Death in the Dark Walk

by Deryn Lake

  Sir Gabriel said nothing, his face alight with interest.

  ‘I told Mr Fielding of it and he has enlisted my help in finding the owner of that torn garment and bringing him to justice.’

  ‘God’s wounds!’ exclaimed Sir Gabriel, whistling slightly beneath his breath, an action which John found most endearing. ‘What an honour! To be picked for such a task by a member of so great a family. What did you say?’

  ‘I agreed.’

  ‘Quite rightly.’

  ‘Yet there was doubt in my mind when I did so. With my indentures formally ended it occurred to me that I should be starting out on my career, that I might be set back by such an adventure.’

  Sir Gabriel smiled a worldly smile. ‘My boy, you are but twenty-three years old. Many, many years lie ahead in which you may compound your great and many pills and brews and, indeed, experiment for the good of mankind. But now fate has called you out and I am gratified to hear that my son has risen to such a challenge.’

  As he spoke words of lineage and parenthood, the old man was filled with bitter-sweet memories, remembering the first glimpse of John and his mother, and acknowledging reluctantly that the young man was only his adopted son after all and not related by ties of blood.

  He had seen them initially from the window of his coach, the mother and child begging in the streets, dirty, dishevelled and desperate for food. He had noted them in a vague abstracted way, the dewdrop of a girl, fresh as a brook, the boy all eyes, all innocent despair. The fact that his carriage had knocked them flying, thrown them down into the filth of the gutters, had torn his heart from his body. Shouting to his coachman to stop, he had lifted them himself, carried them, bruised and bleeding, into the safety of his conveyance. At that moment, even though he had not been aware of it, had begun the grand passion of his life. Sir Gabriel Kent, widower of the parish of St Anne’s, Soho, victim of an arranged, loveless and childless marriage, had felt the first stirring of an emotion unfamiliar to him.

  He had taken the beggar woman and her son to his newly-built home in Nassau Street, his intention to feed them, let them recover from their cuts and bruises, then send them on their way. But he had reckoned without the sweetness they had brought into his elegant soulless mansion, without the trust of the three-year-old who had thrust his small dirty hand into that of Sir Gabriel almost immediately. He had also reckoned without the delicate beauty of the child’s mother, revealed in all its splendour as the grime of the London streets was washed away from her.

  He had started by employing her as a servant, for she was no more than a simple country girl from the village of Twickenham, her accent rural, her social status low. Her name, so she told him, was Phyllida Fleet, but the boy she referred to as John Rawlings.

  ‘But he is your child?’ Sir Gabriel had asked her.

  ‘Yes he is, Sir,’ she had answered truthfully.

  And later, when she had become more than a servant, when her master and she had entered the world of indescribable joy which only lovers know, she had told him everything. How the boy’s father had come from the great Rawlings family of Twickenham, the local landed gentry; how she had worked in the kitchens; how the son of the house had fallen in love with her.

  ‘Though I do not believe he intended to betray me, Sir. When he knew I was pregnant he went to London to find somewhere to lodge so that we might be together. Yet he never came back. I waited for the postchaise to return but he was not on it. Nor any of those following.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘John was born in shame, alas. Still, as soon as I was able I came to town to look for his father.’

  ‘But you did not find him?’

  ‘No. John Rawlings, for I named his son after him, had vanished off the face of the earth.’

  Being the man he was, Sir Gabriel Kent had educated Phyllida Fleet as if she were his own daughter. She had learned to read and write, to draw and embroider, to play the harpsichord, an accomplishment at which she excelled. Then, when she felt ready to accept a higher station in life, he had married her. For two years they had shared what both could only think of as heaven on earth. And then she had gone, giving birth to the child he had always wanted, taking her infant daughter with her to the grave. Even now, with so many years passed by, Gabriel Kent sighed as he looked again at Mr Gainsborough’s masterpiece, which hung on the far wall beyond John’s shoulder, the boy and the portrait the only tangible memories left of Phyllida Fleet.

  ‘Don’t be sad,’ said his adopted son, following the direction of Sir Gabriel’s gaze.

