Death in the Dark Walk (6 page)

Awoken by bright sunlight at three, John, having but one hour left in which to prepare, hastily took a bath in the tin tub brought to his bedroom for the purpose, shaved, then dressed carefully in dark satin breeches, fine white stockings, a pink coat and floral-patterned waistcoat, thinking to himself that it had been some years since he had worn such elegant clothes at mealtimes.

Dinner was served in the first floor dining room from which there was a fine view of the grounds of Leicester House and the gracious building itself. It was at present occupied by the Prince of Wales, George II's grandson, who preferred it to the royal residences, some said because it got him away from his domineering mother Augusta, widow of the King's son Frederick. Looking out of the window, John thought how pleasant it was to be at home again after his seven years of study, during which he had lived in his Master's house, only allowed to go out on Sundays and generally kept in order. Then he remembered Mr Fielding's commission and glittered his disturbing smile at his father.

Sir Gabriel looked up from the delicate sherry which he was sipping before the meal commenced. ‘Do you wish to tell me everything now or shall we wait until the port?'

‘That might be a better time, I believe.'

His father understood and nodded, for once the meal had been served the servants would be dismissed and they would be alone to talk frankly. Thus, John chattered of trivialities as he devoured every cover set before him, relishing the fine cooking of home. Sir Gabriel, on the other hand, ate like a connoisseur rather than a gourmand, his fork flying amongst the tastier fishes and meats, his silver knife delicately peeling the skin from the fruit with which he ended his repast.

‘I've missed you, you know,' said John, his features alight with affection.

‘But you've seen me. We have been in constant touch.'

‘It is not the same as living under your roof.'

Sir Gabriel leant forward, the curls of his long wig brushing against the white damask tablecloth. ‘And do you not think I have missed you? That this house has not seemed full of ghosts without your presence?' He looked up over John's shoulder at the full-length portrait of Phyllida, Lady Kent, painted by Thomas Gainsborough before the artist had returned to live in his native Suffolk.

‘Tell me, Father,' said Gabriel's adopted son, reading his father's thoughts and carefully changing the subject, ‘what do you know of Mr John Fielding?'

The tawny eyes looked thoughtful. ‘A remarkable person, part of a remarkable family. Why, his half-brother Henry, now alas a very sick man, must be one of the most talented people alive. Not only did he write my favourite novel,
Tom Jones
, to say nothing of the most bitingly satirical plays in the English language, he also began the policing of this lawless capital.'

‘I thought Sir Thomas de Veil did that.'

‘Sir Thomas was Principal Magistrate but he did not have a force of Brave Fellows. It was Henry Fielding who first trained the Thief Takers, and let no one forget it.'

‘And what of John?'

‘The Blind Beak? An exceptional human being. To do all that he has done to impose law and order in so short a time since his brother's retirement, and without the use of his eyes, is almost beyond belief.'

John looked up and saw that they were alone, that the port, both white and red, had been set before Sir Gabriel and the servants were bowing their way out of the room.

‘Father, I must speak to you now that we are private together,' he said urgently. ‘How much do you know of what occurred last night?'

‘I am aware of most that happened at Vaux Hall. Samuel made his way here and told me the whole story.' Sir Gabriel drank deeply as if to arm himself for what lay ahead, and John did likewise.

‘What he didn't tell you, because he did not know of it, was that I found something of importance on the dead girl. She had a piece of blue brocade clutched in her hand, obviously pulled from her murderer's clothing.'

Sir Gabriel said nothing, his face alight with interest.

‘I told Mr Fielding of it and he has enlisted my help in finding the owner of that torn garment and bringing him to justice.'

‘God's wounds!' exclaimed Sir Gabriel, whistling slightly beneath his breath, an action which John found most endearing. ‘What an honour! To be picked for such a task by a member of so great a family. What did you say?'

‘I agreed.'

‘Quite rightly.'

‘Yet there was doubt in my mind when I did so. With my indentures formally ended it occurred to me that I should be starting out on my career, that I might be set back by such an adventure.'

