Death in the Dark Walk (26 page)

‘Yes, indeed,' he answered, with a polite nod of his head. ‘I called at your house the other day, Sir Ralph. You see, I am an apothecary by profession and I wanted to ask Miss Leagrave if I could gather some simples from your garden.'

The Squire looked astonished. ‘An apothecary, are you? Well, well! You don't look the dry as dust sort to me. I'd have put you down for a man of fashion.'

John looked apologetic. ‘I try to be both, Sir.'

The Squire guffawed and slapped John so hard on the shoulder that he rocked on his feet. ‘Well said, boy. Now there's an answer for you. Times are changing and I've been the first to see it. There's nothing to stop those with an honest trade from emulating their betters when they are out and about. Indeed, I'm all for it. 'Zounds, Mr Rawlings, if you ain't an example to us all.'

‘Thank you for your generosity, Sir,' answered John, tongue well and truly in cheek, and was aware that James was looking at him suspiciously.

‘Not at all, not at all,' Sir Ralph went on, blissfully unaware. ‘Now, James, I want you to copy your old father and be as democratic as I. Have a chat with young John here, do. It is the coming trend, mark my words.' And with that he filled his glass to the top and walked away.

But it was obvious, John thought, observing the pinched look round James's nostrils and the two high points of colour which had suddenly flared in his cheeks, that young master Leagrave was alarmed by the very idea. The fact that John had hit him on the raw when he had mentioned London, was more apparent than ever.

‘May I introduce somebody with whom you may dance?' James now asked stiffly.

‘How kind of you,' John answered, giving a winning smile which clearly fell on stony ground.

‘Miss Phoebe Rolands, the curate's daughter, is very charming,' the youth went on, and escorted John to the benches at the side of the room, pointing out the ugliest girl in the entire assembly.

‘It will be a pleasure,' the Apothecary said without a flicker, and gallantly bowed to the blushing Miss Phoebe, who accepted his offer of a dance with a great deal of confusion.

It was not so much that she was fat but rather an odd shape and John felt as if he were whirling round the room with a feather bolster, for wherever he laid his hands on the unfortunate girl, she seemed to collapse. Consequently, he found himself half carrying her and was fit to drop when he fiddler finally scraped the last discordant notes of the dance, which had been executed at the breakneck speed of a gallop.

‘Syllabub, Miss Phoebe?' he panted, wiping the sweat from his face.

She dimpled pinkly. ‘Oh yes, please.'

‘My pleasure,' said John, and dragged himself to the refreshment alcove returning with a single glass.

‘Are you not having one?' she asked, disappointed.

‘I thought perhaps I would just go out for a breath of air.'

She looked wildly discomfited, as if he had mentioned something rude. ‘Oh, I see,' she managed to gasp.

Thinking perhaps that he knew the cause of her embarrassment, John made things ten times worse by saying, ‘It really
is
in order to cool down.' After which, he hurried away, unable to cope with the abashed Miss Phoebe a second longer.

Swiftly leaving the ballroom, John passed, by way of a small anteroom, into the hall beyond, from which rose a fanciful staircase, dividing on itself at the top. Peering round to make certain that he was not observed, John quietly make his way up, taking the right hand flight and finding himself in a long dark corridor. Very stealthily, he crept along it, silently opening the first door he came to. The room he was gazing into, though clean and aired, was obviously reserved for guests for it had the dull air of a place rarely used. Terrified of discovery, John made his way onwards and opened yet another door.

It would seem that this time he had come upon the Squire's bedroom judging by the great four-poster bed, the large clothes press, the chests-of-drawers and the dressing room beyond, through the open door of which he could glimpse an interesting selection of articles. For on display were several bottles, at least a dozen wig stands, some of them adorned with headpieces of a rather old-fashioned type, a leather bucket full of riding whips and, crowning all, a glass containing a formidable set of false teeth.

‘Damme!' said John, and very quietly made his way inside, closing the door behind him.

