Death in the Dark Walk (3 page)

‘'Zounds!' said John irritably, dragging the young man into a sitting position and thrusting his head between his knees. ‘What next I ask?'

‘Oh Giles, Giles!' cried the girl, dropping to the ground beside her sweetheart and grabbing his hand. ‘Speak to me!'

‘He'll speak to you quicker if we can cool his head. Go and soak your handkerchief in one of the cascades,' John ordered, then realising how high-handed he must sound gave her a smile. She stared at him, sighing a little, then sped off, returning some minutes later with a dripping scarf which she wove round her lover's head like a turban. John saw the colour come back into the young man's cheeks.

‘I think it might be best if the two of you go for help,' said the Apothecary firmly as Giles's eyes swivelled once more in the direction of the dead girl. ‘Try to find one of the beadles and ask him to tell Mr Tyers, the Proprietor, that there's been a fatality in The Dark Walk and that a constable must be sent for. Can you manage that?'

‘Certainly,' answered the boy, standing up, clutching at the threads of his dignity.

‘Good. Now there's no time to waste. I'll stay with the body until someone comes.' Realising that he was giving orders to people only a year or so younger than he was, John added contritely, ‘Do you think that's the most sensible plan?'

‘Indeed I do,' answered the girl, dimpling at him despite the ghastly circumstances. ‘Should we tell the beadles to raise a hue and cry?'

John shook his head. ‘Whoever did this is well away by now. I think it might be wiser to say nothing until the authorities have been informed.'

‘Then let's make haste,' Giles put in, with a huge attempt at being decisive.

‘Indeed,' John replied solemnly.

The couple needed no further bidding, hastening off through the trees as quickly as they could, and just at that moment the shaft of moonlight grew more intense, enabling John to take a clear look at the scene.

It seemed to him from the way she had fallen that the girl must have been sitting down and that her attacker had sprung on her from behind. There was no doubt that she had put up a brave fight for her life, for her fingernails were torn and bleeding where she had clawed and scratched her assailant, while her sleeves were ripped from the wild thrashing of her arms. But obviously the struggle had proved too much and her loveliness had passed from the world face-down in the grass, with no-one to save her. Sadly, John Rawlings dropped a kiss on the cooling forehead, paying his last respects to one who, in life, must certainly have been one of the most beautiful women of her day. It was then that he noticed something held in one of the battered white hands. Bending low, he carefully removed it and held it up to the moon: a piece of blue brocade material.

‘Torn from her murderer's coat!' John exclaimed softly, and with deft fingers wrapped it in his handkerchief for safe-keeping.

Any hopes he had cherished of keeping the news of the death in The Dark Walk secret, were most rudely dashed. Within a few minutes a crowd had gathered, gaping and pushing avidly, and it was only the appearance of the entire troop of beadles employed to preserve order in the Pleasure Gardens, together with Samuel Swann, looming large and somehow giving the impression of possessing a giant's proportions, that kept sightseers from coming irreverently close.

‘I can't believe it,' Sam kept repeating as he was allowed through the cordon to join his friend. ‘Barely an hour ago we were ogling her.'

‘And wondering whether she be whore or Duchess. Well, it doesn't matter much now, does it?'

‘Only in the eyes of God, I suppose.'

‘I suppose,' John echoed softly.

It was at that moment that a beadle approached with a cloth, probably from one of the tables the Apothecary couldn't help thinking as he placed it over the body, closing the girl's eyes as he did so. He had not wanted to touch her again, feeling that everything should be left for the constable to observe as accurately as when he had first found her. But the sight of that beautiful blind gaze was too much for him and he drew down her lids.

‘Your Master trained you well,' Samuel remarked quietly.

‘What do you mean?'

‘You've no fear of the dead.'

John shook his head, his blank face not revealing his seething emotions. ‘He taught me that they can do no harm. He said only the living are capable of that.'

The friends stared at one another sombrely and then a distant sound broke into their consciousness. Judging by the reaction of the crowd, the constable was approaching, and John thankfully stepped aside as two men came into his line of vision, one quite small and black-haired, the other very lively and loud.

