Death in the Dark Walk (10 page)

The Blind Beak himself had obviously dined early and was presently sitting in his office with his clerk who was reading aloud the list of all the information taken that day, including descriptions of suspicious persons, robbers, and things stolen. Just for a moment John stood in the open doorway regarding them, and then the sightless gaze turned in his direction and the voice of the clerk died away.

‘Ah, Mr Rawlings, what news?' the Magistrate asked uncannily.

Unnerved by the blind man's extraordinary powers of perception, John fell over his words as he said, ‘Good evening, Sir. I've come to report on what I have discovered so far.'

‘Good, good. Step inside and take a seat.' The Blind Beak motioned to the clerk who had half risen to his feet. ‘Stay where you are, Jago. I would like you to take notes if you would be so kind.'

‘Certainly,' the man answered, but stood politely until the visitor had taken his place on the opposite side of the Magistrate's desk, when he sat down once more, picked up his pen, dipped it in his inkwell, and stared at John Rawlings in eager anticipation.

They made an extraordinary pair, the Apothecary caught himself thinking. The Magistrate, so powerfully built and strong-featured yet so grievously afflicted, the absolute antithesis of his foxy-faced assistant whose sandy hair and bright blue eyes gave an impression of exceptional cunning and alertness.

‘Begin,' said the Blind Beak and leaned back in his chair. John shot a glance at Mr Jago, who scratched his curly unwigged head with the end of his quill. ‘Fire away,' he mouthed.

Nodding, the Apothecary cleared his throat and began an account of everywhere that he had been and all that he had learned.

There was no noise in the room except for his voice and the scratching of the clerk's pen, and even while he spoke John wondered at the intensity of the Blind Beak's powers of concentration. Not a muscle twitched, nor was there a cough or splutter. Every ounce of John Fielding's attention was concentrated on what his newly recruited Runner had to say.

‘So,' the Magistrate commented at last, ‘it seems you have made considerable progress.'

‘I thought quite the opposite, Sir,' John answered in some confusion. ‘I am not at all certain how I should proceed from here.'

Mr Jago looked up and grinned widely, resembling one of the more sardonic types of gargoyle. He had a gap between his two front bottom teeth and through it he now emitted a whistle. This was obviously a sign that something amused him, for the Blind Beak rumbled a responsive laugh.

‘Do any of us, ever? Eh, Joe?' he said, turning his bandaged eyes in the clerk's direction.

‘Never, Sir,' Joseph Jago answered, and whistled low once more.

‘Come now, Mr Rawlings,' Mr Fielding continued briskly, ‘there's no call for despondency. You've done as well as any of my regular fellows.'

‘But how do I . . .?

‘Simple,' the Magistrate cut across. ‘The boy with the country accent won't have ended his search for Lizzie at the first failure. If he discovered that she worked in a brothel he will have gone there, for sure. As for the Comte de Vignolles, you say that his wife is ailing. Call without an appointment – they live at number twelve, Hanover Square, by the way – and offer to treat her with physic. Say the story of her suffering has touched you to the heart or some such flam. If she seeks attention, as is popularly believed, then she'll welcome you with open arms.'

‘But how do I ever discover the true identity of the Masked Lady when the whole of London has failed?'

‘Ah, now there's a rum doxy if ever there was one,' put in Joe Jago, raising a bushy brow.

‘You've obviously heard of her.'

‘I know
of
her, but then who doesn't?' the clerk answered.

‘The Lady has of late become something of a legend,' John Fielding added. ‘Take my advice, Mr Rawlings, and go to Marybone tomorrow night. You may well kill two birds with one stone, for I hear that not only can she often be discovered at play there but it is likely Henry Fox will also be present.'

John turned to the Blind Beak. ‘Have you any idea who the Lady is, Sir?'

‘None whatsoever. You see, she has done nothing illegal, Mr Rawlings. Her only crime is to fleece some of the greatest gamesters alive, and for that I can do nothing but respect her. She has entered a man's world and now appears to be in the process of conquering it.'

