Death in the Peerless Pool

by Deryn Lake

  ‘I don’t mind someone entirely new, untrained. Indeed, I quite like ’em raw.’

  The procurer looked thoughtful. ‘I believe Mrs Tredille had something brought in today. Something utterly unpolished, in fact with no instruction at all. Might be a bit of a handful, mind.’

  The Apothecary twitched his brows. ‘What fun!’

  Harris’s moon face grew surly. ‘Pardon me for mentioning it, Sir, but what about your companion here? I hope that you weren’t expecting two for the price of one.’

  Nicholas blushed crimson but managed to mutter, ‘I pay my own way.’

  ‘Then that’s all right then,’ answered Harris, all smiles and winks again.

  ‘That’s as may be,’ John put in. ‘Tell me how old this unpolished thing is before I take a look at it.’

  ‘Fourteen – or so she claims.’

  The Apothecary stood up. ‘Has she been put in a bagnio window yet?’

  ‘She most certainly has. I’ll get a boy to escort you.’

  ‘Well,’ said John, rubbing his hands together, ‘this is obviously going to be a very exciting night.’

  And he smiled at Nicholas, who had broken out in a sweat at the sheer stress of it all.

  Since the Roman invasion of Britain, there had always been public baths of one kind or another, even though from time to time they had fallen out of fashion. Baths were forgotten after the Romans left, but the returning Crusaders had reintroduced the population to the benefits of a Turkish bath, as the warriors called them. Indeed, a famous and respectable bath establishment in St James’s Street was still called The Turk’s Head even after so many centuries. Commonly known as ‘stews’, the baths had thrived in earlier times, but immoral business done on the side had brought objections from the Church, and many had been closed down. However, in Covent Garden they flourished, the bath just a cover, the real function of the place, prostitution.

  Every bagnio had a window, and from seven at night until five in the morning these windows were filled by whores of every size and shape who, in the most impudent manner, invited customers to come inside. Hoping that he was not going to see Mary Ann in such degrading circumstances, but fairly certain that he was about to, the Apothecary followed the lantern-carrying boy away from the Piazza and down a side street. Here, deviation was king. Every house was devoted to pleasure of one kind or another, and every sixth building had the familiar lighted window with a female sitting in it. Repelled but drawn, John could not help but stare at the flesh on display, some of it very beautiful, some repulsive: fat, thin, black, white, very fair, raven-haired. Every possible combination of female charms was on display, all tastes catered for.

  ‘We’re nearly at the young un’s place now, Sir,’ said the boy, calling back over his shoulder.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The stew we’re coming to is the kinchen’s. There’s no one over sixteen as works there. Mrs Tredille runs it but she’s the only one full-fledged in the place.’

  ‘Except for the customers,’ John put in drily.

  The boy said, ‘What?’, then laughed and repeated, ‘Except for the gen’lemen.’

  ‘What do we do if it is Mary Ann?’ whispered Nicholas.

  ‘I say I want to hire her, then somehow we steal her away.’

  ‘Isn’t that going to be difficult?’

  ‘We’ll have to judge the lie of the land when we get there. If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll have to send you to find the Runners.’

  ‘Pray we can do it ourselves. I don’t want them to think ill of Mary Ann.’

  ‘We can’t be certain it is her in the bagnio at the moment. But you re right, if she’s there the less Bow Street people who know about it, the better.’

  ‘Does that include Mr Fielding?’

  ‘I’m not certain yet.’

  ‘We’re here,’ called the boy, and stopped short.

  John and Nicholas stood transfixed, staring into the window, struck to the heart with horror.

  They had dressed Mary Ann like a doll, her face painted, her hair bouncing round her head in a mass of ringlets. But to ruin the effect she had wept, in fact was sobbing even as they watched her, smudging her maquillage and covering her face with streaks.

  ‘I’m going in,’ said Nicholas, and would have run into the building had not John stayed his arm.

  ‘Don’t be so hasty. You’ll ruin everything. We must carry the plan through whatever happens.’

  ‘But she’s suffering.’

