Death in the Peerless Pool (7 page)

‘Nothing,' he thundered. ‘Go inside.' And seizing her skinny elbow, the Apothecary hurried Mother Hamp within doors. He turned to his companion. ‘If those two besoms come knocking the door, send them away with a nit in their ear.'

‘To add to the others already there,' Samuel answered, and chortled.

Away from the street and in her own grim surroundings, Mother Hamp became somewhat more amenable and produced a bottle of gin from the depths of her rags, wiping the neck with her sleeve and offering it around. John gingerly took a swig to show there was no ill feeling. Samuel turned pale but did likewise.

‘Now what's all this about, boys?' she asked, having taken a deep draught herself.

Briskly, and with a certain amount of authority, John explained, omitting the fact that Hannah Rankin's body had been found.

‘So she's disappeared, has she?' Mother Hamp asked, echoing the neighbour's words. ‘Can't say I'm surprised.'

‘Why is that?'

The harridan downed a half-pint of gin. ‘'Cos she had no past, that's why.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘She never spoke of family, friends, places where she used to live, nuffink. She seemed to come from nowhere and know no one.'

‘What about the two men who called on her; the Frenchman and the coachman? She must have known them.'

Mother Hamp flashed her gums in a silent guffaw. ‘I wouldn't have called them friends exactly. She was afraid of them, I reckon. That Frenchie, with his white face and black beauty spots, he had some hold on her. She used to see him in her room and talk to him all meek and mild, not like the way she screams at them lunatics.'

‘How do you know that's the way she treats the patients at St Luke's?'

‘'Cos I sometimes do shifts there, when Mother Richard is away delivering a child.'

John shuddered at the very thought. ‘Go on.'

‘As for the coachman, she lived in mortal dread of him. He only came here twice but each time she trembled and wept. And one day when she'd had a bottle of spirit, Hannah told me that she might have to run for her life if he came again.'

‘Hare and hounds!' exclaimed Samuel from the corner. ‘There's a clue, John!'

‘Indeed. Tell me, how did you know this man was a coachman? Was it merely from the way he was dressed?'

Mother Hamp let out another soundless, toothless laugh. ‘No. It was on account of his conveyance standing outside my front door.'

The Apothecary gazed at her. ‘He drove a coach here! Was it a hackney?'

‘No, bless you, it was a gentleman's carriage. It even had a coat of arms on the door.'

‘And this man was up on the box, not inside?'

‘He was on the box with the reins in his hands.'

‘He was definitely a coachman,' said Samuel, sniggering at John.

The Apothecary shot him a black look. ‘Would it be possible, Madam, to look at Hannah Rankin's room? There might be something there which could tell us more about why she disappeared.'

‘It's up the stairs on the left,' Mother Hamp answered, and fell to consuming the gin in earnest.

It was quite extraordinary. Exactly as if Hannah had actually left home for good on the night she was murdered. No clothes hung in the ancient clothes press and there were no shawls or stockings in the drawers. Nor was there any sign of baggage. It looked just as if Hannah had packed up, taken her belongings with her, and in this state gone to her death.

‘She must have planned to go away with her killer,' said Samuel, staring around him at the deserted chamber.

‘Not necessarily. If the Frenchman or the coachman, or both, were menacing her, perhaps she ran away.'

‘But not far enough.'

‘Precisely.'

‘I wonder what she had done in the past to have two such sinister characters on her trail.'

‘And to merit such a terrible beating. For someone exacted a terrible revenge when they thrashed Hannah within an inch of her life, then threw her into the water alive to drown.'

For no reason an image of the beautiful Petronelle came into John's mind, together with the final words she had said to him. Under his breath he muttered them. ‘I'll always remember her and the way she came for me.'

Samuel overheard him. ‘There's darkness in this case, isn't there, John?' he asked fearfully.

‘Darkness – and a great evil,' the Apothecary answered slowly.