A slight movement from the clerk drew John's attention back to him. ‘A morte of mystery, that one,' Joe Jago said, shaking his ginger curls from side to side, obviously lost in admiration and wonder at the very thought of so remarkable a woman.

‘Talking of mystery,' said the Blind Beak, smiling in the direction of his assistant, of whom he was clearly fond, ‘there's one new piece of information which needs to be looked into.'

‘And what is that, Sir?'

‘The fact that, according to the woman Hannah, Elizabeth Harper came from Midhurst. Combine this with the knowledge that her former keeper is Duke of that very place and some interesting questions pose themselves, do they not?'

‘Where is the Duke at present, Mr Fielding?'

‘He has returned to his country seat much shaken, or so I am told, by the death of his mistress.'

‘Should I go there to question him?'

‘After you have finished in London, yes. Yet first of all you must track down those who were known to be in Vaux Hall on that fatal night.'

John shook his head. ‘But that's impossible. Obviously there were several hundred present.'

The Magistrate nodded. ‘Indeed there were. So concentrate first on those who knew her. If the girl moved in high circles it is likely her murderer came from the
beau monde
.'

‘But what,' said John, ‘if this is the work of a madman? A lunatic with a grudge against whores – or even against women in general?'

Fielding shook his head. ‘I have a feeling, call it my sixth sense, that Elizabeth's death is somehow connected with her past. But whether it is or whether it isn't, I want you to watch yourself Mr Rawlings. I believe Mr Tyers might well be right. The killer may possibly have seen you and think that you know more than you do.

Therefore, if you believe that someone is following you in the street or watching your home, you are to tell me at once. Is that understood?'

‘Perfectly.'

‘Then go to it, Mr Rawlings. Talk to everyone who could possibly have known the girl. Somewhere, somehow, our man will reveal himself. I feel sure of it.'

He rose to his feet to indicate that the meeting was at an end and Joe Jago, catching the Apothecary's eye, dipped his head to one side to confirm this. John, too, stood up, feeling not only confused but also decidedly nervous.

‘One moment more, Sir,' he said pleadingly.

‘Yes?' answered the Blind Beak, his cane tapping before him as he made for the door.

‘To whom should I dissemble and to whom should I announce myself as your man?'

‘The list, Jago,' the Magistrate answered shortly, and went out.

The clerk, grinning enormously, thrust a piece of paper in John's direction. ‘There you are, Sir, bless your worried phiz. It's a bit of a plan for you to follow.'

‘Were you writing that while I was speaking?'

‘It's my job to make lists, Mr Rawlings. I was only doing my duty.'

‘This is most comprehensive,' said John, casting his eyes over the neatly written instructions.

Joe Jago's foxy face creased into a million lines. ‘I have my uses for one born a rum cove. Good day to you, Sir. And just you take care of yourself, d'ye hear?' And with that he followed his master out of the room.

Over the cold collation which had been left out for him in the dining room, John read Joe Jago's plan in detail. People he had yet to interview were written in one column, those whose identities were still to be discovered in another. There were only four entries in this last: The Apprentice Lad at Vaux Hall, the Country Boy, the Masked Lady (you will win many a wager should you manage to solve this mystery!) and Those Visitors to the Pleasure Gardens not known to Mr Tyers (this will best be done by dredging the memories of others present).

Underneath these two lists was a rough itinerary —Most Adaptable to Your Own Convenience and Wishes but written with the Geographical Intent of Saving you Travelling Time and Labour. The final entry was a suggestion as to those in front of whom John should appear formally, and others amongst whose number he might insinuate himself.

‘Remarkable,' thought John, and made a note to discover the origins of Joseph Jago, Register Clerk to the principal Justice of the Peace for London, amongst his many other tasks.

His supper done, the Apothecary descended the curving staircase which ran through the heart of the house and went to his father's study where ink, pens and other writing materials always stood available. Here, he added some of his own notes to those of Joe: Urgently visit Samuel and ask him to Recount
All
He Saw. Take Hannah her Ointment and Discover what She has found.

But this last, John realised, might present certain difficulties. Having left his Master's premises and not having had time to find any of his own, he had nowhere to mix and compound, to distil and brew, even to store his herbs. Temporarily, he was that somewhat useless figure, a qualified apothecary without a place to practise his calling.

