Death in the Dark Walk

by Deryn Lake

  It was another night of quicksilver, of moon and stars, of sharp definitions and deepening shadows. And into this heightened atmosphere, this harsh time of solitary thought, ideas began to come, pell mell in the speed with which they presented themselves. What was it, John wondered, that still bothered him about the night he had been attacked? And where, oh where, had he seen the apprentice’s profile before? Then the Apothecary stopped dead in his tracks as the pieces finally fell into place.

  Way ahead of him, in the dim distance, John saw the Comte de Vignolles accost Miss Clive, then watched her spurn him and go off in the direction of the Dark Walk. Next he saw the Duke of Midhurst hurry in after her, the young rake Richmond leer and wink. Now, of course, John finally knew the answer and knew, too, that he was himself in danger. Still, the game must be played to the finish. Hurrying onwards, the Apothecary got into position to await the actress’s scream. Yet when it came he felt himself to be totally unprepared. Gritting his teeth and more afraid than he had ever been in his life before, John rushed forward into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The leaves on the tall trees must have grown even more dense in the four weeks since Elizabeth Harper had died. For now, or so it seemed to John, the luxuriant canopy above his head met and wove and joined so that not even a chink of moonshine slanted through to cast light upon the wooded walkways below. Not quite sure of where he was going, the Apothecary rushed hither and thither in his search for the place where poor Lizzie had died. Yet despite the darkness, or perhaps because of it, he was acutely aware of every sound. With a sudden stark recognition of what it must be like to be blind, John drew to a halt and stood still, listening.

  Somewhere high above his head a nightingale was singing and all around him the grasses rustled with the movement of the wildlife that dwelt within this rural part of Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens. Yet it was not these natural noises which caught his attention and made his scalp seethe with sudden fright. It was the sound of something else, the faint catch of panting breath, indicating that he was not alone, that another person had followed him into the Dark Walk and now stood close by, that had John’s heart pounding with fright as he attempted to locate where his pursuer stood.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he said, trying to control the quiver in his voice.

  ‘I am,’ came back an unrecognisable whisper.

  ‘You will have to answer for your crime,’ said John, praying that these words would bring the stalker out of hiding.

  ‘But only you know who I am,’ came the same terrifying murmur. ‘Even the clever Mr Fielding hasn’t guessed.’

  ‘And what about Sir Gabriel?’

  ‘He has an inkling but he isn’t sure.’

  ‘But if you kill me he will know, and what then?’

  ‘I shall take a boat across the river and simply disappear.’

  ‘Back to the darkness from whence you came,’ John answered, and lashed out with his right hand, certain now that he knew where the voice was coming from.

  Too late, his eyes, used to the gloom by now, caught sight of a flash of steel. Too late to do more than throw up his arm to ward off the lethal blow. Nauseated by pain, the Apothecary felt the sleeve of his coat slice apart and the skin beneath it suffer the same fate.

  ‘Oh God!’ he shouted aloud.

  And then another voice spoke from the shadows, a young strong female voice. ‘That will be enough of that,’ it said. ‘I’ll have you know I’m carrying a pistol and will shoot to kill.’ And a shot was fired, briefly lighting the scene. John had just enough time to see that his saviour was Coralie Clive, before a crash from the undergrowth told him that the Beak Runner who had been assigned to protect him was sprinting towards the site.

  Yet it would seem that the actress had missed her target, for John heard the owner of the whispering voice spin on their heel and run.

  ‘After her,’ he yelled. ‘She mustn’t be allowed to escape.’ And he took off, hardly feeling the pain of his injury in the excitement.

  The Beak Runner must have harkened to him, for John was aware that the man’s footsteps had turned and were heading towards the Grand Walk.

  Behind him he heard Miss Clive call out, ‘I can’t go fast in these damnable high heels.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘I’ll thank you properly later for saving my life.’ And then Samuel was there, come out of nowhere, running beside him just as if they were boys again, playing racing games.

  ‘Who is it?’ he panted. ‘Who is the murderer?’