There had been much activity at the Peerless Pool that morning. As arranged, the Principal Magistrate, John Fielding, accompanied by Joe Jago, had arrived by coach shortly after eight o'clock, having risen and breakfasted early. Once on the premises, he had gone to the Fish Pond and allowed Jago to describe the scene for him as it appeared in full sunlight, then report on what the team of Runners searching the grounds had so far unearthed. After that, the Blind Beak had set up a room in Mr Kemp's house and started to question those who had been present not only on the day when the body had been found but also at the Pleasure Garden during the previous day and evening.

An account of the Peerless Pool's routine had emerged from those examined. The Garden shut every evening at sunset, a bell being rung half an hour beforehand in order to warn bathers and those taking refreshment or in the bowling alley that closing time was drawing near. Then, when all the patrons had finally gone, the waiters would go around locking the gates for the night.

‘I believe there are two ways into the Peerless Pool,' Mr Fielding had said, sitting back in his chair, apparently negligent, the bandage that covered his eyes this day giving the impression that he was resting.

‘Yes, Sir,' the waiter being questioned had answered. ‘One leading off Old Street, through which subscribers are admitted. The other a small gate going off Pest House Row, almost opposite the French Hospital. It leads to the west comer of the Fish Pond.'

‘And what is the purpose of that?'

‘It allows the dedicated anglers, those with a season ticket, to go straight to the Pond without having to walk through the rest of the Garden.'

Mr Fielding had nodded. ‘I presume there is someone on daily duty there?'

‘Oh yes, Sir.'

There had been silence, and then Joe Jago had asked a question, his ragged features harsh in the early morning light.

‘But surely there is a third way in. Did I not spy a gate leading from the back of this property to a path going across the fields in the direction of Islington?'

‘Yes, Sir. You did, Sir.'

‘And is this, too, locked at night?'

‘So I would imagine, though that is the duty of Mr Kemp's household servants, not the waiters.'

The Magistrate had fingered the curls of his long, flowing wig, a magnificent creation in its way, though nothing like as fine as that worn by Sir Gabriel Kent.

‘So it seems there are three entrances by which the body could have come in, Joe.'

‘It looks like it, Sir.'

‘Though only of use to someone with a key or a friend on the inside of the Garden.'

‘So it would appear.'

‘Did you see the letter that Mr Rawlings sent me this morning? Nick Dawkins read it to me but I left it on my desk for you to peruse.'

‘The one in which he …'

But Joe got no further. There was a polite tap on the door and the very person under discussion came walking in. John and Samuel had finished their morning's investigations and had arrived to compare notes with the finest brain in London.

As comprehensively as he could, the Apothecary described all that had taken place, especially dwelling on the extraordinarily empty state of Hannah Rankin's room. Mr Fielding nodded occasionally but deliberately asked no questions until John had finished speaking. Then he said, ‘Tell me, was Mother Hamp sober enough to be questioned before you left?'

‘Just about.'

‘Did you ask her if Hannah had given notice of quitting?'

‘I did, but she replied no. I then enquired when she had last seen the victim and she said early on the evening of the night before last.'

‘Did she state in what circumstances?'

‘Yes. Apparently Hannah went out with a bundle in her hand. Mother Hamp asked her what it was and she said it was some old clothes that she was taking up to the Hospital for Poor Lunatics and that she was on her way there immediately. However, the old besom did not believe her.'

‘Why?'

‘Because she swore that she glimpsed the Frenchman waiting for Hannah, loitering further down the lane, and that the pair of them set off in the direction of the French Hospital.'

Mr Fielding gave a quiet and rather shocking chuckle. ‘Do you know, my friends, I have the feeling that this is going to be one of the most intriguing investigations any of us has ever undertaken. For what do we have so far? A victim who appears to have been up to no good, a frightened mad beauty, a waiter who knows more than he should, a gate leading from the scene of the crime into the fields and directly to where the dead woman lived, not to mention a powdered Frenchman and a menacing coachman. It is truly the stuff of novels. How my brother would have relished it.'

John smiled, one side of his mouth tilting upwards. ‘Is it not said that fact is stranger than fiction?'