  ‘I’m not. In fact I was thinking how proud your mother would be now that your apprenticeship is over and her son a qualified apothecary.’

  John tugged a wayward curl. ‘She might not be quite so proud that I am currently involved in the hunt for a murderer.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ his father answered, ‘having once lived in the streets of London she knew the dangers of city life. I think she would be delighted that you have become Elizabeth Harper’s champion.’

  ‘Yet how shall I start?’ John queried anxiously, repeating the question he had asked of John Fielding. ‘Where amongst all the people in town do I find the wretch who killed her?’

  ‘You must begin at the beginning,’ Sir Gabriel replied sensibly. ‘You must go to the house in Leicester Fields and discover all you can about the dead girl. Somewhere amongst the people who knew her is your man, you can be certain of it.’

  The youthful Apothecary’s cheeks flushed. ‘That’s what Mr Fielding advised. But you know the strict rules of apprenticeship, Father. I’ve never been inside a place of that sort. I would find it most embarrassing.’

  Sir Gabriel fingered his chin, his lids lowered to conceal the expression in his eyes. ‘Indeed, indeed. Of course, you could announce yourself as the Blind Beak’s agent but that might well do more harm than good. I think you should perhaps take Samuel and play the part of two young men about town.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ John answered doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, that would be the best plan,’ his father continued briskly. ‘Now, my boy, let us drink to your future and to success in everything you undertake.’

  John looked at him suspiciously but Sir Gabriel’s face was as straight as if he were playing cards.

  ‘To the future,’ the Apothecary echoed, and drained his glass.

  Chapter Four

  From a distance, the house in Leicester Fields, discreetly hidden from the gaze of the great Leicester House by a clump of sheltering trees, appeared almost respectable. So much so, that the disparate emotions of relief and disappointment could be seen clearly warring in the faces of John Rawlings and Samuel Swann as they walked down the path approaching it.

  The two companions had joined forces again earlier that evening, Samuel having arrived at Bow Street only to find that John had already left and being obliged to retrace his steps.

  ‘But I didn’t waste my visit,’ the Apothecary’s friend had informed him. ‘I asked to see Mr Fielding and he granted me an interview in which I told him all I could remember.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘That I observed the victim quarrelling with a man in a black cloak.’

  ‘Was he foreign looking?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I saw him too, earlier on. He was at the lighting of the Cascade. I particularly noticed him because he was staring fixedly at that amazing woman wearing a mask.’

  Samuel had looked important. ‘I saw something else as well.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘The chap she was in the box with, that elegant dandy. He was rushing out of The Dark Walk as if the devil himself were on his trail. He headed for the river at great haste.’

  ‘Really? How very interesting. By the way, I’ve discovered who he is.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The Duke of Midhurst no less. The dead girl aimed high, it would seem. Anyway, he was at Bow Street when I got there. Apparently he told the Blind Be
ak that he argued with his lady love and went to his barge where, for consolation presumably, he drank himself into oblivion.’

  ‘Then as I saw him running away from there he must have fallen out with her in The Dark Walk.’

  ‘Yes,’ John had answered thoughtfully, stroking his chin. ‘It would seem that the victim did a great deal of quarrelling that night.’

  ‘Obviously. I suppose you don’t know the identity of the man in the black cloak as well, do you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ John had given his friend a quizzical smile. ‘Mr Fielding has asked me to act as his eyes, Sam.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The dead girl had a piece of blue material clutched in her fingers. The Beak wants me to find the owner of the garment from which it was torn.’

  ‘Does he indeed! Are you going to do so?’

  ‘Yes. I admit I was undecided momentarily, but the thought of such an adventure was too good to pass by.’

  Samuel had stood up, banging a hand as big as a melon into the palm of the other. ‘Then I will assist you, as much as my Master will permit, that is.’

  ‘But you’re free of him.’

  ‘I intend to stay on as a journeyman until I can set up on my own.’

  John had given his friend an uncertain smile. ‘Then if you mean what you say, I’ve a commission for you this very night.’

