Death in the Peerless Pool

by Deryn Lake

  Now the beau’s features really did transform. Just for a moment his face became a mask of hatred and his eyes glittered dark and serpent-like in his head. Then he controlled himself. ‘I never mix with servants,’ he said, flapping a hand in John’s direction. ‘I mean, can the lower orders even converse?’

  But he was patently lying. Not only had the name Hannah Rankin been familiar to him but it had also produced a violent reaction. John decided to remain relaxed. ‘Well, if you should remember anything about her, be good enough to let me know.’

  ‘Why? What is this being to you?’ Orlando asked, not quite flippantly enough.

  ‘I am trying to trace her family,’ John answered smoothly. ‘She was found dead in London and I have been given the job of informing her relations, if there are any.’

  Orlando’s look of relief was unmistakable. Not only had he known the dead woman but he was glad that she no longer walked the earth. But the beau still had his wits about him.

  ‘By whom?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ the Apothecary asked, not understanding.

  ‘If she was known to none, who gave you the job of finding her people?’

  ‘The asylum at which she worked, St Luke’s Hospital for Poor Lunatics.’

  ‘I see,’ said the beau. He winked an eye. ‘It all sounds very sad and sordid to me. If I were you I would have nothing further to do with it. Now, my dear, bumpers all round.’

  ‘And for me,’ said a petulant voice, and they both turned to see that Robin Sidmouth had come looking for them.

  ‘And for you,’ Orlando said fondly, and jigged a series of solo dance steps, much to the consternation of a party of elderly ladies drinking tea.

  Chapter Ten

  At six o’clock in the morning the huge, dark, cavernous cistern situated beneath the Pump Room, known to bathers as the King’s Bath, was full of steam and dim with shadow. Indeed, it so resembled a dragon’s lair that John Rawlings felt a decided twing of apprehension as he clambered down one of the four series of steps leading into its black, vaporous depths. The surface of the bath, the largest and the hottest of the five that the city had to offer, curled with mist to an extent whereby the water itself was invisible, and the Apothecary, clad in drawers and a turban and nothing else, felt his nervousness grow as he descended through the steam into the boiling water and felt it close in up to his neck.

  At that hour of the day there were few dippers present. Staring about him, John glimpsed one or two heads bobbing through the vapour, but other than for them the place was deserted, adding to the air of eeriness. Unnerved, he made his way through the water, telling himself that he was a man of medicine and as such should have his imagination under control. Yet the stories he had heard since he had arrived in Bath had done nothing to put his mind at rest.

  The tale of Lady Allbury’s missing child, so similar to the calamitous experience of the Dysarts, together with Orlando Sweeting’s extraordinary reaction to the name of Hannah Rankin, had made the Apothecary positive that there was something dark and terrible at work in the city. Something that might be better left unearthed. And yet his instinct to go on seeking the truth had never been stronger. Clearly, the murdered woman had at one time in her life lived in Bath and been known to Orlando at least. But it was John’s guess that Sir Vivian Sweeting and Lady Allbury were also involved with the victim, though what the connection had been was at this stage obscure. Wading slowly and thinking that this water treatment was so awful it must be doing him good, the Apothecary proceeded through the Dragon’s Lake, as he fancifully thought of the King’s Bath, not enjoying himself at all.

  He had arranged to meet Orlando at a public breakfast to be held at the Assembly Rooms, occasions at which people of fashion met and invited their acquaintances to join them after the rigours of bathing. The beau would not be dipping, he had firmly informed John on the previous evening, intending instead to lie in a darkened room until the inevitable hammering in his head had subsided.

  ‘My dear, I shall get there when I can. But I have a regular table so just make your way to it. There is to be a concert so you should keep amused.’

  ‘Will young Sidmouth be present?’

  ‘No. I believe he intends to fornicate with someone or other later tonight and will be well exhausted until dinner-time.’

