Death in the Dark Walk (28 page)

John took a mouthful of claret from the glass Joe Jago passed him. ‘I hope I'm up to the challenge.'

‘I have every confidence in your powers of recollection,' the Magistrate replied, and raised his glass in a silent toast.

‘And when shall this re-enactment take place?' John asked.

‘One week from tonight, if Mr Tyers is willing. That should give us enough time to contact everyone, wouldn't you say, Joe?'

‘Just about,' answered the clerk, who seemed not in the least in awe of his brilliant employer. ‘Yes, I reckon that will give us the fun we need to nail a rum customer.'

And with those somewhat incomprehensible words, he left the room.

Having imbibed far too much of Mr Fielding's fine wine, it had been a question of the physician healing himself on the following morning. Dragging some compound from the depths of his bag, John had mixed it with water and swallowed the noxious brew in one enormous gulp. Then, somewhat revived, he had partaken of a light breakfast in the company of Mrs Fielding and Mary Ann, before setting out to visit the Comtesse de Vignolles.

It would seem that the Blind Beak and Joe Jago had worked well into the night, for those invitations that had not yet to be endorsed by the Court were already prepared and waiting to be delivered.

‘My husband has asked that you hand this over personally, Mr Rawlings,' Elizabeth Fielding had said, passing John a paper as he sat down at the table.

Glancing at the address above the seal, his brows had shot upwards. ‘So I am to visit the Comtesse officially?'

‘It would appear that that is the intention, yes.'

‘But she has always looked upon me as a helpful apothecary.'

‘I am sure you will find a way out of the dilemma, Mr Rawlings,' Mrs Fielding had answered cheerfully, and there the matter had been allowed to rest.

Yet it had been difficult to know quite how to change roles at this stage, and John was still considering whether to say he had found the document lying in the street even as he climbed the steps of the house in Hanover Square. However, common sense told him that a woman as shrewd as the Comtesse would not be deceived, and then he wondered to himself why he had used the word shrewd about an invalid.

Today, though, this same invalid seemed much recovered, for the Comtesse stood in the hall, wearing a gown with immense hoops and a striking hat. Seeing John's look of amazed admiration, she said swiftly, ‘I was just about to take the air, Mr Rawlings. But I do thank you for calling. As you can see I am improving daily, so I'd be delighted if you could leave some more physick for me on your way out.'

John bowed respectfully. ‘I will gladly do so, my Lady. However, there is one small personal matter about which I must see you urgently.'

She swept him with impatient eyes. ‘Really! Can't it wait?'

He shook his head. ‘I am afraid not. You see, I have been asked to deliver a letter to you.'

The Comtesse raised a graceful shoulder. ‘Then deliver it.'

‘It is not quite as simple as that,' John answered, hardening his voice.

‘And why not?'

‘Because the sender wished to know your mind.'

‘Oh, la!' said the Comtesse angrily, and tore open the seal.

Her reactions were as quick as they had been when he had asked her about Vaux Hall, John had to grant her that. For after an initial drawing in of breath, the Comtesse merely cleared her throat and read on in silence. Then she said, ‘What nonsense is this?' and cast the letter aside.

‘It's no nonsense, Madam,' John replied levelly. ‘The fact of the matter is that Mr John Fielding, the Principal Magistrate, wishes you to attend him at Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens.'

‘Whatever for? It seems to me that the world's gone crazed about the place. First you ask me if I've been for a visit when you know I've lain at death's door for weeks. And now the Blind Beak wants me to meet him there. Well I'm damned if I will.'

John shrugged his shoulders. ‘The choice is yours, of course.'

The Comtesse pursed her lips. ‘And what is the connection between yourself and John Fielding, pray? I thought you were an apothecary and now it appears you are his paid lackey.'

‘Lackey, yes. Paid, no,' John replied shortly. ‘The fact of the matter is the Beak asked me to assist him with the investigation, to be his eyes, as it were.'

‘And is that why you came here? Under false pretences?'

‘In a way. Though it was true I had heard about your illness and wanted to help you. That much was genuine.