  ‘I’m at your command,’ Samuel had answered eagerly.

  ‘I sincerely hope so. Both Mr Fielding and Sir Gabriel feel I should go to the brothel and make enquiries about Elizabeth. I want you to come with me.’

  Samuel’s expression had undergone a rapid transformation. ‘But I’ve never set foot in such a place, you know that. City regulations prohibit apprentices from doing so.’

  ‘Of course I was not apprenticed in the City,’ John had answered smoothly.

  ‘Then you . . .?’

  ‘No, of course not. I would have told you if I had. Now, my father thinks we should masquerade as men of the world, so I suggest we pose as bloods.’

  ‘Bloods!’ Samuel had exclaimed, sitting down heavily on one of Sir Gabriel’s elegant spade foot chairs which winced beneath his sudden considerable weight. For a keen young blood was something to emulate indeed, being a member of male society much favoured by the ladies, amongst whom he was known to be mighty with the sword, gallant in a ballroom, at ease in gaming hells, and incomparable behind the closed doors of a boudoir.

  ‘We’d never get away with such a charade,’ he added dolefully.

  ‘Courage,’ John had answered cheerfully. ‘My father can find some clothes for you and I shall wear my new embroidered coat.’

  Samuel had gulped. ‘But . . .’

  His friend had stared at him in sudden earnest. ‘Samuel, I need you. Please say you will accompany me. The truth is, despite my great show at Vaux Hall last night, I know hardly anything about women.’

  His friend had sighed heavily. ‘No more do I. As I once told you, my experience amounts to no more than a few romps with my Master’s servant, Mollie. Naturally, he caught us at it and put her out of doors, while I got a beating for breaking my pledge of no liaisons.’

  John had nodded gloomily. ‘My story is much the same, as you know. Like you, I had to swear solemnly not to fornicate, marry or run away. So when my Master discovered me in bed with sulky Sukie, his kitchen maid, he gave me a swipe that nearly flew me out the window. He said the only reason he kept me on was because he respected my father.

  ‘Did he betray you to Sir Gabriel?’

  ‘No, not he. He’s a good man, is Master Purefoy.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ Samuel had asked.

  ‘Still pretend to be bloods. Perhaps the guise will rub off on us.’

  ‘It might on you,’ Samuel had answered sombrely. ‘My mother always said that you were so charming an imp you could get away with murder.’

  ‘An unfortunate phrase,’ John had replied crisply, and had gone to see about finding the clothes they should wear.

  A discreetly dressed maid answered their knock on the brothel door, dropping a polite curtsey as she ushered the friends into a hall of classic design. But here any similarity between an ordinary house and that in Leicester Fields ended. Samuel’s eyes bulged at the sight of the many young women, all scantily dressed, who draped themselves on sofas or leant on the pillars in the hall in the manner of statues vivantes.

  ‘God’s teeth!’ exclaimed John, and his mobile eyebrows danced a jig at the very sight.

  An older woman swept down the stairs in answer to the maid’s ringing of a handbell, a woman who, even as she approached, seemed somehow vaguely familiar. John set his memory to work but came up with nothing, and then it was too late to concentrate for she was upon them, reddened lips simpering, eyes darting, shrewd as a counting clerk’s.

  ‘I do not believe I have had the pleasure,’ she said, dropping a curtsey. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Madame de Blond.’

  As her accent was extremely suspect, John doubted any French origins but none the less made her a bow, so elaborate that it left Samuel gaping, and said, ‘Recommended here by my cousin, Ma’am. He spoke of your establishment in glowing terms. Thought I ought to pay a visit as my friend and I are newly arrived in town.’

  ‘Ah, just so,’ she replied. ‘Pray consider yourselves at home. Would you gentlemen care for some refreshment while you make your choice? We have a very fine punch.’

  ‘A large jug,’ said John, waving a careless arm, and with that sat down upon a sofa to hide the fact that his legs were shaking.