  ‘Not for much longer. Now, be calm.’ John raised his voice. ‘Run back and tell Mr Harris I like her,’ he said to the boy. ‘Here’s a coin for your trouble.’

  ‘Thank you. Sir.’

  ‘Now, in we go,’ he said.

  The bagnio, probably because it was so specialised, catering for those whose needs could only be satisfied by the very young, almost had the air of a nursery about it. Every corner was carpeted, there was no noise or uproar; indeed, a feeling of luxury and pleasure pervaded the atmosphere. To add to the general quiet, there seemed absolutely no one in sight as they came through the front door, though lurking in shadowy corners John could make out the shapes of several hulking men, the bully-backs employed by brothels to throw out unruly clients. However, all charm and smiles, seated behind a large desk in the spacious hall, was Mrs Tredille herself, a vivacious redhead. no more than forty years old.

  She got to her feet and curtseyed as John and Nicholas approached. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. How may I help you?’

  ‘We have been sent here by Jack Harris,’ the Apothecary answered. ‘He told us about the girl in the window, and to be frank with you I am more than interested. So interested, indeed, that I would like to hire her, my friend to follow immediately afterwards.’

  Mrs Tredille dimpled a smile. ‘I must warn you, Sir, that she is completely new. We’ve had no time to train her. She’ll probably put up a bit of a fight.’

  ‘As I told Harris, I might find that quite stimulating.’

  ‘Then, gentlemen, if you would like to have a Turkish bath and some champagne, we’ll take the girl upstairs for you.’

  ‘We won’t bother with the bath but the champagne will be in order.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Mrs Tredille rang a little bell. ‘By the way, Sir, payment is always in advance. Twenty guineas. Each.’

  ‘I am treating my young friend,’ the Apothecary answered smoothly, and felt for his pocket book, praying that he had enough money on him.

  Fortunately he had had the foresight to borrow from the shop, a bad habit but useful on this occasion, avoiding any possible hitch in his role as a rich young pervert, able to squander money to satisfy his degraded whims. And John was still acting out this part, a look of lecherous delight on his face, his tongue flicking over his lips, as he finally climbed the opulent staircase and was shown along a softly carpeted corridor.

  Mrs Tredille, who had lit his way with a candelabra, curtseyed once more outside a door. ‘We have dressed her prettily for you, Sir, but she’s had no training in manners. Still I hope you will be satisfied,’ and she turned the door knob. ‘Mary Ann,’ she called, ‘here’s your first gentleman. Now just you behave yourself or you’ll fetch up with a beating.’

  Silently, the Apothecary stepped inside and looked around him. The room was decorated in deep red, the hangings of the great bed the same opulent colour as the walls, the sheets and pillows, by contrast, virgin white. In the midst of this sensuous elegance, sitting up and hugging her knees, sat the Blind Beak’s niece, her eyes enormous in a chalk-pale face, her small stature dwarfed by her surroundings, her shapely young body naked but for a lace shift.

  ‘If you come near me I shall kill you,’ she whispered defiantly, though her lower lip trembled at the hopelessness of her situation.

  ‘No need for that,’ the Apothecary answered, and stepped out of the shadows. ‘I’m here to take you home, you horrible child, despite the fact that you’ve led me one of the most impossible dances of m
y life.’

  Mary Ann hesitated, looking at him with all the special beauty of a girl on the very brink of maturity. ‘Oh don’t be cross with me, Mr Rawlings,’ she said pitifully, and broke down into a sad and sobbing little bundle of humanity that begged to be taken care of.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘And how, my dear boy,’ said Sir Gabriel, his voice rising in a crescendo of incredulity, ‘did you ever get the wretched child out of such a sink of iniquity?’

  John waved a hand to show that he was chewing a vast amount of toast and marmalade.

