Death in the Dark Walk (22 page)

The sedan chair crossed Piccadilly and went directly ahead, down Albermarle Street. And then, when it reached the top and the junction with Evans Row, in fact almost outside John's old Master's shop, the procession halted. Once again John drew out of sight and watched as the Masked Lady alighted and paid the chairmen off.

‘By God, she
can't
live here,' he murmured. ‘Not right under my nose for all these years!' And he was just about to dwell on the extraordinary coincidences in life when his quarry vanished into the dark lane that ran between Bruton Mews and the alleyway opposite. The Apothecary quickened his pace, determined not to lose sight of her, only to find as he turned out of the mews and into Bruton Street, staring all around him, that there was not a soul to be seen. And then he heard a light footfall and wheeled round, just in time to observe the Lady's black boy disappearing like a shadow towards Conduit Street. In his anxiety, John made his first mistake and ran into view. The page turned his head and there was a glimpse of the whites of his eyes before he took to his heels and was gone, leaving the Apothecary no choice but to give chase.

Of course he should have known that a child of that ancestry, so fast and lithe and light, could lose him in a moment. Yet not before John had been subjected to the indignity of pushing through groups of people, still out and about, making himself look a total fool and drawing the unwelcome attention of the Watch. Eventually, sweating and panting, he gave up. That most enigmatic of all women had defeated him once more. Kicking the cobbles and swearing under his breath, John made his way down Piccadilly and then, instead of going home, headed for the house in Leicester Fields and the solace of a little female company.

A girl he had not seen before answered the door, a girl yawning with fatigue, the dark smudges under her eyes betraying the fact that she was utterly exhausted. Looking at her, taking in her delicate beauty, John guessed at once that this must be Millie, the female for whom Samuel so obviously had a soft spot. A wave of his friend's kindness swept over him making him, too, feel compassion for her.

‘Good evening,' he murmured in a quiet voice, not wishing to attract the attention of her employers. ‘My name is John Rawlings and I am a great friend of Samuel Swann, with whom I believe you are acquainted.'

Millie looked thoroughly startled, almost to the point of total confusion. ‘Are you, Sir?' she managed to gasp.

‘Don't be afraid, my girl,' John went on gently, ‘I know he has offered to help you should you so desire it and I can assure you that if Samuel says such a thing he will carry it out.'

Astonished eyes, blue as cornflowers, stared into his. ‘Oh thank you, Sir,' the girl said breathlessly.

‘Be calm,' the Apothecary added encouragingly.

Millie recovered herself. ‘If you see Master Swann can you tell him that I might be forced to take up his offer soon. You see, if it is a case of becoming a whore or being turned out to starve, I shall have little choice.'

It was a plight so common that John felt a stab of fury as he reflected on the savagery of a society that brought innocent country girls to London in the hope of bettering themselves, and then rewarded them with squalor and corruption.

‘I am also on your side,' he whispered.

Millie shot him a stricken glance and said, ‘Thank you kindly, Sir. I'll not forget that.'

‘And now I'll have a word with Diana if she is available.'

‘Her last client has just gone, Sir. You'll find her in the coffee house.'

Millie gave a tentative smile and turned away but not before John noticed how white and haggard she looked.

‘Are you quite well?' he asked.

‘Just weary, Sir,' she answered. ‘Oh, so weary.'

The beautiful Diana, voluptuous in a diaphanous gown that left little to the imagination, was sitting alone at one of the tables. For a moment, John had a mental picture of her with the man who had just received her favours, and felt sickened.

‘I believe that the Frenchman has returned here,' he said without preamble, and took a seat opposite hers.

Diana looked slightly surprised and the Apothecary instantly regretted the abruptness of his tone, thinking that the poor girl was only earning a living after all, and had probably once been as innocent and vulnerable as Millie.

‘How did you know?' she said.

‘Because Samuel wrote and told me. I have been out of town, you see.'

‘Visiting your kinsman?' asked Diana, narrowing her eyes.

