Death in the Peerless Pool (21 page)

‘What about her lover? Surely he went?'

Joe's eyebrows almost hit his hair. ‘A lover, did you say? Well, well. How the world goes on! And who might he be?'

‘A decrepit old marquis from the French Hospital. You couldn't mistake him. He's all beauty spots and satin breeches.'

‘There was nobody within a mile answering to that description.'

‘Probably sleeping off the previous night's dissipations.'

‘Could the Marquis be the man we are looking for?'

‘Somehow I don't think so. Amazingly, the murderer was actually seen by Toby Wills.' And John went on to describe everything that had taken place since he had last reported to the Blind Beak. Joe sat silently, taking it all in, then said, ‘So Petronelle is dead. How very tragic. Tell me, was it an accident in your view?'

‘I believe so. Either an inept apothecary or, more likely, a member of St Luke's staff incapable of measuring out the right dosage of laudanum, killed her.'

‘So there is no connection with the murder of Hannah Rankin?'

‘I'm not sure about that. When I first encountered Petronelle she spoke about the wicked one who had come for her. Her dying words were of the same thing. It may be fanciful, but I can't help wondering if she was referring to Hannah, though of course I can never find out now.'

Joe looked thoughtful, his bright blue eyes clouded. ‘The truth has a way of coming out in the end. Did Petronelle say anything else before she died?'

‘Only that the unnamed wicked one, who was quite definitely female, had promised to show her the head of Minerva.'

‘What?'

‘No, I know it doesn't make any sense. Minerva was an ancient Roman goddess, patroness of arts and handicrafts. It really means very little.'

Joe sighed, then said, ‘Mr Fielding has given me a week off court duties in order that I may help you. Where would you like me to begin?'

‘I think the best place would be with the Marquis's friends, the couple who, according to him, entertained him for whist on the night of the murder.'

The clerk nodded. ‘The times of his visit are all-important, for logically he is the most likely to have committed the crime. However ancient, he may have had a violent quarrel with his mistress, beaten her half to death, then drowned her.'

‘But why?'

‘Perhaps the mysterious coachman was not a threat but a rival. Perhaps the old man thought himself cuckolded. They say that age is no bar to strong emotions.'

The Apothecary fingered his chin. ‘That wretched coachman keeps cropping up and yet I still have no idea who he could possibly be. I'll have to visit Mother Hamp again.'

‘And try Toby.'

‘Toby Wills? The waiter who saw the murderer?'

‘He knew about the Frenchman, didn't he? I think he still might have more to tell you, Mr Rawlings.'

John sighed. ‘Back to the Peerless Pool again.'

The clerk looked wise. ‘Try to find him in The Old Fountain. He might be more relaxed in those surroundings, and I believe that most of the staff go there at nightfall when the Pleasure Gardens close.'

‘I shall make a point of it. After I have plied Mother Hamp with gin, of course.'

Joe stood up. ‘Well, I've plenty to report back, Sir, so I'll be on my way. Incidentally, Miss Mary Ann asked me to convey her compliments to you.'

‘Impudent little madam,' John answered before he had stopped to think.

Joe raised a sandy brow. ‘You're right there, Mr Rawlings. I've noticed her giving the eye to all and sundry, She's anxious to join the ranks of the women of the world, is that one.'

The Apothecary groaned. ‘And her principal target is my apprentice.'

‘Young Nick? Oh dear! He's at an age to bust out of his breeches, into the bargain.'

‘Well, I've done my best with him.'

‘Leicester Fields?'

‘Yes.'

Joe looked sage. ‘Ah well, one can only do so much, After that, what will be, will be.'

‘Alas, yes.'

There was a twinkle about Joe Jago's eye. ‘Mr Fielding tells me that Miss Coralie Clive will be going to Bath on behalf of the Public Office. It appears that he has received a letter from her.'

‘I believe she is going to pretend to be the wife of an aged Italian diplomat and worm information out of all the gentlemen.'

‘Then I wish her luck.'