The clothes press, which stood in one corner, was relatively new, albeit somewhat simple in design. Made of pine, it consisted of a hanging space above three rows of drawers beneath. There was a key halfway down the right-hand door, which John turned warily, almost as if he expected something to leap out at him.

The garments revealed as the door swung open were the most extraordinary mixture he had ever seen, for they ranged from the downright shoddy to suits of fine stuffs. Presumably, John thought, this variety echoed the Squire's life, from the shabby to the over-dressed, from the huntsman to the lady's man. Very much intrigued, he began to search through with deft fingers, looking for anything made of blue. Yet, though there were several items, there was none that matched the torn fragment which John held in his hand, drawn from an inner pocket for the purpose of comparison. It would seem that not only had Sir Ralph Leagrave been telling the truth about his last visit to Vaux Hall but also did not own a coat made of the vital material either – or else had destroyed it.

The other rooms were empty, all kept for guests, and it was not until he had gone to the opposite passageway, leading off the left hand flight of stairs, that John found more inhabited bedrooms. It seemed that Edith Leagrave and her nephew both dwelled in the same wing, perhaps to keep well clear of Sir Ralph. Having taken a cursory glance round the chamber belonging to the Squire's sister, the Apothecary made his way to the next room and found himself in a young man's domain.

There were clothes everywhere, lying in heaps, piled on the bed, some, rather grubby, concealed in a corner. John shuddered, his own quarters constantly kept immaculate, even when he was very young. It had always seemed to him that there could be no such thing as tidiness of thought whilst living in the midst of chaos. Very distastefully, John began his search.

And it was then, with his head in the clothes press and his back to the door, that the Apothecary heard a sound behind him. Spinning round, he saw that the bedroom door was slowly opening and knew that it was too late to try and hide. Bravely, his mind running over a million excuses, John braced himself for whatever was to follow next and drew in a breath of sheer cold panic as he heard a voice say crisply, ‘And what the devil, Sir, do you think you're doing in here?'

John froze. Then wheeled round to see that it was James Leagrave who stood in the doorway, his fingers clenched into fists, his features flushed with fury. Staring at him, the Apothecary came to an instant and vital decision.

‘What I am doing,' he responded icily, ‘is inspecting your room, Sir.'

‘How dare you . . .' James started to blurt out, but John held up his hand in such an authoritative manner that the young man's protests died away.

‘James Leagrave,' the Apothecary continued commandingly. ‘I am here representing Mr John Fielding, Principal Magistrate of London, and carry his letter of authorisation upon me.' He drew it from an inner pocket. ‘So the reason why your bedchamber is being searched is simply this: I am investigating the murder of Elizabeth Harper who was done to death at Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens on the night of 21 May, 1754.'

James went a livid shade of ash but said nothing.

‘The connection between you and the deceased girl is known,' John continued ruthlessly, deciding to take a risk, ‘and I have every reason to believe that you were present at the Pleasure Gardens on the night of her killing. So, Sir, I must ask you to answer for yourself.'

James swallowed noisily. ‘Can I come into the room?'

‘I not only want you to enter, I also want you to shut the door and tell me the truth. Now, were you at Vaux Hall that night? Reply to me.'

‘Yes,' said the boy wretchedly, ‘yes I was. But that doesn't mean I killed Lizzie, by God it doesn't.'

A certain unscrupulousness that had always been part of the Apothecary's make-up overrode any pity, he might have felt for the unhappy youth who stood before him, chin wobbling defiantly.

‘Do you own a coat of this material?' he hissed, and thrust the torn fragment under James's nose.

The young man's eyes widened in amazement. “Zounds! Where did you get that from?'

‘I believe you have a great deal of explaining, to do,' John continued harshly. ‘You see, it was found clasped in the dead woman's hand, ripped from the garment of the man who did her to death.'

James clutched his throat, making a ghastly retching sound, then his legs went from under him and he sat down hard on the bed. His bulging eyes and ghastly colour were so piteous that John relented. ‘I think,' he said, sitting down on the bed beside him and offering James his hip flask, ‘that you had better tell me the whole story from the beginning.'

‘You mean starting when Lizzie first came here?'