  But John didn’t answer, aware that the figure in front of him was gaining distance.

  They had left the Dark Walk and were charging along the Grand Cross Walk, the light getting better with each step they took. By now, everyone else had become aware that a chase was on and had started a hue and cry. So it was accompanied by shouts of, ‘Stop that woman!’ and ‘Get her!’ that John and Samuel hurtled along the Grand Walk towards the entrance, followed by a pack of pursuing people who reminded the Apothecary horribly of a kennel of slavering hounds.

  A Beak Runner had been posted at the swing doors to deal with just such an eventuality, but it seemed that the quarry had taken him by surprise and got through for he, too, was giving chase. Pushing their way past the portals, John and Samuel were aware that everyone behind them was following Mr Fielding’s man and had gone heading down the path that led to Vaux Hall Stairs.

  ‘No. This way,’ said John, and pulling Samuel’s arm, turned left, away from the Stairs in the direction of Marble Hall, a dancing establishment standing in its own small gardens, the Long Room of which overlooked the river and was considered one of the most beautiful spots for assemblies in London.

  ‘Why there?’ asked Samuel, very out of breath by now.

  ‘Because the water runs deep just below Marble Hall.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  But John didn’t answer, quite certain in his own mind that this was where the murderer would have gone.

  The lights in the Long Room were lit and from within its gracious confines came the sound of music and laughter. The glow of the chandeliers was reflected in the river, for just below the assembly room lay an inlet with a small landing stage, nothing as imposing as Vaux Hall Stairs but sufficient to allow wherries to come in and out with passengers. There was something about the dark sheet of water that reminded John of Benbow’s mill, and he was acutely aware that this was what had drawn him to the spot.

  The moon was riding high, casting an argent pathway across the rippling river. Rushing to the very edge of the landing stage, John stared out across the reaches of the Thames, his eyes searching the waters, certain of what he was going to see.

  ‘There!’ cried Samuel, and pointed a craftsman’s finger. John narrowed his eyes and peered, seeing a dark shape in the water, not struggling or fighting but calmly giving itself to the cold cleansing element that was claiming it. He stood silently for a moment, watching Eleanor Benbow die, knowing that this was what she wished – before he and Samuel stripped off their coats and shoes and dived into the river.

  By the time they had struggled ashore with her, other people had arrived and a dozen pairs of hands were there to help them. Passing the girl’s body up first, John and Samuel scrambled out of the water and on to the jetty. And it was only then that the Apothecary saw his friend stare at the face of the dead woman and reel with shock.

  ‘Oh God’s mercy, John,’ Samuel exclaimed, bursting into grief-stricken tears. ‘It’s Millie. There’s been some terrible mistake.’

  Putting his arm round his friend’s shoulders, the Apothecary drew him close. ‘I’m afraid not, Sam,’ he said gently. ‘You see, it’s not Millie at all. It grieves me to tell you, but tell you I must, that that is the missing Eleanor Benbow.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Without being instructed or even invited, all those who had been involved in one way or another with the killing of Elizabeth Harper, made their
way to the Public Office in Bow Street. Had he not been feeling so weak through loss of blood, John would have wondered about the invisible thread that led so many very different people to do the same thing without consulting one another. As it was, acting contrary to the order of the surgeon who had stitched him and very much against Sir Gabriel’s wishes, John had also gone to see John Fielding in company with Samuel, who had sobbed brokenly for an hour before finally getting a grip on himself and deciding that he must learn the truth at all costs.

  So it was that they were almost the last to arrive and the Apothecary was amazed to find the waiting room filled with those people from whom he had parted company only a short while earlier. Last to join the proceedings was the Blind Beak himself, the great man having waited until the remains of Eleanor Benbow had been removed to the mortuary before thanking Mr Tyers and leaving the Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens to close quietly down for the night.