  He noticed from his vantage point that other gentlemen of fashion were seated at small tables in an open-doored room leading off the hall which seemed to serve as some kind of coffee house. Waiters hovered discreetly, arms draped with white napery, and pipe smoke filled the air. In fact all would have appeared normal had it not been for the fact that the girls wandered amongst the tables, overtly displaying their wares.

  ‘My word!’ said Samuel beneath his breath.

  John turned to Madame de Blond. ‘When it comes to choice I have a particular request to make, if you’d be so obliging, Ma’am.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ she answered, all smiles.

  ‘My cousin spoke highly of one of your young ladies, Elizabeth Harper. I’d like mightily to make her acquaintance.’

  A shadow crossed the woman’s face but she recovered herself quickly. ‘Elizabeth does not work here any more. I believe she was taken under the protection of a gentleman of substance. But I have another girl very like her, one Diana Linacre. I believe she is free at the moment. Shall I fetch her for you?’

  ‘Has Diana been here long?’ asked Samuel, speaking for the first time.

  Madame de Blond stared at him in some surprise. ‘A twelve-month. Why?’

  He looked cunning. ‘Because then you’ll have trained her well, Ma’am, if you understand me.’

  ‘The old dog!’ thought John in admiration.

  Light dawned on the Madame’s face. ‘Ah, you would like to share her. Is that it?’

  The friends stared at one another in consternation, not quite sure what to answer. ‘Yes,’ said Samuel as ‘No,’ chorused John.

  Madame de Blond smiled archly, the make-up on her face cracking lightly as she did so. ‘Well, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to make your minds up in private. Your punch will be served in the coffee house.’

  With those words she was gone as some new customers came through the front door.

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Samuel frantically.

  ‘I’ll speak to Diana alone. She’s bound to have known Elizabeth if she’s been here that long. It was clever of you to ask.’

  ‘Thank you. What happens to me in the meantime?’

  ‘Pick someone else and try to find out all you can. I’m sure you’ll manage.’ And John could not help but laugh at the expression on his friend’s face, fear and delight mixed so obviously in equal quantities.

  Yet, te
ase Samuel as he might, no-one could have been more nervous than he when Diana Linacre, a comely young woman of about nineteen years of age, approached the table at which they sat.

  ‘I hear you wanted me, Sir,’ she said, displaying a set of small white seed pearl teeth.

  John summoned up his courage. ‘I really asked for Lizzie Harper, her reputation being so highly spoken of. But the Madame told me she had gone and that you were as fine in every way.’

  ‘That is true, Sir.’

  ‘None the less I would like to quiz you about her if I may.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Diana replied, then added firmly, ‘but we would be far more comfortable talking in my apartment.’ This said she put her hand under John’s arm, eased him to his feet, and led him towards the curving staircase. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw that a very beautiful black girl, obviously a runaway servant, had approached their table and taken his vacated seat.

  ‘Good luck, old friend,’ the Apothecary muttered silently, and continued up the stairs.

  Diana’s room, from the bed to the curtains, was furnished throughout in red, one wall completely taken up by a mirror.

  ‘Now, Sir,’ she said, unbuttoning her shift, ‘what can I do to please you? Is it Lizzie’s tricks you’re after?’

  ‘No!’ answered John urgently and, as she gaped at him, amazed himself with his own ability to deceive by saying, ‘Damme, my cousin will never forgive me if I don’t find out more about the girl. He’s quite head-over-heels in love with her.’

  Diana stared at him narrow-eyed. ‘Your cousin?’

  ‘Yes, let me explain. We’re a country family, from Twickenham you know. My cousin, when he was last in town, came here and met Elizabeth Harper. Most taken with her, he was. I believe he’s thinking of putting her under his protection.’

  ‘A bit late for that,’ answered Diana, sitting down on the bed and indicating the place beside her. ‘Someone’s got in ahead of him. She left here several months ago with a wealthy rake who set her up in lodgings.’

  ‘Was it the Duke of Midhurst?’ asked John, making his first mistake.

  The girl stared at him in surprise. ‘Why do you say that? No, he was no Duke, unless he was a French one.’