  Shaking his head, very slightly aghast and feeling elderly because of it, John had left the two younger men to their own devices and taken a chair back to The Bear. And now he planned to do the same. Rising like Neptune from the waters, the Apothecary made his way to the changing rooms, where he wrapped himself in a robe-like garment before calling for a sedan to return him to his lodgings, in which he intended to lie and sweat for an hour, then feel thoroughly virtuous into the bargain.

  So it was, dressed very finely and mightily pleased with himself, that John walked into the Pump Room as eight o’clock struck, to find the place as crowded as yesterday it had been empty. In fact the room resembled a Welsh fair rather than a spot for taking health-giving waters. The world and his wife were there, from the beau monde, attired with negligent ease, to wrecks of humanity, more dead than alive, shuffling towards the bar from which the pumper served, as if it were the very last step they would ever take. In the gallery above, a band of enthusiastic musicians thundered away with more zeal than skill, so that everyone was forced to yell in order to be heard. Filled with a sudden zest for life because of the general uproar, John joined the queue of people waiting to drink the water.

  Much to his surprise, standing just ahead of him, painted but fit-looking, was Orlando. The Apothecary called his name and the beau turned.

  ‘My dear, how nice to see you. Forgive my deshabillé. I thought I would heed your advice and do something healthy for a change. Et voila!’ He downed the metallic brew in one, then shuddered delicately.

  ‘I am flattered to think my words were heeded. I thought you might consider me an interfering busybody.’

  ‘A busybody, yes, interfering, no.’ Orlando leant closer. ‘I have changed my mind about the public breakfast. Let us repair to Mr Gill’s, the pastrycook’s, where we can take a jelly or a tart or a basin of vermicelli, or all three come to that.’

  John nodded. ‘In my case it probably will be all three. I am a firm believer in a severe repast to start the working day.’

  Orlando shuddered again. ‘My dear, you have mentioned two words that I detest. One is work, the other breakfast. I shall pick at a blancmanger and pray God that it slips down without effort.’

  The Apothecary chuckled. ‘You dined quite heartily last afternoon.’

  ‘I toyed with a wing of fowl and a sliver of salmon, if that is what you call hearty.’

  ‘Well,’ said John determinedly, ‘I could eat a mountain and can’t wait much longer. To Mr Gill’s.’

  ‘His shop is near the river, and just to defy you I’ll walk.’

  ‘Good,’ John answered, beginning to feel more and more like a middle-aged schoolmaster with every passing moment.

  But the real reason why the beau had abandoned the public breakfast, where all was orchestra and prattle, became clear as soon as they were seated in the pastrycook’s shop and had given their orders. ‘I’ve remembered something about Hannah Rankin,’ Orlando said, blurting the words as if he must get them out before he thought better of it.

  ‘Oh yes?’ John answered, looking up sharply.

  Behind his mask of enamel, it was not easy to read the beau’s face, but there was an air of determination about it which made the Apothecary think that Orlando had considered long and carefully during the night and had decided to come up with a story that would silence the investigator, at least for the time being.

  Staring at his blancmanger, wobbling it to and fro on the end of his spoon, Orlando said, ‘She was employed by my uncle, I recall it now. I think she was a skivvy of some kind, not a personal servant. Anyway, she left for another position and we never heard of her again. I’m afraid that’s all
.’ He smiled artlessly at John. ‘Tell me, how did you know that she was connected with Welham Hall?’

  ‘Very simply. She gave references when she applied to St Luke’s. One of them purported to be from your uncle, the other was signed by a Lady Allbury.’

  ‘And have you found this Lady Allbury?’ Orlando asked carelessly.

  ‘She’s dead,’ answered John. ‘She killed herself after her young daughter, born to her late in life, was abducted from a garden in which she was playing and never heard of again.’

  The blancmanger fell plopping on to the tablecloth below. ‘Oh yes,’ said the beau after a fractional pause, ‘it all comes back to me. I was only a child at the time but I do remember my uncle speaking of it.’

  ‘He and Lady Allbury were acquainted?’

  ‘The quality folk of Bath all knew one another – and still do.’

