Death in the Peerless Pool (2 page)

Surrounded by trees, the Fish Pond was approached by means of a sloping path winding to the left of William Kemp's stately house. This led down to the terraced walkway circling the lake, where benches for the comfort of those wishing to fish had been thoughtfully situated. Jetties, too, stuck out into the water, a wooden railing at the end providing something on which to lean as fishing tackle was plied. But neither of these two accommodations for gentlemen of rod and line appealed to John and Samuel, particularly in the high-spirited mood in which the challenge of swimming naked in chilly waters had left them. With much boisterous laughter, they proceeded instead to the arch in the embankment behind Mr Kemp's house, and from it pulled out a rowing boat, two of which were always kept there for those subscribers who wished to fish over the side. Then, carrying it between them, the friends somehow managed to get the thing launched, an achievement that left both of them extremely wet, particularly Samuel, who pushed the boat out from the terrace then made a somewhat unsuccessful flying leap into the craft, a move which almost sank it.

‘You row, I'll fish,' he instructed John as he removed his coat and hat and sat down, wobbling dangerously.

‘Very well.'

Samuel produced the hired fishing rod. ‘Now, just you watch this cast. I've been practising recently.' And with that the Goldsmith whipped the line over his shoulder and tossed it into the water, neatly picking up his own wig and throwing it into the lake as he did so.

John bellowed a laugh. ‘Is that the latest form of bait?'

‘No, it isn't,' Samuel answered crossly. ‘That wig is both new and expensive, and somehow I've got to retrieve it. Can you reach it with your oar?'

‘No,' said John, attempting to do so and almost tipping them over as he tried. ‘Can't you hook it back in again?'

Samuel cast frantically, narrowly missing the Apothecary's eye. ‘Oh, this is infuriating.'

‘It is also extremely funny. I wish you could see your face.'

‘One more remark like that and I shall be forced to punch you.'

‘One more complaint and I shall throw you in.'

They stared at one another beadily like two fighting cocks, then realised the stupidity of the situation and grinned, watching the water-logged wig as it first attracted the attention of a large and belligerent carp, who attacked it, then, growing heavier by the moment, sank slowly beneath the surface.

‘I suppose you want me to dive for it?' John asked.

Samuel shook his head. ‘If anybody has to do it it will be me.' He sighed. ‘Do fish bite?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘None the less.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake. Cast for it, man.'

‘Then you're not going to …?'

‘No, Samuel, I am not. I've done quite enough swimming for one day, thank you.'

The Goldsmith gave another deep sigh, hunched his shoulders, reeled in, then cast once more, promptly catching a tench which he threw back into the water in a dispirited manner.

‘Here, let me try. Give me the rod.'

Somewhat reluctantly, Samuel handed it over. Taking it from his friend, John peered down into the pond's depths, shading his eyes from the early evening sun in order to see more clearly.

In common with the Peerless and Cold Pools, the Fish Pond was fed by a series of natural springs which kept the water fresh. Further, weeds were not encouraged to grow in profusion, so that in places a clear view to the sandy bottom, eleven feet below, was possible. Leaning over as far as he dared, John sought the missing wig.

A glimpse of something white had him shouting an instruction. ‘Pull to the middle, Samuel. I think I can see it.'

The Goldsmith guided the boat to the centre of the pond. ‘Here?'

‘Yes.'

It was Samuel's turn to lean over the side, gripping the boat tightly in order to keep his balance, but not quite succeeding. With a splash equalling the one with which he had entered the bathing pool, the mighty young man toppled over and disappeared beneath the glassy surface.

A few moments later his head broke water, and he gasped for air, obviously frightened, John thought, for his friend's face had a deathly pallor to it. Seeing the boat, he struck out towards it in a frantic crawl, his manner very agitated, even for one who had just fallen into a lake unexpectedly.

‘What's the matter?' John asked, reaching out a hand to help him back in.

‘There's somebody down there,' Samuel gasped, clambering aboard and nearly capsizing them.

‘What do you mean?'

‘There's a body lying on the bottom.'

‘Are you certain?'

