Death in the Peerless Pool (23 page)

‘What was this story?'

‘It was about the daughter of Lady Allbury. Apparently the child was playing in the grounds of Prior Park and vanished from there under her mother's very nose. Nothing has ever been heard of her since.'

Ambrosine Dysart's hand went to her throat. ‘You realise that our Somerset home was only twenty miles from Bath?'

‘No, I wasn't aware of that. Did you know Lady Allbury, by any chance?'

‘The name is familiar. But after the scandal of our daughter eloping with one of the servants we socialised very little and hardly ever went into the city.'

‘I am going back there in a few days' time. I wonder if I might have permission to visit your home.'

Ambrosine's eyebrows rose. ‘Well, of course you may. Gregg, our steward, is there at the moment. He would be pleased to show you around. But, forgive me, what would be the point? After all these years, what could you possibly learn? When all's said and done, the disappearance took place in Paris.'

The Apothecary nodded. ‘You're perfectly right, of course. But yet I can't deny a feeling that the cases of Lucy Allbury and your grandson were somehow connected, on different sides of the Channel though they might have been.'

‘Why do you think that?'

‘Because of the modus operandi. Two children playing in a garden, their guardians not far away. The facts are too similar to be a coincidence in my view.'

The beautiful eyes brimmed with tears. ‘That is the first ray of hope I have had in ages.'

John took her hands in his, ‘Please don't look on it in that way. It is a course of enquiry that will never bring them back. It is just my own curiosity that drives me to pursue the connection.'

Ambrosine wept in earnest. ‘But you are the first person in a decade to take an interest in Meredith. Anthony gave up hope years ago, when the last of the searches was called off. It was only I who kept faith.'

‘I admire you for it, Lady Dysart, but I do beg you to be realistic. It is my certain belief that Meredith has gone for good.'

But even as he said the words, something right at the back of the Apothecary's mind denied what he was actually saying. If Ambrosine's grandson had been sold into the world of child prostitution or slavery, there was really no reason why he should be dead at all.

They played cards well into the late evening, when Ambrosine, clearly delighted to see her guests having such a good time, ordered a cold supper to be served. Eventually, with the hour fast approaching eleven, the visitors called for their carriages and prepared to leave. Serafina, going to kiss John farewell, whispered in his ear.

‘My dear, you must come and see me. Soon I shall be too large to go into polite society and will need all my friends to cheer me.' She looked at him with a smile. ‘You appear very well, by the way. Does everything go smoothly in your life?'

Unable to resist sharing his secret with the woman he had always so greatly admired, John lowered his voice. ‘Recently, Coralie and I have become very close.'

She pealed with laughter and pointed to the rounding of her body. ‘I've been very close to Louis, too.'

The Apothecary hugged her tightly, ‘If you had not been married.'

‘But I was, wasn't I?'

‘You were indeed.'

‘Are you making love to my wife again?' said Louis, coming up to them.

‘It is a habit I find hard to break.'

The Comte shrugged. ‘Ah well, I shall try to overlook it on this occasion, but take heed.'

‘I'd thrash the rascal,' said jolly Dr Drake, enjoying the joke.

‘Trés bon, I will,' answered Louis, and started to remove his coat.

‘Gentlemen,' said Ambrosine, full of some inner elation of her own, ‘no fisticuffs, if you please.'

John and Louis bowed and politely shook hands, just as if they had acceded to their hostess's wishes, and the party broke up with much mirth and good humour, made all the gayer by the fact that everyone was slightly tipsy.

Yet the Apothecary's euphoric state began to pass as the coach turned out of Gerrard Street into Nassau Street, and he saw more illumination in Sir Gabriel's house than was usual at this hour of the night. In his corner seat, John's father slumbered and noticed nothing, but the Apothecary was wide awake and bounded down the carriage step even while the postillion was lowering it for him.

The footman who answered the door was solemn with import. ‘You have a visitor, Sir. I have shown him into the library.'

‘Who is it?'

‘One of the Runners from Bow Street, Sir.'

‘At this time of night? Oh dear, that does not augur well.'