  John considered in silence, then asked, ‘When did Hannah Rankin leave your employ?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Twelve years ago, perhaps. As I said, I was scarcely aware of the woman’s presence.’

  If he asked any more questions, he was going to lose his quarry completely, John could see that. So instead he said, ‘I quite understand. It is hard to remember what one did last week, let alone a dozen years back. I think I can safely conclude that Hannah Rankin has no living relatives, at least not in this part of the world. Tomorrow I shall return to London and report my findings – or lack of them!’

  Orlando hesitated, then said in a rush, ‘If you want to ask the other servants about her I could arrange for you to call when my uncle is out. One or two of them have been there a while and might be able to tell you something.’

  Wondering what could possibly have brought about this change of heart, the Apothecary answered matter-of-factly. ‘That is very kind of you. It would certainly be better for me if I could tell the authorities that I have talked to all concerned and still come up with nothing.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Orlando stared into the middle distance. ‘Would this afternoon be convenient? My uncle goes to Bristol to dine and does not return till late.’

  ‘It would be very convenient indeed, for I really must get back to London soon.’

  ‘A pity, that,’ Orlando said with a touch of sadness.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you make such a change from the usual parade of fops and flaps. Steeped in sin I might be, but I still have something left of my brain, I believe.’

  The Apothecary could not help himself. Looking at Orlando earnestly, he said, ‘What is all this sin you keep mentioning? Are your sexual preferences for other men? Or do you sleep with both male and female alike? Are you a drunken debauchee? In God’s name, what is it?’

  ‘A joke, that is all,’ the beau answered, and smiled such a terrible smile that John sat aghast to see so much horror on the face of another human being.

  He crossed the Avon at half past two and slowly wended his way up the hill to Welham House. The weather was oppressively hot, and thunder rolled in the seven hills that surrounded the city of Bath. The sky was dark as lavender and the air unbreathable. It was, John thought, an unbearable day on which to be doing anything other than sitting in the shade sipping cold drinks, and he was never more grateful than to find a carriage waiting for him when he reached the lodge gates. A young coachman sat upon the box, and he raised his hat cheerfully as John approached.

  ‘I would have come down to the river to fetch you, Sir, but Master Orlando had to go out and I wasn’t sure what you looked like.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ John answered, wiping the dirt and sweat from his face, ‘I’m grateful that you’ve come at all.’

  ‘Master Orlando’s orders, Sir. He said you were to be treated as an honoured guest until he returned.’

  ‘How very kind of him.’ John mounted the carriage step. ‘May I know your name, please?’

  ‘It is Jack, Sir. I believe it was originally spelt the French way, with a “c” and a “q”, but now it’s just plain Jack.’

  John paused. ‘Why is that? Are your parents French?’

  The coachman shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Sir. I never met them.’

  ‘But surely …’ John started.

  The conversation was at an end however. Jack shouted, ‘Get ye up there,’ and the smart horses obeyed instantly, leaving the Apothecary no option but to take his seat and quickly close the carriage door as they set off up the tree-lined drive.

  This day Welham House brooded in the sultry atmosphere. Similar in appearance to Ralph Allen’s mansion, Prior Park, with its pillared entrance and two vast wings, Sir Vivian’s home seemed to lack the light, airy quality of the other building, and stood dominating the surrounding countryside with a dark, mournful air. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, John climbed the steep flight of steps leading to the front door and presented himself as being a guest of Orlando.

  The footman who answered said, ‘If you would follow me, Sir, Master Orlando said you wished to interview certain servants. The people concerned have gathered in the west-wing salon and await your arrival.’

  Amazed that the beau had gone to so much trouble, the Apothecary walked in the man’s footsteps through scores of vast rooms, all classically furnished with busts and paintings, until, at last, they came to a cosier part of the house. Here, forgathered in a comfortable anteroom with couches and cushions, were an elderly couple who looked like husband and wife, and, surprisingly, the young coachman, Jack.

  John came straight to the point. ‘Thank you for assisting me. As Master Orlando may have told you, I am trying to trace any friends or relatives of Hannah Rankin, now deceased. I presume by asking you to come here he thought that one of you might have known her.’