‘My kinsman?' John repeated, not understanding.

‘Yes, the kinsman who thought so highly of Elizabeth Harper.' Diana's voice changed and she leant forward over the table in a conspiratorial manner. ‘You are not all that you seem, are you?'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because any other young man would have been back to see me after such an enjoyable occasion as last time. This made me think that you were genuinely busy with something or other. And then when the Comte asked me if you had been here, and what you had talked about, and whether I knew anything further about you, I began to suspect that your connection with Lizzie was something very different from what you made it out to be.'

‘Did you now?'

‘Yes, Sir, I did. So are you going to tell me who you really are?'

John smiled. ‘I told you the truth. I am John Rawlings, apothecary of London. But, as you have correctly guessed, I lied about my connection with Elizabeth's death, news of which has obviously reached you.'

Diana smiled bitterly. ‘It has not only reached us but has been the source of all conversation since. You are out to catch her murderer, aren't you?'

‘Yes,' said John, ‘I am.'

Diana looked thoughtful. ‘You know she came from the country, don't you?'

The Apothecary nodded.

‘Well, here's something you might not have heard. One of them came here once, looking for her.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘One of those country people. A boy it was, very softly spoken and rural. Said he was her brother.'

‘Did Lizzie receive him?'

‘No, she'd gone by then, to Vigo Lane. One of the girls gave him the address and he went on his way.'

‘The boy who called on Hannah!' John exclaimed softly. ‘So the Blind Beak was right. He
did
come here.' He turned his attention back to Diana. ‘Did you see him by any chance?'

Diana shook her head. ‘No, I was working at the time. But I do know what he looked like because Ella told me.'

‘Shortish and fair haired?' asked John.

She stared at him. ‘Yes, he was, as it happened. Why, do you know who he is?'

The Apothecary made a rueful face. ‘I'm not sure. Does the name Leagrave mean anything to you?'

Diana frowned. ‘Yes, I have heard it before somewhere. But be that as it may, I can tell you who that boy wasn't.'

‘Go on then.'

‘He couldn't have been Lizzie's brother. You see, my dear Mr Rawlings, even though she was brought up with an adopted sister, Elizabeth was an only child. She told me so herself.'

John's crooked smile appeared fleetingly. ‘Out of all the confusion one thing now becomes crystal clear.'

‘And what is that?'

‘That the time has come for James Leagrave to answer for himself.'

Even from a distance of several yards away, it was perfectly obvious that the window nearest to the door of John Rawlings's shop in Shug Lane had been neatly broken. Hurrying forward, the Apothecary's suspicions were all too horribly confirmed. The glass lay on the cobbles below, two of the panes smashed, the fragments picked out to allow a gloved hand to slip through and open the door from inside. With a sinking heart, John put the key in the lock and went within.

Sir Gabriel had obviously been as good as his word and in John's absence had visited the warehouses with his son's list of required products. Yet the chests in which these had been delivered now stood open, the contents spilling upon the floor. Somebody had clearly been in and riffled through the entire stock.

John stood, staring at the damage, wondering if this was just the work of young rips, not unknown to raid an apothecary's shop in search of aphrodisiacs or a cure for clap, or if he should read something more sinister into it. Could it, he asked himself, mean that someone whom he had already interviewed had come searching for something they believed he had found and kept concealed? Or could it simply be a warning? A warning that the murderer was aware of every step he made, even to Sir Gabriel finding him premises in Shug Lane, and that he could not escape his sinister surveillance wherever he went? Shivering with sudden fear, John took off his coat, donned a long apron and set about the task of clearing up the mess, before sending for a glazier and organising the simples he had brought with him from Sussex.

This took him till noon, after which he mixed a pick-me-up for himself, then brewed a strong compound containing common valerian for the malingering Mrs Briggs of Chichester and a blend of lemon balm, well known for driving away melancholy and black choler, for the Comtesse de Vignolles. To this last he added, rather wickedly, an ample measure of a powerful aphrodisiac, hoping that this might solve the Comte's marriage problems for him. Finally, before he reluctantly closed up again, John brewed an elixir of liquorice and meadowsweet to combat the flatulence of Squire Leagrave's sister. Then, with one last pensive look round, he locked his shop securely and proceeded on foot to Hanover Square.