  ‘With immense difficulty,’ he answered after a convulsive swallow. ‘Nick and I had made a last-minute plan, speaking in whispers over the champagne. He was to announce that he was going for a stroll while he waited for me – as the money had already been paid we knew there would be no objection to that – then search round the entire area for the Runners and return with them. We had hoped not to involve anyone else but could not see an alternative. In the event, though, Nick couldn’t find them and came across Sukie, the female peacher. It so transpires that she has several little bastards and consequently no time for the likes of Mrs Tredille. In a short space of time she rallied several of her larger friends, to say nothing of Little Will, and they all came charging into the bagnio like the hounds of hell, waving cudgels and God alone knows what else. Hearing the racket, I bolted down the stairs with Mary Ann and threw a few fists to get us out into the street.

  ‘’Zeeth! And what of Nick?’

  ‘He fought like a demon and loved every minute of it. I do believe that in his mind he saw himselfas a knight of yore rescuing his beloved from the clutches of evil.’

  ‘And the beloved herself? How did she behave?’

  ‘With remarkable coolness once she had got over her fit of weeping. The little imp actually played cards with me while we waited to be rescued.’

  ‘I am afraid,’ said Sir Gabriel severely, ‘that I suffer an overwhelming urge to land a well-aimed smack on that particular party’s arse.’

  ‘She can be immensely irritating,’ John answered with a grin.

  ‘And what yarn did you pitch to the Magistrate – or did you tell him the truth?’

  ‘I decided on the truth. It seemed to me that he of all people should know about Mrs Tredille’s establishment.’

  ‘Particularly in view of the refuge he has opened for orphaned girls.’

  ‘Quite. Anyway, I returned scantily clad Mary Ann to the arms of her family.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Her aunt cried and cuddled her. Mr Fielding gave her six of the best and cuddled her. And Nick, in a moment of total frenzy, asked for her hand in marriage, and cuddled her.’

  ‘God’s truth!’ exclaimed Sir Gabriel, gulping his coffee. ‘What then?’

  ‘The Beak, may his patience be blessed, paid my poor apprentice the honour of listening to him with great seriousness, then suggested that all such proposals should be shelved until Mary Ann reaches the age of eighteen.’

  ‘And do you think the little minx has learned a lesson from all this?’

  John, mouth full again, nodded. ‘Yes. She was very frightened indeed. I shall never forget her face as I walked into that room. It is criminal that children should be exploited in such a way.’

  ‘Which leads me naturally to my next question. When do you return to Bath?’

  ‘Today, dear Father. Joe Jago is taking on the task of seeing Toby and trying to find out what he knows about the mysterious coachman. And I intend to track down that same young coachman and learn the truth. I also want to follow a thought of my own.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That the disappearances of Meredith Dysart and Lucy Allbury are in some way connected. It is not as far-fetched as it sounds. The Dysarts’ Somerset home is only twenty miles from Bath.’

  ‘Umm,’ said Sir Gabriel, considering. ‘You may well be right.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Of course, there is one other thing that you will be anxious to discover as well.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Just how much Miss Coralie Clive has missed you while you have been apart.’

  ‘That,’ John answered, ‘is the thing I want to find out most of all.’

  He travelled overnight as he had done before, ensuring he slept by taking a mild draught, and awoke next morning aching in most of his limbs but refreshed. Booking himself a room at The Bear, John enquired whether a Miss Clive was staying and was told no. However, a detailed description yielded the information that a Marchesa di Spinotti was in residence and resembled the lady he had depicted.

  ‘Of course,’ the Apothecary answered, and murmured something about the Marchesa using an alias when travelling abroad. ‘And is the lady here now?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Madam has gone to the baths. You may well catch up with her in the Pump Room, Sir. I think it is her habit to go there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said John, and went to his room to unpack and repair his dishevelled appearance before presenting himself to his beautiful mistress.

  Afterwards he was glad that he had done so, for the Pump Room was more like a Welsh fair than ever that day. The musicians were in fine loud form, blowing for all they were worth, while the chatter and aspect of the crowd resembled an aviary swarming with birds of brilliant hue. John, gazing around, saw Coralie at once. Surrounded by a swarm of gallants, she held court in their midst, her dark hair glistening as she turned her head to listen to first one, then another. Very straight-faced, the Apothecary approached.

  ‘Madam la Marchesa,’ he said in thrilling tones, and bowed to the ground.

  Coralie wheeled round, and it was only her acting training which saved her from giving the game away. ‘Er …’ she said, as if she couldn’t quite remember who he was.