Without saying a word, the dark one knelt by the body, drew back the cloth and made a quick and expert examination. There was something about the way he set about the task that made the Apothecary think that here was no ordinary constable, chosen reluctantly by rote to fulfil the office for a year. It seemed to John Rawlings that Mr Tyers, the Proprietor of Vaux Hall, had, perhaps in order to protect the reputation of his Pleasure Gardens, sent a rider to Bow Street; that he was now watching one of Mr Henry Fielding's expert Thief Takers, ‘all men of known and approved fidelity and intrepidity', latterly nicknamed the Beak Runners – so called after Henry's half-brother John, who had succeeded him as Metropolitan Magistrate.

The man stood up and shook his head at his companion who promptly turned to look John squarely in the face, his bright eyes suddenly hard as flint.

‘Was it you, Sir, who found the body of the murdered woman?'

‘Yes.'

‘And can you tell me who you are?'

‘I'm John Rawlings, apothecary, of number two Nassau Street.'

‘I see. And how did you come to discover her?'

‘I was looking for my friend here. We became separated after the lighting of the Cascade. I had just reached The Dark Walk when I heard a scream. I waited a moment lest it was simply a lovers' tiff, then heard the sound of a thud. It was that which made me decide to investigate.'

‘And what did you find exactly?'

‘Nothing at first, it really was damnably dark. And then I glimpsed someone who ran away as I approached.'

‘Did you behold the person clearly enough to know them again?'

‘No, it was too black. I could only make out a pair of breeches and a flash of blue coat.'

John reached into his pocket to fetch out the piece of torn brocade but was cut short by the dark fellow who asked abruptly, ‘Why did you not go in pursuit, Sir?'

‘Because I fell over the dead girl, landed lying in the grass beside her, in fact. I am a trained apothecary and as dedicated to saving life as a physician, therefore my instinct was to help her for I did not know whether she might merely be stunned.'

Mr Fielding's men exchanged a glance but said nothing. ‘By the time I discovered she was dead,' John went on, ‘I knew it would be hopeless to search. Her killer would have rejoined the crowd. It would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack.'

‘Ah!' said the dark man, and gave him a long hard stare which left John in no doubt that his story was not altogether believed.

‘The young couple there can vouch for me,' he added, just a shade too quickly. And pointed at the hovering pair whom he had sent to get assistance.

‘We most certainly saw him,' the girl put in at once.

‘Kneeling by the body?'

‘Just getting up.'

‘Ah,' said the Beak Runner again, and the Apothecary was filled with dread, realising that he was under suspicion of murder.

‘I had nothing to do with her death,' he protested vehemently, dropping his lids, aware that his eyes would reveal how nervous he felt even though his features remained composed. ‘I did not even know the girl.'

‘As you have probably guessed, Sir,' answered the lively one, ‘we are not constables but attached to the Public Office at Bow Street. We must, therefore, request you to come with us to tell your tale to Mr Fielding personally. It is his expressed wish to question important witnesses himself.'

Putting his hand in his pocket to check that the piece of material still lay safely within his handkerchief, John decided that he would indeed have more chance of proving his innocence with the great John Fielding, London's Principal Justice of the Peace, a man whose wit and intelligence were a thing of legend.

‘I should be delighted to meet him,' he answered calmly, though his mobile eyebrows inadvertently drew into a frown.

‘Then we will go now, if you please, Sir. And you two young people as well,' replied the Beak Runner, bowing politely to the couple, who looked aghast.

John drew Samuel to one side. ‘I'm suspected, I know it. For God's sake go to my home and tell my father what's afoot.'

His friend rolled his eyes. The road to the city was fraught with hazard to those who left the Pleasure Gardens late, and he had no means of transport other than to go by water, which would take too long.

‘I'll do my best,' he said through gritted teeth.

‘Then we'll be on our way, lady and gentlemen,' the dark man announced, sounding very courteous but very firm.

Looking round, John saw that the crowd had dispersed, that only a few stragglers remained at Vaux Hall, a blight having fallen on the entire evening. He also saw, as the ragged group set off towards the main entrance, that two soberly dressed men carrying what looked like a stretcher were making their way down The Dark Walk.