It was a distressing walk, for with every step John agonised over exactly how he should challenge the Comtesse with being at Vaux Hall on the night of the murder. Eventually, though, after formulating and discarding several plans of action, he decided on the light touch, the shocking statement thrown away as a jest, and then a careful observation of the Comtesse's reaction.

For once, or so it seemed, the invalid was not lying on her bed of pain, for, quite clearly, from the first floor drawing room came the sound of a harpsichord and a voice raised in song.

‘The Comtesse?' John asked the footman in astonishment.

‘Madam is feeling a little better today.'

‘It must be my medicine,' the Apothecary replied cheerfully, and was rewarded with an icy stare.

‘I will see if my Lady is able to receive you.'

‘I should imagine she might do so if I am able to cure her ills.'

The servant did not reply to this bold statement but made his way up the staircase and, after a moment or two, the music stopped abruptly. John smiled to himself as he had rather expected something of the sort, and was not surprised, on being shown into the room, to see the Comtesse sitting on the music stool, one languid hand raised to her forehead.

‘Madam, how wonderful to find you in better health,' he said, by way of opening shot, and gave a florid bow.

She looked at him from beneath lowered lids. ‘Yes, I believe I have to thank you. The physick you left for me early the other morning certainly seems to have helped. May I ask what was in it?'

‘A compound of various unusual herbs,' John answered vaguely. ‘Now tell me, when did you first notice an improvement?”

‘Why, that very day. At least I think so.'

‘And have you been able to get out at all as a result?'

‘I ventured into the square gardens and sat for a while in the sunshine.'

‘Well, that is a start to be sure. Though really, Madam, I believe a little exercise should now be considered. Nobody ever regained their health by remaining still, you know.'

‘Is that so?' said the Comtesse, and John had the horrible feeling that she was laughing at him.

He looked dignified. ‘Indeed, it is. But let us speak of other, more congenial, things.'

‘By all means.' Again, that faint suggestion of a smile in her voice.

‘Have you managed to leave the house on any other occasion? At night, perhaps?'

She stiffened and suddenly became wary, there was no doubt about it. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘Say what?' asked John, playing the innocent for all he was worth.

‘About my going out at night?'

‘Idle curiosity, that is all. Though prompted, perhaps, by Miss Rigby, who is, I believe, an acquaintance of yours.'

‘Quite true. But what does that have to do with it?'

John gave the Comtesse an ingenuous smile, then laughed. ‘Oh, it's just that she told me she thought she saw you at Vaux Hall the other evening. I assured her she must have been mistaken.'

The lowered lids opened wide and the Comtesse gazed at him, her lips slightly parted and her breathing quickened. ‘Indeed she must. I have not been to the Pleasure Gardens for some considerable time.'

‘As I thought,' answered John, and bowed his head to hide his triumphant smile. There was no doubt in his mind that not only had he shocked the Comtesse considerably, but also that she was lying to cover herself. ‘Let it be hoped that soon you will be well enough to brave the evening vapours,' he continued in measured tones, raising his head and giving her another shrewd glance.

She had gone very pale but was in control of herself, though her lips still trembled slightly. ‘I presume you have called to bring me some further supplies?' she said at last.

‘Yes.'

‘Then you really must allow me to pay your fee,' the Comtesse added in an entirely different voice.

So she was going to be formal, he thought. ‘Thank you, my Lady. And will you be requiring any more bottles after this one?'

‘Yes,' the Comtesse answered, her manner careless now. ‘Make me up half a dozen and leave them with one of the servants. I will see to it that you are paid for your trouble.'

She was defending herself by reducing him to the status of tradesman, John realised angrily. ‘I shall send my bill in when I deliver the rest of your order,' he replied curtly.