‘Yes. I saw it as I plunged near the lake bed. Take a look for yourself.'

With an uneasy sense of apprehension, John leant over the side.

The waters, though translucent, still had a lovely greenish tinge, like glass that had been in the sea. Gazing through them, seeing where the shafts of early evening sun lit the bottom quite clearly in places, the Apothecary had the impression that he was staring into a fairytale and so, when he glimpsed the woman lying on her back on the bed of the lake, looking up at him, just for a moment he felt that she was not out of place. Then his brain engaged. and he hurriedly stripped off his wig, coat and shoes and dived in.

She was down there, waiting for him. As John plummeted towards the bottom, he saw her, the Lady of the Lake, lying so still, her hair floating out round her head, her eyes open and gazing into his. She was dead, of course. no nymph from legend she. And yet with the water eddying over her, causing a slight movement of her clothes, and the damage that her submersion had done not yet clearly visible on her face, just for a moment she gave the strange impression of being alive. Longing to draw breath, the Apothecary surfaced no more than a foot away from the boat, and filled his lungs.

‘Well?' called Samuel.

‘Yes, you're right. There's a dead woman down there.'

‘Then we'd best get assistance,' the Goldsmith replied frantically. ‘I'll row for the bank.'

John climbed aboard, shaking himself like a dog. ‘Did you notice anything when you looked at her?'

Samuel stared uncomprehendingly. ‘No. What?'

The Apothecary's expression became grim. ‘She had chains binding her wrists and ankles, weighting her down. We must send Nicholas to Bow Street, Sam. This is clearly no case of accidental drowning.'

‘God's mercy!'

‘Upon her soul.'

‘I have a sense that all this has happened to us before,' Samuel commented bleakly.

‘And so, indeed, have I,' answered John Rawlings, his features set and unsmiling.

‘A body?' Mr Kemp repeated incredulously. ‘In the Fish Pond?'

‘I fear so, Sir,' John answered grimly.

But how could it have got there?'

‘I'm afraid somebody threw the woman in. And with evil intent at that. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with heavy chains.'

‘In order that she might be held down and drown?' William Kemp went pale. ‘Are you trying to tell me that she was put into the water whilst still alive?'

‘It's certainly possible.'

‘Dear me,' said the eminent citizen, and adjusted his jewelled cravat pin with a shaking hand.

John stood in the spacious salon of the delightful home that the proprietor of the Peerless Pool had created for himself, a country mansion surrounded by a walled garden and an orchard of pear and apple trees, built on the land lying between the swimming bath and the fishing lake.

In this clean and beeswaxed room, the Apothecary had never been more horribly aware of the fact that he stank. Weed from the Fish Pond, hard though he had tried to brush it off, clung to his clothes, which stuck to his body, still damp from his recent dive. Further, his white stockings and neckwear were by now an unpleasant shade of grey, while a dirty smudge smeared his face where he had rubbed his hand across it. In short, John Rawlings, who loved high fashion with fervour, felt a regular tatterdemalion, and wished that he had been in better sartorial condition to bring to the Peerless Pool's proprietor the news that there was a body in his fishing lake.

As though this thought struck him simultaneously, Mr Kemp gave the Apothecary a piercing look. ‘Who did you say you were?' he asked.

‘John Rawlings, Apothecary of Shug Lane and occasional assistant to Mr John Fielding of Bow Street.'

The magic name had been uttered. William Kemp's brow cleared and he said, ‘Ah,' as if everything were now quite plain to him. ‘Then you will wish me to call for the constable,' he added more politely.

John shook his head. ‘No, Sir. I have taken the liberty of sending my apprentice to the Public Office by hackney coach. I have requested that Mr Fielding send us two of his Brave Fellows, those prepared at short notice to travel anywhere in the kingdom to investigate a crime. I thought it might be better if the Blind Beak were involved from the very beginning.'

Mr Kemp looked apprehensive. ‘It won't mean that the Pool has to be closed, will it?'

The Apothecary spread his hands. ‘That is beyond my control, alas. However, I think the anglers should be moved away from the Fish Pond as soon as possible. My friend Samuel Swann is standing guard but has no authority to give orders to anyone.'