‘As do I, Joe.'

‘That girl is something of a rum doxy, I must confess,' the clerk said with a grin.

‘That,' answered John, ‘she most certainly is.'

Exactly one hour later, the Apothecary lay in the rum doxy's arms, telling her about the death of Petronelle, his worst grief now at an end, his emotions beginning to sort themselves out.

‘The old midwife,' said Coralie, when she had heard it all.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Did you not tell me before that a terrible old woman goes on duty at St Luke's at night? She would be the one who would have given the poor child an overdose, too full of gin to notice.'

‘We can't prove that.'

‘No, of course not. But the chances are very likely, would you not agree?'

Just for one wonderfully challenging yet comfortable moment, John had a vivid picture of what it would be like to be married to Coralie Clive: the excitement, the arguments, the discussions, the love.

‘I agree, you rum mort, you.'

She laughed. ‘Did Joe call me that?'

‘No, he called you a doxy – and he's right.'

The actress changed the subject. ‘I leave for Bath in the morning.'

‘Where will you stay?'

‘Where you did, at The Bear. It seems centrally placed and well thought of.'

‘Has Mr Fielding written to you?'

‘Yes. He suggests, as you did, that I find out all I can about Orlando, the coachman Jack, and Sir Vivian.'

‘We must know what Sweeting was up to with those children.'

‘I shall make the coachman my first target.'

‘Be careful.'

Coralie undid a button. ‘Why?'

‘Because I care for you.'

‘Why don't you come and join me there in a few days? Then you can rescue me from the clutches of all those wicked men.'

‘That,' John answered gravely, ‘is exactly what I intend to do.'

The Shepherd and Shepherdess hostelry and tea garden, built at the turn of the century, commanded a supreme view of the fields stretching to Islington. In fact, even though it stood at the top end of Ratcliff Row, it was really a country inn and a well-known place for convalescence, poorly people coming to stay there in order to benefit from the pure air of the neighbourhood. But for those fitter mortals who had no need to be residents, there was the attraction of cakes and cream and furmity, all served in the tea garden overlooking the attractive vista. Knowing the inn's reputation for good food, and anxious to see his old friend again, John had sent a message to Samuel to meet him there as soon as he could after both their shops were closed. Thus, at six o'clock, the Goldsmith strolled into the garden and found his friend tucking into an extremely severe high tea.

‘Well met,' he said, thumping John on the shoulder. ‘How goes it all? I expect there have been a lot of developments.'

‘A mass,' the Apothecary answered, and brought Samuel up to date while another vast spread was ordered and attacked.

The Goldsmith's eyes widened over his fruit tart. ‘So Toby admitted that he lied?'

‘Yes, in the end he was very helpful. However, Joe Jago thinks he might know something further. Something about the mysterious coachman.'

Even as he said the words, John's voice trailed away, and he sat with his mouth wide open, a jam-laden scone, halfway to his lips, arrested in mid-air.

‘Of course!' he exclaimed loudly. ‘Why didn't I see it before? The coachman. Of course.'

Samuel stared at him blankly. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘Jack, the coachman. The boy brought up by Sir Vivian, the one who remembered Hannah Rankin. He and the coachman who called on her have to be one and the same.'

‘How …?'

But Samuel's question was drowned as John rushed on. ‘The man was seen sitting on the coachman's box by Mother Hamp. The conveyance was parked outside her front door and had a coat of arms on the side. It was obviously Sir Vivian's coach driven there by jack from Bath. No wonder Hannah was afraid of him. It must have been like the past coming back to haunt her.' He turned his gaze on Samuel. ‘You must remember all this. You were there.'

‘Of course I remember it. But not having met Jack I feel at something of a disadvantage.'

‘Well, accept it from me, he fits the bill completely. I must write to Coralie at once and tell her.'

The Goldsmith's affable face took on a gossipy look. ‘I take it, as much from what you haven't said as from what you have, that your relationship with her has passed the point of no return?'