‘I think there could indeed be bad news,' the footman replied, shaking his head slowly and loving every minute of it.

John, not even stopping to remove his cloak, hurried through the library door only to find Benjamin Rudge, a familiar figure, standing uncomfortably before the fire.

‘Mr Rudge,' the Apothecary said, frankly astonished. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I've come with a message from Mr Fielding, Sir. He wants you to attend him at once.'

‘Why? What has come about?'

‘It's Mary Ann, Sir.'

John's heart plummeted, seeing again the angry little girl running off into the dangerous streets, her maid already several paces behind. ‘What has happened to her?'

‘She's gone missing. She went out shopping earlier today, accompanied by a servant. But somehow Mary Ann managed to elude her and the maid came home alone. There's been neither sight nor sound of her since.'

‘Oh my God!'

‘Mr Fielding wondered,' Runner Rudge continued, apparently not noticing the Apothecary's shocked expression, ‘if you might have seen her.'

‘She called into, my shop early this afternoon. But I'll tell him all that face to face. Do you have a carriage outside?'

‘In the mews, Sir.'

‘Then I'll travel with you, if I may. But first let me wake someone who should know about this.'

And without further explanation John left the library and hurried up two flights of stairs to the top floor, where slept the servants and his apprentice. In his small, neat room, its tidiness somewhat reminiscent of a ship's cabin. Nicholas Dawkins lay fast asleep, his pale face rosy with slumber. In order not to startle the young man, John did not shake him but simply repeated his name several times until finally the Muscovite opened his eyes. Instantly an anxious look came into them.

‘Master?'

‘Nick, you must get up and get dressed. We're going to the Public Office.'

‘Why, Sir?'

‘It's Mary Ann. She's disappeared.'

The Muscovite gazed at John uncomprehendingly. ‘But she can't have done. We saw her only this afternoon.'

‘And I imagine that we were probably the last to do so. Now get your clothes on and prepare for a night of searching.'

And so saying, the Apothecary left him and went downstairs to find Sir Gabriel.

Even though it was now past midnight, every candle in the Public Office had been lit and there seemed to be people everywhere. As John and Nicholas made their way up to Mr Fielding's first-floor salon, they passed innumerable persons going down, some of them so dirty and rough that the Apothecary guessed at once that the Blind Beak had called in the peachers, those shady members of the criminal class who made a living by informing on others. Inside the room itself there were more of them, some of the peachers sitting on the floor for fear of dirtying Mrs Fielding's elegant chairs. John was vividly reminded of a similar occasion when the Magistrate had called in the help of this brutal brigade whilst investigating a murder at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.

Mr Fielding was speaking. ‘… I regard this girl as though she were my flesh-and-blood daughter. No stone must be left unturned in the search for her. All the Runners are out, as are the Brave Fellows with the coach, so now I must rely on you chaps to assist me. There's a good reward for whoever brings Mary Ann in.' The Blind Beak moved his head slightly. ‘Is it you, Mr Rawlings, who has just come into the room?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘When Mary Ann left the house she said something about calling in at your shop. Did she in fact do so?'

Realising that he was skating on very thin ice, and most anxious to protect both Nicholas and Mary Ann, John chose his words carefully. ‘Your niece came in during the early afternoon, Sir. She complained of having ricked her ankle on the cobbles. I examined her and could find little wrong, just a minor injury perhaps. In playful spirit, Nicholas teased her with malingering and instead of seeing the joke, Mary Ann became angry and ran into the street, ordering the servant to do likewise. I pursued her but could not find her, so concluded that she had hailed chairs and gone home.'

There was a horrid silence during which the peachers and the two Runners who were present all turned to look at poor Nicholas, who turned the colour of a wild rose.

Mr Fielding cleared his throat, an ominous sound in that deadly quiet. Then he said, ‘Did you upset my niece, Mr Dawkins?'

‘I think I did, Sir. But no harm was meant. I am very fond of her.'

‘You are saying to me that a jape went wrong?'

The Muscovite began to stutter a reply, but John hastily answered for him. ‘They are good friends, Sir. And everyone knows how friends can fall out from time to time.'