Sir Gabriel smiled a worldly smile. ‘My boy, you are but twenty-three years old. Many, many years lie ahead in which you may compound your great and many pills and brews and, indeed, experiment for the good of mankind. But now fate has called you out and I am gratified to hear that my son has risen to such a challenge.'

As he spoke words of lineage and parenthood, the old man was filled with bitter-sweet memories, remembering the first glimpse of John and his mother, and acknowledging reluctantly that the young man was only his adopted son after all and not related by ties of blood.

He had seen them initially from the window of his coach, the mother and child begging in the streets, dirty, dishevelled and desperate for food. He had noted them in a vague abstracted way, the dewdrop of a girl, fresh as a brook, the boy all eyes, all innocent despair. The fact that his carriage had knocked them flying, thrown them down into the filth of the gutters, had torn his heart from his body. Shouting to his coachman to stop, he had lifted them himself, carried them, bruised and bleeding, into the safety of his conveyance. At that moment, even though he had not been aware of it, had begun the grand passion of his life. Sir Gabriel Kent, widower of the parish of St Anne's, Soho, victim of an arranged, loveless and childless marriage, had felt the first stirring of an emotion unfamiliar to him.

He had taken the beggar woman and her son to his newly-built home in Nassau Street, his intention to feed them, let them recover from their cuts and bruises, then send them on their way. But he had reckoned without the sweetness they had brought into his elegant soulless mansion, without the trust of the three-year-old who had thrust his small dirty hand into that of Sir Gabriel almost immediately. He had also reckoned without the delicate beauty of the child's mother, revealed in all its splendour as the grime of the London streets was washed away from her.

He had started by employing her as a servant, for she was no more than a simple country girl from the village of Twickenham, her accent rural, her social status low. Her name, so she told him, was Phyllida Fleet, but the boy she referred to as John Rawlings.

‘But he is your child?' Sir Gabriel had asked her.

‘Yes he is, Sir,' she had answered truthfully.

And later, when she had become more than a servant, when her master and she had entered the world of indescribable joy which only lovers know, she had told him everything. How the boy's father had come from the great Rawlings family of Twickenham, the local landed gentry; how she had worked in the kitchens; how the son of the house had fallen in love with her.

‘Though I do not believe he intended to betray me, Sir. When he knew I was pregnant he went to London to find somewhere to lodge so that we might be together. Yet he never came back. I waited for the postchaise to return but he was not on it. Nor any of those following.'

‘What happened then?'

‘John was born in shame, alas. Still, as soon as I was able I came to town to look for his father.'

‘But you did not find him?'

‘No. John Rawlings, for I named his son after him, had vanished off the face of the earth.'

Being the man he was, Sir Gabriel Kent had educated Phyllida Fleet as if she were his own daughter. She had learned to read and write, to draw and embroider, to play the harpsichord, an accomplishment at which she excelled. Then, when she felt ready to accept a higher station in life, he had married her. For two years they had shared what both could only think of as heaven on earth. And then she had gone, giving birth to the child he had always wanted, taking her infant daughter with her to the grave. Even now, with so many years passed by, Gabriel Kent sighed as he looked again at Mr Gainsborough's masterpiece, which hung on the far wall beyond John's shoulder, the boy and the portrait the only tangible memories left of Phyllida Fleet.

‘Don't be sad,' said his adopted son, following the direction of Sir Gabriel's gaze.

‘I'm not. In fact I was thinking how proud your mother would be now that your apprenticeship is over and her son a qualified apothecary.'

John tugged a wayward curl. ‘She might not be quite so proud that I am currently involved in the hunt for a murderer.'

‘On the contrary,' his father answered, ‘having once lived in the streets of London she knew the dangers of city life. I think she would be delighted that you have become Elizabeth Harper's champion.'

‘Yet how shall I start?' John queried anxiously, repeating the question he had asked of John Fielding. ‘Where amongst all the people in town do I find the wretch who killed her?'

