Death in the Peerless Pool (16 page)

There was so much truth in what she said that John, brim full of all the things he had recently heard, shivered. But Mr Fielding would have none of it. Rising to his full height of over six feet, he shouted, ‘Take that woman below.' Then he swept from the court, clearly indicating that the day's business was concluded. Joe Jago, looking somewhat flustered, announced officially that the court had risen, while the spectators, excited by all the scandal and drama, hurried out in a throng, jamming the doorway. John, thinking better of reporting to the Magistrate in his present state of mind, followed on behind, wondering what he ought to do next.

The urge to chat to someone was strong, and the urge to see Coralie Clive even stronger. Almost acting of their own accord, the Apothecary's feet set off down Bow Street in the direction of The Strand and the house in Cecil Street that Miss Clive shared with her famous sister, Kitty. Not wishing to arrive empty-handed, he called into a shop famous for its chocolate and there procured some sweetmeats to take with him.

Quite the lovelorn suitor, he thought to himself, and had to smile at the memory of the number of years he had spent hankering after the actress, even though there had been dalliances in other directions in the interim. Rather sadly remembering his last liaison, an affaire with a girl who had lived close to the Romney Marsh, John felt an overwhelming desire to make love to Coralie, then wondered how he was ever going to achieve so difficult an objective.

The individual houses of Cecil Street differed somewhat in date, though most appeared to have been built within the last fifty years. At the bottom of the street was an archway, from which a flight of steps led to a passageway running down to the river. The last house but one before the arch, on the left-hand side as one walked down from The Strand, belonged to the Clive sisters, and was one of the oldest in the row. Built during the reign of William and Mary, it was recognisable by its mellow brick facade, its wide square windows, and the generous proportions of its front door.

A footman answered the bell, not the usual glum kind but quite a friendly chap, who looked as if he might at one time have been an actor, perhaps not too successfully, and had therefore decided to cut his losses and become the trusted servant of two young actresses. He also had the appearance of someone perfectly used to dealing with admirers hopefully calling to visit one or other of the beautiful and talented sisters Clive.

‘Yes, Sir?' the man said cheerfully.

‘I wondered whether Miss Coralie was at home. I am an old friend of hers, John Rawlings.'

‘Is she expecting you, Sir?'

‘No, I'm afraid not. I just wanted to have a brief word with Miss Coralie and give her these.'

And John rather lamely held out the box of sweetmeats.

The servant inspected them with a practised eye. ‘Miss Coralie is at home, Sir, but might well be resting. I shall go and make enquiries. Do kindly take a seat in the anteroom. You will find a copy of today's newspaper to look at.'

He gave John an extremely knowing smile, took his card and placed it on a silver tray, then ushered him into a small room, comfortably furnished and with copies of various journals scattered about upon a table. The Apothecary took a seat, wondering how many other gallants had sat there before him, nervously turning the pages of The Gentleman's Magazine, and imagining themselves in love with either Kitty or Coralie. For it was an irresistible combination; two beautiful women, gifted and famous, adored by the theatre-going public, and neither of them married.

The manservant returned, dark eyes twinkling. ‘Miss Coralie will see you in the upper salon, Sir. Miss Kitty will join you later.'

‘I am honoured,' John answered, meaning it, and followed the footman up a flight of gracefully curving wooden stairs.

The interior of the house was charming. Wooden floors glowed with wax, and the Clive sisters had decorated with a great deal of style. The room in which Coralie awaited him had been painted a charming shade of deep blue, its furnishings, other than for the wooden pieces, harmonising in a darker shade of the same colour. Almost as if she had done it deliberately, the actress was dressed in iris-blue satin, a colour that enhanced her dark beauty to the point where John could have made a fool of himself and declared his feelings there and then. Instead he bowed formally.

‘How kind of you to receive me. It was unpardonable of me to call without an appointment but I just happened to be passing your door.'

Coralie laughed and indicated the chair opposite hers. ‘Really? What a happy coincidence, for I was on the point of writing you a letter.'

John's face lit up. ‘Were you? What was it going to say?'

‘That as it is Bartholomew Fair fortnight and the theatres are consequently closed, I felt like a little frivolity and wondered whether you would care to escort me out on the town.'