  The very sound of his cane tapping on the front steps of the Bow Street house was enough to bring a hush to the assembled company. Yet despite the sudden stillness, the blind man obviously sensed their presence, for he turned towards all those who sat so silently and said, ‘I think you had better come upstairs, ladies and gentlemen. I feel that every one of you has earned the courtesy of an explanation.’ The sightless gaze circled the room. ‘Are you amongst the number, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘Yes, I am, Sir,’ John answered, hoping his voice did not betray how feeble he felt.

  ‘And are you up to filling in those parts of the story that I do not know?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’m glad of that,’ the Beak answered, and with that he started to climb the stairs, leaving the ubiquitous Joe Jago to point the way to the rest of the company.

  They settled down in the large first floor room and John, staring round, saw that even the Duke of Midhurst had found the courage to attend, bolstered up, perhaps, by his fellow peer Richmond and the bubbling Miss Rigby, who sat on either side of him. Also amongst the gathering was the Comte de Vignolles, as darkly morose as John had ever seen him, Lucy Pink and Giles Collings, sitting neatly together, and Sir Ralph and James Leagrave, who seemed to have drawn closer in friendship as a result of the terrible events they had just witnessed. John was not surprised to observe that both the Masked Lady and the two Madames were conspicuous by their absence.

  Elizabeth Fielding, like the remarkable woman she was, had already alerted the servants that a number of unexpected guests had arrived, and it seemed only a matter of minutes before some claret, together with rhenish and sugar for the sweet toothed, to say nothing of a dish of ham and a custard, had appeared. Much to his astonishment, John found himself tucking in heartily.

  ‘My lords, Monsieur le Comte, Sir Ralph, ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr Fielding commenced, ‘you have come here, I believe, for an explanation and you shall, indeed, have one.’ He looked round from the high-backed chair in which he had taken his seat, just as if the assembled group was visible to him. ‘My clerk has already told me who is present and so I am advised that all of you, to a greater or lesser degree, have been drawn into this tale of rural tragedy. So first let me start with the victim. She was known to some in this room as a mistress, others merely saw her at Vaux Hall Gardens. Mr Rawlings, who is by profession an apothecary, found her body and thus was enmeshed in the web.’ Mr Fielding cleared his throat. ‘I shall tell you her story as briefly and simply as I can but I beg you all, if I make any mistake in the telling, to correct me.’

  There was a murmur of assent, during which the Blind Beak sipped his wine.

  ‘Let me begin with her early life,’ he continued. ‘Elizabeth Harper was born an uneducated country girl who soon realised the extraordinary power she wielded over men. She was seduced at a tender age by her stepfather, a fact which I believe his daughter, Eleanor Benbow, discovered. Thus, probably, were sown the seeds of hatred which were to culminate in violent death. As a young woman, Lizzie went to work for Sir Ralph Leagrave, the Squire, where – forgive the plain speaking, gentlemen, but these are things that have to be said – she granted her favours to both father and son.

  James gave a great gulp at this, while Sir Ralph attempted to look nonchalant, an expression that ill became his ruddy features.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ Mr Fielding went on, disregarding them, ‘she had allowed the local blacksmith, Jemmy Groves, to fall in love with her, another cause of her ultimate destruction as Eleanor Benbow nursed a passion for Jemmy herself. For reasons best known to the Squire and which need not concern us here, his sister, Miss Edith Leagrave, saw fit to terminate Elizabeth’s employment and thus she, an ambitious creature I believe, came to London to seek her fortune.

  ‘Like many an innocent before her, she was seen at the coaching inn by the procuresses, those women who call themselves the Mesdames de Blond and who run the house of ill-repute in Leicester Fields. With her extravagant beauty the girl at once became popular with the clientele and was soon taken into keeping by the Comte de Vignolles, am I not right, Monsieur?’

  The Frenchman nodded glumly. ‘But even that was not good enough for her. She looked around for someone both younger and richer and I lost Elizabeth Harper to the Duke of Midhurst.’

  The nobleman hung his head but said nothing, and the Blind Beak turned to John. ‘Mr Rawlings, pray continue he story. I believe that you are more au fait with the rest of it than I.’