‘You're a fraud, Mr Rawlings,' said the Comtesse furiously, and snapped her fingers under his unsuspecting nose.

They were very lovely fingers, strong, white and supple, and John found himself staring at them intently before he impetuously pulled them towards his mouth and kissed them, smiling crookedly as he did so.

‘Fraudster, trickster, call me what you will,' he said. ‘Is there a single member of the human race who can claim to be exactly what they seem?'

And, with that, he flourished his way out of the front door before the Comtesse de Vignolles had had a chance to say another word.

The moment John set foot in his home in Nassau Street he sensed a stir of excitement in the atmosphere, and voices coming from the direction of Sir Gabriel's study told him that indeed there was a visitor. Handing his hat to the footman, the Apothecary made his way straight there, pausing only to knock at the door politely.

‘Come in,' said his father, and John walked into the room to discover, much to his surprise, that the guest was none other than his friend Samuel Swann, pink with importance and looking excessively earnest.

‘What's to do?' asked the Apothecary, astonished that his companion should be there during the day when he should by rights be in his Master's workroom, where he was continuing as a journeyman until such time as he could afford to set up on his own.

‘It's Millie,' said Samuel in doom-laden tones. ‘She is in peril, I fear.'

Resisting a terrible urge to laugh, John took a seat, not daring to catch Sir Gabriel's eye. His father, however, seemed more than capable of coping with the situation. Pulling a watch from his pocket, he said, ‘I have invited Samuel to dine with us so that he can explain exactly what has happened. Fortunately, you have arrived just in time, my boy. I suggest that we foregather in the parlour in ten minutes. Now, I must see to my toilette if you will forgive me.' And he left the room.

Determined not to get involved in conversation until they had sat down to dine, John got to his feet. ‘That gives me just enough time to change. I was out all night at Mr Fielding's and feel the worse for it. I'll ring for some sherry for you, Sam.' And he, too, withdrew, still barely concealing a smile.

Sitting beneath the gracious portrait of his mother some while later, waiting until the servants had served the first course, John felt fairly certain he could guess the cause of his friend's agitated fervour. Millie had obviously been told that she must now enter the ranks of the whores and was resisting, as many an innocent had done before her, and sure enough, as soon as the cover had been set, Samuel burst into agitated speech.

‘I went to the house in Leicester Fields the other night, to continue investigations on behalf of John,' he added hastily, seeing Sir Gabriel's raised brows, ‘and there Millie told me such a tale of woe. She has been asked to join the other girls as a . . . a . . .' His voice choked over the word and John looked at him in genuine surprise. It simply had not occurred to him that his friend did more than fancy the little maid, but now he was not so certain.

Sir Gabriel seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for he said smoothly, ‘This is obviously of great concern to you, my boy.'

Samuel's neck went the colour of poppies. ‘It concerns me that any girl should be forced into such a life against her will.'

Sir Gabriel made no comment, his fork toying with a morsel of fish, and it was left to John to say, ‘There's rather more to it than that, I imagine. None of us likes to see a young woman enter a life of degradation but you have taken this particular case to heart, I believe.'

Samuel looked wildly confused. ‘Well, I . . .'

‘Oh out with it, man,' John went on, half irritated, half sorry for his oldest friend. ‘You're infatuated with her, aren't you?'

Samuel braced his broad shoulders. ‘More than that, I think. I feel that I have fallen in love.'

‘How long have you known the young woman?' Sir Gabriel asked casually.

‘Well, only a few weeks, to be honest. But I was drawn to Millie from the moment I saw her.'

‘Is she the girl you mentioned the night we all met at Marybone?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘So you fell in love at first sight, presumably?'

‘I am certain I did.'

‘Hum,' said Sir Gabriel, and there was a fraught silence.

‘What do you intend to do?' John asked, feeling some of his friend's wretchedness, his irritation and amusement gone by now.

‘That's just the devil of it, I don't really know. I have no proper place of my own to take her to, and I most certainly couldn't afford to put Millie in lodgings.' Samuel turned to Sir Gabriel. ‘I had wondered, Sir, if you might be looking for a servant.' He went an even brighter shade of red. ‘I know it is most damnably forward of me to ask such a thing, but I really am rather desperate.'