‘Indeed it is. Now, did Hannah's landlady reveal anything further?'

‘Only that the dead woman kept herself very much to herself. Something confirmed by the gossiping neighbour. But what of Toby, Sir?'

Joe Jago answered for the Magistrate. ‘We have yet to see him. In fact we kept him to the last, Mr Rawlings, in the hope that you might arrive.'

Samuel looked excited. ‘Then shall we call him in?'

‘By all means.'

The man who had brought Hannah Rankin's body to the surface of the Pond was clearly the old soldier that he claimed to be. Scars of battle marked his face, one cut running down so close to his eye that he was lucky not to have lost the sight of it. With his sleeves rolled back, exposing his burly forearms, other healed wounds could be seen. There was a generally stoical air about the fellow, as if he had borne all manner of terrible conditions and still come out uncomplaining. John almost regretted the blow that would shortly fall upon him.

Mr Fielding leant back in his chair, his face impassive, his voice measured. ‘Be so good as to stand in front of me. As you know, I am completely blind and it helps me to converse if I know whither I should address my voice.'

Toby did as he had been requested, then stood straight, military style, waiting to be questioned.

The Magistrate continued urbanely. ‘I will, if I may, recount your part in the tragic events of yesterday, so that you can tell me if they are correct or otherwise. Then, perhaps, we might discuss any points that arise. Is that agreeable to you?'

‘It is, Sir.'

‘From what I have heard you were summoned by Mr Kemp to assist Mr Rawlings. He told you that a body had been found in the Fish Pond and asked whether you would be willing to dive in and retrieve it. To this you made the somewhat curious reply that you had fought in the war and seen worse sights than dead women.' Mr Fielding paused, then said silkily, ‘How did you know that it was a female who lay at the bottom of the lake?'

Toby's eyes bulged in his head and his jaw sagged, then he recovered himself. ‘Because he said so,' he answered, pointing at John.

‘But that's just the point,' the Apothecary retorted, ‘I did no such thing. I was very careful not to mention the gender of the victim.'

There was a moment's silence, then Toby fell back on the soldier's creed that attack is the best method of defence. ‘Far be it from me to argue with a gentleman, but I must contradict you there, Sir,' he announced boldly. ‘You definitely said she was female. How else would I have known?'

‘How indeed?' repeated John Fielding reflectively. The black bandage turned in John's direction. ‘I feel we must let the matter rest there, at least for the time being.'

And the Apothecary knew that he had been given an instruction not to argue until there had been a chance for further discussion. However, he could not resist shooting a quizzical glance in Toby's direction and slowly raising a dark svelte brow, just to show the waiter that he had not been deceived by the downright lie than had just been told about his own recollection of events.

It had been a morning crammed with events and information and nobody felt more relieved than John when Mr Fielding finally announced his intention of returning to Bow Street, believing that, for the moment, all had been achieved that could be at the Peerless Pool. For so far several interesting facts had emerged. Not only had Toby told a barefaced lie when questioned, but also a track had been discovered by the gate behind Mr Kemp's manor house. The indentation formed by a single wheel made it appear that a wheelbarrow had come along the path from the fields and gone through the gate and into the grounds. There, unfortunately, the marks vanished into the shrubbery, though no abandoned wheelbarrow had been found.

The Blind Beak, listening to the report of his Runners, had ordered that all the barrows used in maintaining the Peerless Pool gardens be searched and, sure enough, one of them, when the grass it contained had been tipped out, bore indications of dark brown stains. John had examined them, his quizzing glass to his eye.

‘Blood, I'm sure of it.'

‘So it would appear that this is the way Hannah was brought in.'

Joe Jago had spoken. ‘It seems more and more likely that someone working within these grounds assisted the killer.'

The Magistrate had stroked his chin. ‘Or was the killer.'

‘Things are looking black for Toby.'

‘Black – but not black enough. However, I shall have him brought to Bow Street for further examination. He might not be quite so confident away from his own territory.'