exeter I shall start hanging round the stage door.’

  ‘A very good plan. Did you notice how insistent Nat Broome was that we should not accompany them to the house?’

  Joe nodded. ‘Yes, he was pretty firm about that.’

  ‘Then that means that he was afraid we would find out how friendly they are with Miss Gower.’

  ‘No, steady down, Sir. As I said, it could all be a coincidence.’

  ‘There are too many coincidences for my liking, Joe.’

  And the Apothecary proceeded to run over the facts of his seeing Lucinda Silverwood and Jemima Lovell in Lewes, the names of Helen and Richard which had occurred in connection with Vinehurst Place and had then been repeated by Fraulein Schmitt, the fact that William Gorringe had thought he recognized the Black Pyramid.

  ‘They could all be explained away, Sir.’

  ‘I know that. Yet I feel that there is a thread here. Though what it is I have no idea at all.’

  ‘No more have I, Mr Rawlings. But let us hope that something comes up.’

  A short while later they turned into the uphill drive that led to Elizabeth’s house and Joe, peering out of the coach’s window, let out a low whistle as the mansion, lit from outside by lamps, came into view.

  ‘By Jove, Sir, this is something of a palace. I had not expected anything quite like this.’

  John laughed. ‘You wait till you see inside.’

  The coach drew up at the front door which was opened by a liveried footman who bowed to them both.

  ‘This is Mr Jago,’ said John. ‘I have invited him to spend the night here.’

  But he got no further. There was a cry from the staircase and Elizabeth, clad only in sleeping clothes and a night-rail, rushed towards Joe and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

  ‘My very dear friend,’ she said, ‘I could not greet you properly at the ball t’other night for fear of throwing light on a blind man’s holiday. But I cannot tell you how very pleased I am to see you again.’

  Joe bowed low. ‘And in much happier circumstances, Madam.’

  ‘It seems an age ago now. But you look well, Joe. Come and sit down and tell me all that you have been doing.’

  ‘Precious little, my lady. I lead a dull old life in London.’

  ‘Now that I do not believe.’

  As they had been talking she had led Joe into the mighty entrance hall and John smiled to himself to see his old friend’s jaw drop open as he took in the details of the painted ceiling with Britannia crowning all.

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘You remind me of John when he first saw this place. I think he was quite awestruck.’

  ‘I was,’ the Apothecary answered. ‘With you as well,’ he added in an undertone.

  She ignored that remark and went sailing ahead, her arm linked through
Joe Jago’s, chattering and laughing. John stopped in his tracks, filled with a sudden joyfulness that he should have been blessed with such marvellous and giving friends. Friends who knew him well and would forgive him his many trespasses. Friends who would ask no questions but always be at his side when danger threatened. He laughed aloud and Elizabeth turned her head to look at him. She gave him her incredible smile.

  ‘You are happy?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am truly very happy indeed.’

  He and Joe sat up late – Joe smoking his long pipe and drinking port, his wig, which he had slapped back on his head at the sight of Elizabeth’s house, at a very rakish angle.

  ‘Well, I reckon we’ve said all about the case that we can possibly say, Sir.’

  ‘I still think I should go back to Lewes, Joe. There’s some link with this affair that none of us can see at the moment.’

  ‘Not before you’ve visited Fraulein Schmitt again.’

  ‘No, I think that she might hold the key. So shall we go down to Padstow and see if we can find her?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. But on the other hand perhaps we should leave the poor old dear in peace until her holiday is over.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll be guided by you, Joe. But don’t forget that Sir John has given you a fortnight’s leave and no more.’

  ‘That thought is uppermost in my mind. So how can we usefully employ ourselves tomorrow?’

  ‘I can call on the Black Pyramid and see how he is progressing.’

  ‘A good idea. You must do that. While I shall go accourting Mrs Gower.’

  And so saying Joe downed his port before giving the most enormous yawn.

  He was up and out and away at daybreak, leaving John to glimpse his departing figure, riding tall in the saddle, his back straight as a tree. As he watched the departing figure, the Apothecary felt that next to his father he loved Joe Jago more than any other man alive. Then he thought of Sir John Fielding and considered that he was the kind of person that one could not really love as a companion, being too grand and huge an individual, a monumental man in every sense of the word.