‘You must begin at the beginning,' Sir Gabriel replied sensibly. ‘You must go to the house in Leicester Fields and discover all you can about the dead girl. Somewhere amongst the people who knew her is your man, you can be certain of it.'

The youthful Apothecary's cheeks flushed. ‘That's what Mr Fielding advised. But you know the strict rules of apprenticeship, Father. I've never been inside a place of that sort. I would find it most embarrassing.'

Sir Gabriel fingered his chin, his lids lowered to conceal the expression in his eyes. ‘Indeed, indeed. Of course, you could announce yourself as the Blind Beak's agent but that might well do more harm than good. I think you should perhaps take Samuel and play the part of two young men about town.'

‘I suppose so,' John answered doubtfully.

‘Yes, that would be the best plan,' his father continued briskly. ‘Now, my boy, let us drink to your future and to success in
everything
you undertake.'

John looked at him suspiciously but Sir Gabriel's face was as straight as if he were playing cards.

‘To the future,' the Apothecary echoed, and drained his glass.

From a distance, the house in Leicester Fields, discreetly hidden from the gaze of the great Leicester House by a clump of sheltering trees, appeared almost respectable. So much so, that the disparate emotions of relief and disappointment could be seen clearly warring in the faces of John Rawlings and Samuel Swann as they walked down the path approaching it.

The two companions had joined forces again earlier that evening, Samuel having arrived at Bow Street only to find that John had already left and being obliged to retrace his steps.

‘But I didn't waste my visit,' the Apothecary's friend had informed him. ‘I asked to see Mr Fielding and he granted me an interview in which I told him all I could remember.'

‘Which was?'

‘That I observed the victim quarrelling with a man in a black cloak.'

‘Was he foreign looking?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then I saw him too, earlier on. He was at the lighting of the Cascade. I particularly noticed him because he was staring fixedly at that amazing woman wearing a mask.'

Samuel had looked important. ‘I saw something else as well.'

‘And what was that?'

‘The chap she was in the box with, that elegant dandy. He was rushing out of The Dark Walk as if the devil himself were on his trail. He headed for the river at great haste.'

‘Really? How very interesting. By the way, I've discovered who he is.'

‘Oh?'

‘The Duke of Midhurst no less. The dead girl aimed high, it would seem. Anyway, he was at Bow Street when I got there. Apparently he told the Blind Beak that he argued with his lady love and went to his barge where, for consolation presumably, he drank himself into oblivion.'

‘Then as I saw him running away from there he must have fallen out with her in The Dark Walk.'

‘Yes,' John had answered thoughtfully, stroking his chin. ‘It would seem that the victim did a great deal of quarrelling that night.'

‘Obviously. I suppose you don't know the identity of the man in the black cloak as well, do you?'

‘I'm afraid not.' John had given his friend a quizzical smile. ‘Mr Fielding has asked me to act as his eyes, Sam.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘The dead girl had a piece of blue material clutched in her fingers. The Beak wants me to find the owner of the garment from which it was torn.'

‘Does he indeed! Are you going to do so?'

‘Yes. I admit I was undecided momentarily, but the thought of such an adventure was too good to pass by.'

Samuel had stood up, banging a hand as big as a melon into the palm of the other. ‘Then I will assist you, as much as my Master will permit, that is.'

‘But you're free of him.'

‘I intend to stay on as a journeyman until I can set up on my own.'

John had given his friend an uncertain smile. ‘Then if you mean what you say, I've a commission for you this very night.'

‘I'm at your command,' Samuel had answered eagerly.

‘I sincerely hope so. Both Mr Fielding and Sir Gabriel feel I should go to the brothel and make enquiries about Elizabeth. I want you to come with me.'

Samuel's expression had undergone a rapid transformation. ‘But I've never set foot in such a place, you know that. City regulations prohibit apprentices from doing so.'

‘Of course I was not apprenticed in the City,' John had answered smoothly.

‘Then you . . .?'

‘No, of course not. I would have told you if I had. Now, my father thinks we should masquerade as men of the world, so I suggest we pose as bloods.'