John gazed at him blankly for a second, then burst out laughing. ‘What a terrible euphemism. Why don't you come straight out with it? But the answer is yes, we have at long last been to bed together. And yes, my dear friend, before you ask, it was as wonderful as I had always dreamed it might be. And yes, yes, yes, I do want to marry her, but the little witch won't have me.'

‘Oh, not that wedded-to-the-theatre pose of hers again?'

‘Yes, again. But one day I shall marry her. Coralie is for me, Samuel. That fact is inescapable.'

‘But does she know?'

‘Deep in her heart I think she does. All I am waiting for is the moment when she admits it.'

‘Then I wish you joy, my friend, with all sincerity.'

Samuel was so patently pleased that John flung his arms around him and hugged him over the tea table, dislodging a custard as he did so. Wiping his sleeve and dabbing at his cheek, the Apothecary could not help but laugh at the expressions on the faces of the other patrons, to whose sour looks the Goldsmith responded by throwing a cream bun high in the air.

‘Champagne!' he shouted loudly, then looked duly remorseful as a child sitting close by burst into tears with the shock of it all.

As dusk fell over the flower-filled fields, above the distant sound of the lowing herds winding their way home to peaceful Islington, the noise of a bell chimed from the direction of the Peerless Pool.

‘Closing-down time,' said John. ‘This is where we make our way to The Old Fountain and hope that Toby will come in for his usual nightly drink.'

‘Indeed,' answered Samuel solemnly. ‘There's work to be done.'

They were both very slightly inebriated and walked with care down the path leading from Ratcliff Row across the fields to the eastern corner of the Pleasure Gardens, where stood The Old Fountain hostelry.

‘We should have called on Mother Hamp while we were there,' John commented, looking over his shoulder.

‘Why don't I run back and invite her to join us for a gin?'

‘Do you think she can stagger this far?'

‘I see no reason why not.'

‘Then we'll meet inside. I'll get hold of Toby – if he appears.'

‘He will,' Samuel answered confidently. ‘This is going to be a lucky night.'

He strode off, leaving John to pick his way in the moonlight, muttering a childhood rhyme beneath his breath.

It was a little misleading, of course, as fishing was done in the Fish Pond, but John presumed, though he had never questioned the verse before, that the line referred to the Pleasure Garden as a whole.

His mind wandered, contemplating the beauty of the night, the exquisite surroundings of Old Street, its ancient Moor Fields to the right, the splendour of the Peerless Pool and the sweep of meadows to the left. He was unprepared, therefore, when a figure detached itself from a spinney of trees and took his arm. Instinctively the Apothecary's hand reached for his pistol, which he always carried when visiting strange parts of the metropolis, but a voice in his ear said, ‘There's no need for that, Sir.'

‘Toby?' he said into the darkness.

‘No, Sir. It's Forbes, from the asylum. There's something I have to say to you and it's best said here, in private.'

John turned and saw in the fitful moonlight that it was indeed the warder who stood beside him.

‘Go on.'

‘It's about Petronelle.'

‘What about her?'

‘I feel her death somewhat on my conscience.'

‘Because you left her in the care of Mother Richard and she subsequently died of an overdose of laudanum.'

‘How did you know it was the midwife who gave it to her?'

‘It didn't take a genius to work it out. Nor even an apothecary,' John added wryly.

‘But there's something else too.'

‘What is it?'

‘As you know, St Luke's opened seven years ago, in 1751. Petronelle came to us four years later, when she was about thirteen. She was all right then. In truth, Sir, I think she might have recovered from her madness. Every day she grew in strength, both physical and mental. Dr Thomas Crow took particular notice of her and, by God, I swear he was on the point of curing her.'

‘So what went wrong?'

‘Hannah Rankin joined the staff and the girl became uncontrollable. I vow and declare to you, Sir, as I must answer on the blessed day of judgment, I had to tie Petronelle down to stop the girl killing herself when she first saw the new warder.'

‘Forbes, what are you trying to tell me?' John asked, peering into the warder's face in the intermittent moonlight.