‘Yes, I do. Take your time. And, Master Leagrave . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘Don't leave anything out. However small a detail, it could be important.'

James wiped a tear from his eye. ‘It began two years ago. Lizzie came to work here initially, before Eleanor, I mean. I was thirteen then and she was the first really beautiful girl I had ever met. Even though she was a few years older than I was, it didn't stop me falling in love with her.' His cheeks blazed. ‘I know what you're thinking, that all boys are the same at that age. But I really cared for her, madly in fact. And then my father came on the scene, filthy old lecher, promising her the earth if she would share his bed.'

‘And did she?'

‘Of course she did. But not before . . . before . . .'

‘She had introduced you to the delights of passion?'

James hung his head. ‘It happened when I became adolescent. I couldn't help myself, you must believe me.'

‘I do – truly. Anyway, go on.'

‘My father tired of her, naturally. In fact, not so much that, as grew frightened she would make demands on him. I think he encouraged Eleanor, who had joined the staff by that time, to have the fight with Lizzie. He had been looking for an excuse to put the girl out of doors. It nearly destroyed me when she went, because I loved and hated her all at the same time, do you understand me?'

John nodded. ‘Perfectly. So what happened next?'

‘Lizzie left the house and shortly afterwards we heard that she had gone to London. Her adopted father lamented his lot and so did Jemmy, a great ox of a creature who worked as a blacksmith. I never could stand that fellow.'

A bit of his old confidence was returning and John gave him a reproving glance. ‘Never mind about that. Just tell me what occurred.'

James stroked his chin. ‘Let me get this right. She'd been gone about ten months when the Groves man committed suicide. I suppose you know about that?'

John took a swig from the flask and passed it back to James. ‘I certainly do. Though I wonder why he waited so long.'

‘The rumour was he had managed to trace Elizabeth and had begged her to come back, but that she had written him a letter refusing.'

‘So her address in London was known to someone,' John said reflectively.

James flushed once more. ‘Yes, I suppose it must have been.'

The Apothecary tightened his eyes. ‘
You
had it, didn't you?'

The youth looked away. ‘I can't deceive you. Yes, I got it from Eleanor.'

‘So she knew it too!' John changed his voice. ‘And did you call on Lizzie during one of your famous visits to town?'

‘Yes, I went to see her in Vigo Lane.'

John nodded his head slowly. ‘And there you met an old woman called Hannah who told you that Elizabeth Harper had moved on.'

The astonishment on James's face was too spontaneous to be feigned. ‘No, I didn't. I saw Lizzie. She used to entertain me in the afternoons.'

John smiled grimly. ‘Go on.'

‘Then one day she told me not to come any more. Said she was going away and I should cease to call.'

John looked thoughtful. ‘I see! Now tell me about the night of the murder. How did you come to be at Vaux Hall?'

James gave a sheepish grin. ‘My father and aunt were away, playing whist with some neighbours. I snatched the opportunity of their absence to try and raise my spirits. I went to the Pleasure Gardens with no idea that Elizabeth would be there, then I saw her at the lighting of the Cascade.'

The Apothecary turned on him like a whip. ‘So you
were
present! By your own mouth betrayed. And I know exactly where you were located at that moment, too. You were crouching in front of the onlookers, weren't you?'

‘No! I was standing on the very edge of the circle. And how would you know where I was?'

‘Because I was there as well. And I don't believe a word you're saying. You were kneeling down, passing yourself off as an apprentice lad. And you were wearing this.' And John waved the piece of material under James's nose.

Master Leagrave looked at him, his mouth harsh and his eyes burning. ‘No, by God, I wasn't. I would have told you earlier had I not been so shocked. I did indeed have a coat like that but I lost it six months ago. That's a fact.'

‘Lost it? Do you take me for a complete fool? The most incriminating piece of evidence of all and you say you lost it!

James looked even more terrible, if such a thing were possible. ‘I did, I tell you.'

He was either lying in his teeth or telling the truth, so obvious was the young man's distress.

‘And where exactly did this convenient loss take place?'