Sir Gabriel put down his hovering fork and delicately sipped his wine. ‘To be honest with you, Samuel, I am not. The household complement is full.'

‘Oh I see,' said the younger man dejectedly.

‘Furthermore,' John's father continued, ‘it would put you in an awkward position, would it not, if I were to engage the girl in such a capacity?'

‘I don't quite follow you, Sir.'

‘You are my son's friend, your father is my friend, though somewhat distanced since he has moved out of London to Islington. If, as you say, Millie is the woman of your choice, then it would hardly be fitting for you as someone to whom our doors are never closed, to pay court to one of my servants.'

‘I'm not sure that I approve entirely of these rigid structures in society,' said John.

‘Whether one approves or whether one doesn't, the fact remains that they are there.'

Samuel put down his eating implements and stared glumly at his food. ‘Then what shall I do?'

‘It is obvious that you need to act quickly,' Sir Gabriel went on, ‘so I suggest you get the girl out of her sordid surroundings as soon as you can. I can certainly put her up as a guest for a week or so, which should give you enough time to discuss the whole matter with your father.'

John smiled, thinking what a wily creature his parent was. No doubt, Master Swann would disapprove violently of his son's impetuous choice and try to persuade him otherwise. So at least by removing Millie from imminent harm, Sir Gabriel would allow time for the dust to settle before any further complications came about.

‘That would be tremendously good of you, Sir,' Samuel was saying enthusiastically.

‘Think nothing of it. My feeling is that the sooner your father is involved the better. The wisest course is for the three of you – you, he and Millie – to discuss the future sensibly.'

‘He probably won't approve of her,' Samuel remarked pessimistically.

‘That,' Sir Gabriel answered crisply, ‘remains to be seen.'

It had grown unseasonably dark as they spoke and, glancing out of the window, John saw to his surprise that the street outside was grey with mist. ‘Are you going to fetch Millie tonight?' he asked his friend.

‘Yes, indeed. There is no time to lose.'

‘Then I'll come with you. The weather looks threatening, not fit for a man to be out on his own in. Besides, I might be able to cause a diversion while you smuggle the girl away.'

‘What a good plan,' Sir Gabriel said, nodding.

‘Then shall we leave as soon as we can?'

‘Yes,' John answered, ‘let's put action to the words.'

As he spoke, a chill of excitement tempered by an inexplicable feeling of fear engulfed him and he shivered as he went to fetch his outdoor clothes.

By the time they left Nassau Street to walk in the direction of Leicester Fields, it seemed more like November than June. The mist had turned into a clammy swirling fog and John thought that, had it not been for the rescue of a harmless virgin, likely to be defiled at any moment, nothing would have induced him to have left the house. It was a night for footpads and blackguards to be abroad, and the Apothecary was never more glad than to see the glow of the linkman's torch as he walked steadily in front of them. And then all of a sudden the light was gone. He and Samuel had reached the open space of Leicester Fields and had walked into a rolling ocean of mist.

‘I'm lost,' said his friend's voice, right beside him. ‘Which way is it?'

‘Over there,' answered John, striking out bravely, to become aware only a moment or two later that he was alone, that Samuel had disappeared into that grey sea and there was no-one to keep him company as he traversed the chilling stretch of land that lay before him.

‘Samuel,' he called, but his voice bounced back at him, as if off a wall, and there was no reply.

Straining his ears, the Apothecary listened for any sign of life but could only hear the beating of his heart and the singing of his blood.

‘Samuel,' he called again, more loudly. And then John was aware of a sound behind him and he swung round, a greeting on his lips. Thus, the hammer-blow to his guts. came without warning, harsh and terrible as it knocked the wind clean out of him.

‘Oh God,' John gasped as he doubled over in pain. Then the clammy air stirred as another blow came out of the murk, this to the side of his head. Without a sound, the Apothecary dropped to his knees and the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of a woman screaming in terror, quite close to where he lay.