The next day sending down as big a deluge as John could remember on a May morning, he stayed in bed for an extra hour and rose to find that Sir Gabriel Kent had already left the house, not saying where he was going. Rather surprised by this, the Apothecary had just gone into the study to reread Joe Jago's instructions when Samuel was let into the hall after knocking thunderously on the front door.

‘John,' he gasped, ‘I have run all the way here! I've remembered something, you see!'

As he had journeyed from West Cheap, the first statement was, to say the least, an enormous exaggeration, but pandering to Sam's apparent state of exhaustion, John immediately ordered him coffee and a restorative brandy.

‘Now what's all this?' he said, as soon as they were seated on either side of the library fire, lit to fend off the chills of the dismal day.

Samuel gulped his drink. ‘You will recall me telling you that I observed poor Lizzie arguing with a man in a black cloak.'

‘Whom I now have every reason to believe, having heard Mr Tyers's description, was her former lover, the Comte de Vignolles.'

‘Was it, by God! Then that makes things even stranger. You see, I've remembered there was another man giving her the eye at just that moment. He winked and nodded at her then disappeared into The Dark Walk, and mighty furtive he was acting too. Glancing all about as if he did not wish to be detected. And not to keep you in suspense, I'll tell you straightway who it was.' Samuel paused and swallowed noisily.

‘Well?'

‘That rampant young blade, the Duke of Richmond.'

‘And he winked at Lizzie? You're positive?'

‘I most certainly am.'

John's brows leapt. ‘Then perhaps she went to meet him . . .'

‘And he strangled her in passion.'

The Apothecary shook his head. ‘We can't jump to such a conclusion even though Richmond must obviously be implicated in some way.'

‘Well, I'm glad my journey was not in vain.' Samuel finished his glass and held it out for a refill. ‘There's something else too. You know that mysterious woman who wore a mask?'

‘Yes?'

‘Odds life, if she wasn't standing near me too. In fact she was so close I could have touched her.'

‘I don't suppose her disguise slipped by any chance?'

‘Not a hope of that. But she wore a distinctive scent. It filled my nostrils.'

‘What was it?'

‘Now how would I know that?'

The Apothecary clicked impatiently. ‘Because every perfume is unique.'

Samuel shifted his broad shoulders. ‘It is in your line of business to identify smells – though I can't say I envy you some of 'em! So don't blame me if I've no knowledge of such things. It was lovely, though. By God, it was.'

John grinned. ‘Now don't start hankering after its wearer. She is unobtainable in every way.'

Samuel sighed. ‘I suppose you're right.' He finished his brandy and brightened again. ‘So what's next?'

‘First and foremost, I visit the Comte de Vignolles and his ailing wife. Then, if I've time, Lucy Pink. And tonight, my friend, if you're game, we go to Marybone to watch the gamblers. The Masked Lady will probably be there,' John added casually.

‘Then I'll join you,' answered Samuel.

‘I thought you might.'

‘Do you think I could borrow those clothes of your father's again? I did not come prepared for a social occasion.'

‘I've got the feeling that these days a visit to Nassau Street means being prepared for anything,' John answered ruefully.

‘It would certainly seem that way,' agreed Samuel as the two of them made their way in to breakfast.

An hour later the friends left the house together, and proceeded on foot down the length of Piccadilly where they parted company, John turning right into Old Bond Street and thence to Evans Row. Here he called into the shop of his former Master, Richard Purefoy, and stood as he had for so many years looking outwards through the two bow-fronted windows with their shelves containing jars and bottles, all tall and elegant, the latter swollen with bulbous bases. It seemed strange to be buying a mixture which he himself had not compounded, but for the moment John had no choice in the matter. Wishing Master Purefoy good day, making some excuse about his father wanting the physick urgently, John hurried out again, glad not to have been drawn into conversation, anxious to get the next part of his mission over and done. Substituting a label that he had written at home for the bottle's original, John strode towards Hanover Square, wondering what kind of reception he would receive from the sickly Comtesse de Vignolles and her wayward husband when he called upon them unannounced.