  John bowed again. ‘Rawlings, Marchesa. John Rawlings. We met at the assembly given by Serafina de Vignolles when you were last in London.’

  ‘Of course,’ Coralie cooed, tapping him lightly on the cheek with her folded fan. ‘How could I forget? You are an actor, are you not?’

  ‘An apothecary, Ma’am.’

  She pealed with laughter, in which all the gallants joined. ‘There you are. I knew it began with an “a”.’

  Her Italian accent was a triumph, trilling up and down as if she were singing. John, shaking his head very slightly at the sheer audacity of his mistress, fell in love with her all over again. None the less, he decided to give her a run for her money.

  ‘I attended your husband just before I left town,’ he said casually.

  He saw the amusement spark in the depths of Coralie’s eyes. ‘Beloved Marco. How is he?’

  ‘I have been trying to persuade him to join you here, Marchesa. He really would benefit from taking the waters.’

  She sighed. ‘But he is so busy with his diplomatic duties, alas.’

  ‘But he might surprise us yet and arrive unexpectedly.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said a shrill little voice. ‘We want the Marchesa all to ourselves.’

  It was young Sidmouth joining the party, stomping up on high red heels, his small mouth petulant at the thought of an elderly husband appearing without warning and spoiling his flirtation. He eyed John briefly, then recognised him.

  ‘Mr Rawlings,’ he screeched, jumping into the air in his excitement. ‘We’ve missed you here. Orlando was quite put about after you left. He’ll be delighted to hear that you’ve returned.’

  ‘How is he?’ asked the Apothecary, drawing the silly creature to one side.

  Robin Sidmouth pulled a face. ‘Rather poorly. His health ain’t all it should be.’

  ‘He does tend to overdo things.’

  ‘By that do you mean his drinking or his fornications?’

  ‘I know nothing about the latter. They are entirely Orlando’s affair.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you were an irate mama.’

  ‘A condition in which I am very unlikely ever to find myself.’

  ‘Oh la, la,’ said Rob
in, giggling.

  Coralie approached them. ‘Gentlemen, we have decided to go and eat Sally Lunn’s buns and undo all the good of taking the waters. Do you care to join us?’

  John bowed. ‘It would be a pleasure to spend some time in your company, Madam.’ He offered his arm. ‘May I escort you? I would like to talk further about your husband’s health.’

  ‘That would be most enlightening,’ said Coralie, and curtseyed formally.

  It was enormous fun, strolling along as if they hardly knew one another, discussing the ailments of poor old Marco and all the time sending each other hidden messages with their eyes. Eventually the gaggle of gallants, about half a dozen in total and all very much the stamp of young Sidmouth, emasculated nothings who swore pretty oaths and painted their faces, drew ahead of them and they were able to speak freely.

  ‘You are lovelier than ever,’ said John. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

  Coralie gave a graceful shrug. ‘It’s only been a few days.’

  ‘If I say that every minute seemed like an hour I suppose you’ll laugh.’

  ‘Yes, I think I well might.’

  ‘Then I won’t say it, ‘John responded. He bent his head closer to hers. ‘How have you got on with your investigations?’

  She lowered her voice. ‘I have met Orlando a couple of times. I think he is quite taken with me but so far I have received no invitation to dine, which is very annoying indeed.’

  ‘So you’ve had no chance to talk to Jack the coachman?’

  ‘None. But, strangely, I’ve seen him. Sir Vivian Sweeting came into town the other day and Orlando presented him to me. I noticed a young man sitting on the coachman’s box as Sir Vivian stepped out of the carriage. A handsome fellow, about twenty-one years old.’

  ‘That’s him. By the way, how is Orlando? Young Sidmouth said he was ill.’

  Coralie shook her head. ‘He might well be. He wasn’t at the ball last night.’

  John fingered his chin thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if I dare risk calling.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you? You are an apothecary, after all.’

  ‘Yes, but his uncle knows that I am interested in Hannah Rankin. I was forced to hide in a most uncomfortable cupboard last time I was there in order to avoid him.’