‘Gladly, Madam. Where do you wish to go?'

‘Why, to the fair itself. Kitty is acting there at Mr Timothy Fielding's booth. Mrs Cibber will also be taking part.'

‘She was in Bath a few days ago.'

Kitty smiled. ‘Do I take it that that means yes?'

‘Of course it does. I'm sorry, I wandered off at a tangent. I have just returned from that city.'

‘Where you had travelled at the behest of the Blind Beak. Am I right?'

‘Perfectly. By the way, is Timothy Fielding any relation?'

‘A cousin, I believe. Now, may I offer you some refreshment?'

‘I would adore a sherry. A crisp, pale, nutty sherry.'

‘Then you shall have one,' said Coralie, and rang the bell.

The empathy between them had never been better. So much so that John felt yet another rush of relief that, despite the actress's many denials that there had been a tendresse between herself and the Duke of Richmond, the attractive young peer was safely wedded and bedded and no longer posing a threat. It was at that moment in his deliberations that Kitty Clive, as dark as her sister but with brown eyes rather than green, entered the room, expressing surprise that her sibling had a visitor, though John had a strong suspicion that the redoubtable manservant must already have informed her.

She swept a curtsey that would have done credit to the stage at Drury Lane. ‘My dear Mr Rawlings, how very nice to see you again. What brings you to our home?'

‘John is taking me to Bartholomew Fair, Sister. We are resolved to see how you proceed in Mr Fielding's booth.'

Kitty gave a tinkling laugh, the kind that sounded as if it had been practised long and hard. ‘Timothy's booth, let me hasten to assure you, is lined with green baize and lit by many lamps. It is a superior place of entertainment and not some cheap fairground stall.'

‘I spoke in jest,' said Coralie soothingly. ‘It is a well-known fact that the main attraction at the fair is the theatrical performances. They alone draw the town.'

‘You are a silken-tongued flatterer,' Kitty answered, and once more laughed charmingly.

She was behaving delightfully, but all the time John had the feeling that she was regarding him shrewdly, ready to tell her sister exactly what she thought of him when they were alone together. Longing to make a good impression, John said, ‘I am currently working with Mr Fielding, investigating a mysterious death which took place at the Peerless Pool.'

Kitty arched her brows. ‘How unfortunate. Did somebody drown?'

‘In a way, yes.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘The woman concerned was weighted down and thrown into the Fish Pond while she was still alive.'

The actress shuddered. ‘How frightful. I simply don't know how you can bear to delve into these sordid cases, Mr Rawlings.'

Slightly impatient with her attitude, John answered, ‘Because I like to see justice done, Madam. And if I can be instrumental in bringing a villain to book, then I will gladly give my services.'

‘That is all very noble,' Kitty answered with just the slightest note of acerbity, ‘but what of the danger? When my poor sister offered to help over that unfortunate affair at The Beggar's Opera, she nearly met her end at the hands of a madman.'

‘John saved my life on that occasion,' Coralie put in quietly.

Kitty persisted. ‘Indeed you did, Sir. But if you had not been there, what then? I truly believe that Mr Fielding should use his Runners to search for thieves and murderers and not involve ordinary members of the public like yourself.'

‘Even though it is my wish?'

‘Even though it is your wish.'

John gave one of his eloquent shrugs. ‘Then there is nothing more to be said.' He turned to Coralie. ‘May I take you to dine before the fair?'

‘No, let us eat there. It will be amusing to observe who is present, despite their protestations that it is not the place to be seen at.'

‘Quite so. Then let me suggest we leave shortly so that we can get ourselves a good table.'

‘As soon as we have had our sherry,' said Coralie, and gave the Apothecary a look that raised both his spirits and his hopes.