  The old man spoke up. ‘She didn’t work here that long, Sir, and it must have been twenty years ago that she did, but I do remember her, yes. I was an under-gardener in those days. Now I’m head gardener and tell the others what to do.’

  The woman chimed in. ‘I’m Doris Cotter, Sir, and this is my husband, Thomas. I remember Hannah Rankin because I was working in the kitchens then as a cook. I used to see her when she came down to order the children’s meals.’

  John stared at her. ‘Children’s meals? What do you mean? I thought she was just a skivvy.’

  ‘No skivvy she,’ Jack put in quietly. ‘Hannah used to be in charge of the young people.’

  ‘What young people?’

  ‘There were children living here then. I was one of them, Orlando was another. As well as us, there were two other boys and two girls.’

  Still amazed, the Apothecary said, ‘But who were they?’

  A shadow crossed Jack’s face. ‘Sir Vivian’s nieces and nephews. That is all but me.’

  ‘Are you telling me that Sir Vivian was guardian to a group of children? But why? What had happened to their parents?’

  ‘All dead, Sir,’ answered Doris. ‘Out of the goodness of his heart he took them in. And so he did for quite a few years, looked after orphans that had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘What a Christian and charitable thing to do.’ John turned to Jack. ‘And you? Where did you come from? Were you an orphan too?’

  The coachman shrugged and shook his head. ‘I have no idea, Sir. I can remember little before this house. Just a large garden, that is all. Yet I have a recollection of Hannah bringing me here by coach. More than that I cannot tell you.’

  Still hardly able to believe this strange new twist in the dead woman’s tale, John said. ‘Then Sir Vivian brought you up with his nieces and nephews?’

  ‘Not exactly, Sir. I was …’ Jack paused very slightly. ‘… badly behaved, and so he sent me to work as a stable boy. I shovelled dung for many years, and only by hard work did I get to be second coachman.’

  ‘What happened to Hannah?’

  Thomas answered. ‘She went back to London when the children were grown a bit. We never heard no more of her after that.’

  Jack spoke again. ‘Sh
e used to visit Sir Vivian occasionally.’

  The two Cotters looked surprised. ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes. I used to pick her up from the coaching inn and bring her here. And once Sir Vivian asked me to drive her to Bristol where she was buying a Negro slave child to take to a lady in London for employment as a black boy.’

  ‘So Hannah’s main concern was with the young?’

  Jack dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘Oh yes. Sir. She was very interested in them.’

  Was the coachman trying to tell him something? John wondered. Could the unpleasant notion that had just now crossed his mind possibly be right? With a courteous smile, the Apothecary turned to the elderly couple.

  ‘Tell me, did you live in the house at this time?’

  Thomas answered. ‘No, Sir, we didn’t. We had a cottage on the estate which we have still.’

  John nodded. ‘I see. Well, thank you for your time. Everything you have said has been most useful. I take it that you know of no relatives or friends of Hannah’s that I should contact?’

  ‘No, Sir. Not a one for a lot of friends was Hannah.’

  They all three made to go but John said, ‘If I might have another word with you, Jack, in view of the fact that you were one of the children concerned.’

  Jack’s eyes, an arresting shade of iris blue, almost mauve in fact, glanced piercingly in John’s direction, but he merely said, ‘As you wish, Sir.’

  The Cotters looked uncertain. ‘You won’t keep Jack long, will you, Sir? He’ll be wanted soon to go and fetch Master Orlando.’

  John looked at them reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. Just a few minutes, that is all.’

  Looking duly relieved, the old couple left the room and the two young men were left facing one another.

  ‘Jack,’ said the Apothecary tentatively, ‘forgive me asking this, but the plight of certain children has been much on my mind of late. Tell me, were Sir Vivian’s motives in adopting so many orphans as truly Christian …’

  But he got no further. The noise of pounding feet drowned his words, then the door was flung open to reveal Orlando panting in the entrance.