  The Apothecary gathered his strength together, determined to play his part to the last. ‘It is my belief that during the time the girl worked at Leicester Fields she was seen by her former employer, Sir Ralph. Not only in Vigo Lane, as he freely admitted to me, but also in the brothel. Is that not correct, Sir?’

  ‘It is, it is,’ said the Squire, looking excessively glum. ‘I did indeed run into her. Trouble was that I promised Lizzie not to tell Jacob Benbow. I hadn’t realised there was anything rum between ’em and simply thought she had run away from home and didn’t want the secret to come out. Usual old story. Anyway, I said nothing until one day that great booby Jemmy Groves comes a’sighing and a’weeping to me. I weakened then and, more fool me, told him her address in London. I suppose in a way I contributed to his suicide, for the poor bastard wrote – as best he could – and begged her to come home. Reckon she must have ignored him or written back telling him to go to hell, because the next thing I knew he’d ended up good and dead in the mill pond.’

  ‘And the day afterwards Eleanor Benbow vanished without trace,’ John went on. ‘She had got Lizzie’s address from Jemmy and had given it to Master Leagrave while she was at it. Full of hatred, both for her father and her adopted sister, I believe she came to London disguised as a boy in a coat she had purloined from her employer’s son.’

  ‘Did she deliberately set out to incriminate me?’ asked James, looking bewildered and slightly upset.

  ‘I don’t believe so,’ John said truthfully. ‘In fact I’m quite sure she didn’t. I think Eleanor merely wanted to disguise herself as a boy, and taking the coat that you believed you had lost seemed the best way of doing it.’

  Diana, the only one of the whores to have come to Bow Street, spoke for the first time. ‘Of course! The boy who came asking for Lizzie. It was Millie all the time. Why did I never guess?’

  White-faced and stiff-lipped, Samuel asked an agonised question, each word obviously costing him dear. ‘But why did she pretend to love me, John? Tell me the answer and spare nothing, I beg you.’

  The Apothecary looked over at Mr Fielding, who must have guessed that his eyes were upon him, for he nodded.

  ‘Let me tell you the rest of the story. Then maybe you can understand. Obviously, Eleanor went to Vigo Lane in the same guise, but too late to find Lizzie. She had abandoned the Comte in favour of Lord Midhurst and moved on.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the Duke, staring de Vignolles in the eye for the first time. ‘I had no wish to wound you. Truth to tell, as Mr Rawlings already knows, I took Elizabeth on to prove to the world th
at I was a man and not the weak-kneed quean that all believed me to be.’

  The Frenchman returned his glance with grudging admiration. ‘It must have cost you dear to say that. I appreciate your courage.

  John Fielding cleared his throat once more, and everyone looked at him.

  ‘It is my belief, based on the evidence to hand, that Eleanor went to Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens purely by chance. Still dressed as a boy, she probably roamed the fashionable haunts of London in the hope of meeting her quarry and when she did acted both quickly and lethally, little guessing that Mr Rawlings, with his extraordinary pictorial memory, would take particular notice of an over-dressed apprentice lad and thus be her undoing. But, be that as it may, Eleanor Benbow saw her hated rival, followed her, perhaps even pretended to be attracted to her, then she took one of Lizzie’s own stockings and strangled her with it.’

  ‘But, that once done, why did she come to the brothel to work?’ asked Diana. ‘She must have known what happened to girls who took employment there.’

  Mr Fielding shook his head. ‘London is a terrible city, as you well know, young woman. I think the poor creature went to the only place she could think of to get a job. It was probably that or starve. Anyway, we know that she took the name of Millie, a reference, no doubt, to the fact that she was a miller’s daughter. Yet I am positive that, for all her murderous intent, the girl was none the less a naive soul and had no idea she would be expected, one day, to join the whores, nor that she would encounter Squire Leagrave.’

  ‘Gave me quite a shock, I can tell you,’ Sir Ralph interjected. ‘I’d believed her dead along with everybody else. But I promised not to give her away and I didn’t let her down.’