‘Yes,' said Mr Fielding, but his features were stem and severe. He turned back to the general assembly.

‘Runners, peachers, do your best. Joe Jago has divided London into areas. Each of you, working in twos, will be allotted a district. I want every house searched, every room looked into, every alleyway combed. My niece must be found at all costs. We have the rest of tonight and all of the next day in which to do so. I suggest that we meet here again at six o'clock tomorrow night in order to compare notes.'

A ruffian spoke up. ‘But what if she's not found by then, Beak?'

Mr Fielding looked exceedingly solemn, ‘In that case I'm afraid that I would fear for her life.' He stood up, his cane tapping before him. ‘Now, I must go to my wife, who is beside herself with grief and needs my company. Jago, the meeting is yours.'

‘Very good, Sir.' The clerk turned to the assembled crowd of peachers, one of whom, John noted with interest, was a slatternly woman. ‘If you will come downstairs to the Public Office I will allocate you your areas.'

They all trooped down, the smell of their unwashed bodies wafting before them.

‘My God, Sir,' Nicholas whispered, clutching John's sleeve. ‘What have I done? Surely I can't have driven Mary Ann to her death?'

‘I cannot believe that you have. Now, concentrate. Joe's handing out instructions.'

‘The area of Covent Garden,' the clerk was saying, ‘being so difficult to search, I am giving that to Mr Rawlings and Mr Dawkins, together with Runners Rudge and Thompson. Little Will and Sukie, you are to go in as well and mingle with the crowd. See what you can learn just from keeping your eyes and ears open. If you get wind of the girl, don't try to do anything yourselves. Find a Runner. Is that clear?'

The slatternly girl and a most peculiar tiny man, no more than four feet high, nodded.

‘Mr Rawlings, Mr Dawkins, you are to search as gentlemen would. Go to those places where the quality folk are to be found.'

‘Very good,' said John.

He turned to leave, anxious to begin the quest, but the slattern pulled at his sleeve. ‘'Ere, d'ye want a word of advice?'

‘Yes.'

She pulled his head down and cupped her hands to whisper in his ear. ‘You've 'eard of Jack Harris, the procurer? Well, 'e might be worth having a word with.'

‘Why?'

“Cos 'e can get girls – little girls – for those gallants who like that sort of thing. If the girl's been picked up for that work, 'e'll know where to find her.'

The Apothecary's blood ran cold. ‘Do you really think …?'

‘Yes, I do. Any child wandering the streets of London would be taken in five minutes, and don't you imagine otherwise.'

‘And where will I locate this Jack Harris?'

The slattern grinned, displaying a set of rapidly decaying teeth.

‘'E doubles up as a waiter at The Shakespeare 'Ead. That's 'ow 'e makes ‘is honest shillings. The rest, we don't talk about.'

John squeezed her ragged arm. ‘Thank you for your help.'

‘Fink nothin' of it,' the girl answered, and with a fine swing of her hips, went out into the night.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Covent Garden swarmed with people, for this, to use Mr Fielding's own words, was London's most infamous quarter, where every whim was catered for and total provision made for the desires of the flesh. There were more prostitutes per square yard in Covent Garden than in any other part of the capital, and every building was of ill repute; either a brothel, a seedy lodging establishment, a tavern boasting private rooms for assignations, a bagnio where depravity was the code, or a gaming hell. There were also some nefarious coffee houses, the most notorious of which was Tom's. Founded by the late Tom King, an old Etonian, it had been and still was the haunt of every buck, blood, demi-rip and choice spirit in London. Further, after Tom's death, the place had passed to a certain witty woman called Moll King, though whether she had ever been Tom's wife nobody seemed to know. Whatever, under her guidance the coffee house had become even more popular, and was frequented night after night by fashionable fops and noblemen, attired in swords and bags and rich brocaded silks, flocking there after they had left court in the evening, wishing to be entertained till dawn broke over the city. But it was not to Tom's, situated by the portico of St Paul's Church, that John led a pale-faced Nicholas. Instead he made his way to the Piazza, close to which stood The Shakespeare Head.