Miss Kitty taking her carriage for herself, John hailed a hackney coach, helped Coralie into it with some unnecessary hand-squeezing, then sat back to enjoy the ride from The Strand to Smithfield, where the Bartholomew Fair was held every August. Proceeding at a good pace, the hackney entered Fleet Street, passing through the spiked Temple Bar, rebuilt by Christopher Wren in the 1670s. Going down Fleet Street, the coach crossed the River Fleet at Fleet Bridge. To the left, the waterway had been completely covered over, but to the right it was an open sewer, its smell overpowering and putrid. Coralie put her handkerchief over her nose and John did likewise. The actress also averted her eyes from the dead dogs, the floating excrement, the rotting vegetables and all the disgusting detritus of human life. The Apothecary, however, stared beyond Fleet Ditch, as the sewer was known, to one of the two terrible prisons that lay on either side of it. On the left bank was Bridewell, the gaol specifically for women accused of sexual offences. John, his mind still mulling over the disappearance of various children, thought again about the fate of the bastards born therein, shipped off to the plantations to work as soon as they were old enough. He turned his head and gazed towards the river's right bank, and there loomed the Fleet Prison, considered preferable to Newgate, though that said very little. It was a relief when the hackney ascended Ludgate Hill and turned into The Great Old Bailey, which led to Gilt Spur Street, then on to Smithfield and the fair.

Held annually and lasting two weeks, pitched on the site of Smithfield Market, the fair consisted of a great conglomeration of stalls and booths, merry-go-rounds, sideshows, tents and platforms, not to mention the many taverns adjoining the market, each and every one of them making an effort to contribute to the general rowdiness. Taking Coralie firmly by the arm and joining the crowd trying to make its way in, which was driving hard against the crowd attempting to get out, John entered the fairground.

The racket was unbelievable, a great cacophony of fifes and fiddles, trumpets, drums and bagpipes, all playing different tunes, attempting to drown out the raucous sounds made by the fairground's population. Fists crunched on bone as drunken fights broke out; barrow girls screeched their wares; women squeaked as strangers fondled their buttocks; children burst into tears at the sheer monstrous tumult of it all. Glancing around. John saw that all the human parade was present. Fat landladies jostled pimps; pawnbrokers nodded to jockeys: sailors and thieves rolled their eyes at jilts; strollers and tailors passed the time of day. Sideshows abounded: learned pigs, jugglers, tightrope dancers, acrobats, fire-eaters, giants and dwarves were quite literally falling all over one another. A dog that could read the alphabet had drawn an audience of admirers, while others were grouped around a hornpipe dancer, others still circled a rather saucy ‘showing of postures'.

‘Well?' said John.

‘Well!' answered Coralie, and they laughed and held each other more tightly as the crowd pressed in.

A man thrust a leaflet into the actress's hand. Leaning over her shoulder, John read the following:

‘At Mr Fielding's Great Theatrical Booth in The George Inn Yard in Smithfield, during the time of Bartholomew Fair, will be acted a diverting Dramatic Opera called “Hunter, or the Beggar's Wedding”, with Alterations, consisting of a variety of English, Scots and Irish Ballad Tunes, with additional Songs never perform'd therein before. NB. the Booth is very commodious, and the Inn Yard has all the conveniences of Coach Room, Lights, Houses of Easement, etc. for quality and others. Performances will be hourly during the time of the Fair, and continuing every hour till Eleven at Night.'

‘Would you like to dine there?' John asked.

‘Very much. Then we can get a good seat.'

All tastes were being catered for at The George. The smell of hot black and pease puddings, strong beer and even stronger ale competed with the delicate aroma of oysters and champagne, wine and fruit tarts. In no mood to stint with the girl who had never been far from his heart since the moment he met her, John ordered the best of everything, then watched with pleasure as she ate and drank with obvious relish.

Coralie looked up. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?'

‘Very much.'

‘You've hardly eaten a thing, I always believed you a trencherman.'

‘I'm sorry. My mind has been elsewhere.'

‘With a woman?'

‘How did you guess?'

‘By the slightly crazed expression in your eye.'

The Apothecary shouted a laugh. ‘I didn't realise I looked mad when I thought about the female sex.'

‘Most men do.'

‘Oh, 'zounds! What transparent creatures we must be.'

‘Transparent indeed.'

‘Then, Madam, you will no doubt know the woman I was thinking of.'

Coralie gazed at him earnestly, green eyes glowing beneath the sweep of long black lashes. ‘I cannot be certain, I fear. Rumour reached my ears that recently you were much enamoured of a lady living near the Romney Marsh.'