‘It's all right,' the lively Beak Runner called to them, ‘we've seen all there is to see. Take her away.'

Bowing his head as a mark of respect, the Apothecary, in a terrible parody of his arrival at the Pleasure Gardens, passed through the swing doors, this time escorted by Mr Fielding's Brave Fellows, on his way to the Public Office at Bow Street. While down at the water's edge, the Beauty also departed Vaux Hall, her earthly shell loaded on to a wherry to make its last tragic journey to the city mortuary, leaving behind for ever the scene of what only a few short hours before had been her final triumph.

Samuel's dilemma as to how to get to London in the small hours of the morning, yet remain unrobbed and alive, was solved by two gentlemen who were just leaving Vaux Hall by the Kennington entrance, clambering into a coach accompanied by three young ladies, their direction Back Lane and the city.

‘Room for one more,' called one of them jovially. ‘Jump in, young Sir.'

‘Gladly,' answered Samuel, scrambling aboard and cramming his large frame between two of the girls.

The man who had offered assistance held out his hand. ‘Frobisher, the Honourable Frederick. And these are the Misses Carter, Miss Bealieu and Lord Bramcote.'

‘Damme,' said his Lordship, ‘rum do tonight, what? Who'd have thought poor Lizzie would have gone like that.'

‘Lizzie?' repeated Samuel in astonishment. ‘Did you then know the victim, Sir?'

‘Me, and half of London. She was, that is until two months or so ago, when she left mysteriously, the favourite of the Leicester Fields brothel.' His Lordship cleared his throat and added, ‘Forgive frank talk, ladies. Forgot myself.'

‘Not a Duchess then!' Samuel exclaimed, and everyone laughed.

‘A Duchess in her way,' put in the Honourable Frederick, suddenly solemn. ‘The usual story, I'm afraid. An innocent country girl looking for work in London and snatched up by a procuress. Then taking to the life, alas.'

‘You're certain it was her?'

‘Positive. I saw her face before your friend covered it up.'

‘I wonder if they know this at Bow Street.'

‘They're sure to find out soon enough.'

‘But where has she been recently?' said Samuel, almost to himself.

Lord Bramcote frowned. ‘That's the damnable odd part. Nobody knows. I think a fancy fellow must have set her up, couldn't bear to share her, what?'

‘George, please!' remonstrated one of the Misses Carter.

‘Sony, Sal. 'Zounds, but it's a wicked world, ain't it?'

‘So wicked I fear we may be robbed tonight,' she answered, shivering.

‘If a highwayman comes I'll blow his head off,' Milord stated cheerfully, and produced a loaded pistol from an inner pocket.

Sam sat mute, thinking that this evening, which had started with so much promise, was turning into one of the most nightmarish of his entire life. In fact he was never more glad of anything than when the coach reached the outskirts of London, clattered over Westminster Bridge, opened to the public four years earlier, and set him down at the top of The Hay Market. Hurrying down Coventry Street, from which place he could glimpse the brothel in Leicester Fields where the dead girl had worked, Samuel ran the rest of the way to Nassau Street, startling the Night Watch as he panted up to the front door of number two.

When the street had been created in the 1730s, a uniform group of elegant residences had been erected, each four storeys high and three windows wide, their interiors furnished in handsome style. As Samuel Swann was shown into the hall by the night porter, he remembered with fondness the house next door where he had lived as a boy, nostalgically wishing he were still there. His father had long since moved away to the unspoilt rural retreat of Islington, while Samuel lodged with his former Master in West Cheap, as yet not settled in a home of his own. Yet looking round him now as the porter went to waken Sir Gabriel Kent's valet to see if John's father might himself, in his turn, be awakened, Samuel experienced a great surge of longing, a yearning for boyhood, for the past. And when Sir Gabriel appeared at the top of the stairs, clad in a night rail and turban, the younger man hurried forward to greet him just as he had when he was a child.

‘How very glad I am to see you, Sir,' he exclaimed and, without thinking, raised Sir Gabriel's hand to his lips.