The proprietor nodded emphatically. ‘Of course, it shall be done immediately. The waiters will see to it. Now, what next?'

John looked sheepish. ‘I would very much appreciate an opportunity to wash myself.'

‘Quite so,' answered the proprietor, and gazed down the length of his nose.

He was not at all what the Apothecary had expected of a prominent citizen of London, being, in John's eyes, altogether younger and shorter than such a role demanded. Yet the fact that William Kemp had started life as a jeweller was clearly revealed by his hands, small and manicured and supple as birds, obviously belonging to a creator of fine and beautiful things. As to the rest, the proprietor stood slightly below average height and, having kept a trim figure, had something of the air of a dancing master about him. It would not have surprised John in the least if Mr Kemp had suddenly produced a fiddle and bow from somewhere and executed a series of nimble steps. However, at the moment his dark eyes had a mournful, solemn look as the proprietor contemplated possible disrepute falling on his beautiful oasis. Unconsciously, he sighed.

‘A wash, Sir. Yes, by all means. If you will follow me.'

He led the way down the hall to an extremely modern indoor water closet, a vast mahogany projection with brass handles and cocks surrounding its unventilated hole. Nestling in the corner beside the monstrous contraption was a washstand containing a bowl and ewer. John, ever practical, made full use of both, tidied himself as best he could, then stepped out to face the world that undoubtedly would soon be arriving at the Fish Pond.

The waiters had done their job well. There were no anglers left on the seats and jetties, the entire area having been cleared, while the second boat had been brought out of the boat arch and was moored beside the other one, ready for use. The path to the left of William Kemp's house, running between the Peerless Pool and the Pond, was guarded at both ends by a pair of hefty fellows whose usual job, besides waiting table, was to rid the grounds of any rowdies who might attempt to spoil the enjoyment of other bathers. Knowing that something was badly amiss but not quite sure what it was, they bristled with anticipation and looked ready to manhandle anybody who approached. Meanwhile, two other waiters had been despatched to the entrance to meet Mr Fielding's Runners when they approached in their fast coach. Of Samuel, John noticed as he gazed around, there was no sign.

Unfortunately all this strange activity had not gone undetected, and a crowd of curious onlookers, some dressed, some still in their drawers, had gathered at the top of the path to see what was going on.

‘I think they'll have to be asked to leave,' John murmured to Mr Kemp as they stepped forth on to the terrace at the back of his house.

‘Indeed they will,' the proprietor agreed. ‘Frederick,' he called, ‘a word with you, if you please.'

A burly stepped forward. ‘Yes, Sir?'

‘Be so kind as to tell the patrons that I will address them. Then if you can make sure that they quit as soon as possible, I'd be obliged.'

He pronounced it ‘obleejed', much to John's amusement.

‘Very good, Sir.'

Frederick strode up the path and loomed his six-foot frame over the onlookers. ‘Gentlemen, Mr Kemp desires a word with you all. Please remain where you are.'

Nobody stirred as the proprietor descended the steps leading from the terrace and proceeded towards the crowd, which had now been joined by others from the library and the bowling green, and by one or two patrons of the restaurant, some with glasses still in their hand. Coming up behind him, the Apothecary noticed that Mr Kemp walked with a slightly mincing gait, perfectly enhancing his dancing-master image. The proprietor cleared his throat.

‘Gentlemen, I am sorry to have to ask you all to withdraw, but so I must and as quickly as possible. The term of your subscription will be extended by an extra day to compensate. Those of you who have brought guests will have their shillings refunded.'

There was a general murmur of disappointment, then someone called out, ‘Why must we go, Sir? What is amiss?'

‘Yes,' chorused other voices. ‘Tell us.'

‘We have a right to know,' quavered a frail old fellow near the front.

Mr Kemp turned to John and raised a brow. The Apothecary held his thumb and forefinger close together, meaning ‘a little'.

‘There has been a fatality in the Fish Pond.' the proprietor stated firmly. ‘A most unfortunate incident and not one for public scrutiny. Therefore, while the necessary actions are performed, I must insist that you clear the pleasure garden.'