Death in the Peerless Pool (32 page)

Both their faces had stretched themselves into masks, utterly expressionless, revealing nothing. Then, simultaneously, they gave John a half-smile, a fact that would have been amusing had it not been so bizarre.

‘What an unpleasant story,' Ambrosine said, and shivered.

‘As you say, it cannot be proved,' Lord Anthony added. ‘And personally I think your theory somewhat far-fetched.'

The Apothecary bowed his head. ‘I accept that, my Lord. As Mr Fielding said, the case against Sir Vivian is as full of holes as a watering can.'

‘Mr Fielding?' asked Lord Anthony, his eyebrows raised.

‘Yes,' answered John. ‘I work for him from time to time, you know.'

So saying, he bowed very low and excused himself making his way to where Samuel and Coralie stood talking and laughing and generally being two of his greatest friends in the world. Longing to tell them what he had just seen, John put an arm round the shoulders of each and drew them close.

‘There's much that I would discuss,' he said in an undertone, and planted a swift kiss on Coralie's lips, shielded from the gaze of the other guests by Samuel's broad frame.

‘What is it?' asked the Goldsmith, agog with the excitement of the latest developments.

‘The Dysarts know more about this business than they care to admit. They are putting on an act.

‘But why?'

‘That I don't know.' John leant close to Coralie's ear. ‘Did Samuel tell you that the terrible old Frenchman has been shot?'

‘Yes, he did.'

‘Coralie, I will have to go back to Bath because of it.'

‘I can't come with you. Bartholomew Fair is over and the theatres have reopened. I appear in Twelfth Night the day after tomorrow.'

‘I shall miss your company, yet I have a strange feeling that this visit is not going to be nearly as pleasant as the last, and you wouldn't be happy.'

‘Things are coming to a head,' said Samuel portentously.

‘I agree with you, yet there is still a lot to uncover. At the moment we do not have corroboration of a single thing.'

There was a deferential cough at John's elbow, and he looked up to see Gregg, very solid and smart in his evening clothes.

‘How are you keeping, Sir?'

‘Very well indeed, though extremely surprised to see you here. It was not so long ago that I bade you farewell as you set off for Westerfield Abbas.'

‘Only to pack up the house, Sir,' Gregg answered urbanely. ‘Then I left forthwith for London.'

John felt Coralie nudge him with her foot, while Samuel made a strange flapping motion with his arm.

‘Then it seems we all departed for town together,' said the Apothecary jovially.

‘So it does, Sir. So indeed it does,' responded Gregg, then he bowed and walked away, leaving the three friends to stare questioningly at one another.

It had been John's intention to catch a post chaise early the following morning, but in that he was forestalled by a most unexpected event. Sir Gabriel Kent, who was never ill, went down with a feverish cold. He had attended the Dysarts' party on the previous evening but quite unexpectedly had left early, pleading a headache. Yet all this had been done discreetly, and his son, enjoying himself with the younger people, had not realised his father had gone until it was too late to accompany him. However, by the time the Apothecary had got back Sir Gabriel had been in bed, and it had not been until the next day that John had realised quite how unwell the older man was. He had sent for Dr Drake at once, at the same time prescribing a decoction of the green leaves and roots of colt's foot for his father's cough. The lowering of the fever he had left to the physician.

Having stayed with Sir Gabriel all day, indeed until he was satisfied that there was no danger, John consequently left the house that evening, only to find the only available travelling space to be had was aboard the overnight post chaise to Bath, which did not stop except to change horses and allow its passengers time to relieve themselves. Cursing his luck, but at least grateful that he had obtained a seat within, John got on board at eight o'clock, prepared for a terrible night but knowing that he would reach his destination at ten o'clock the following morning.

An elderly couple were already inside, sitting on the seat facing the driver, a rug tucked cosily about their knees.

‘Good evening,' John said, removing his hat and bowing as best he could in the confined space.

‘Good evening,' said the woman, while the man responded, ‘Thought we were going to have the whole conveyance to ourselves.'

Despite the obvious rebuke, the Apothecary smiled pleasantly. ‘Not a popular ride this one.'

‘Very good if you are in a hurry,' the woman said, trying to be civil.

‘Quite so,' John replied, sitting down.

Ten minutes later there was the usual shout of the hostlers and the stamp of the team, which, together with the coachman's whip, meant they were off. Then, at the very last minute, the door was flung open and another passenger leapt in, hurling himself on to the seat beside John as the coach began to pull away.

‘Just in time, eh?' said the Apothecary, and turned to look at the newcomer. Then his mouth fell open and he drew in breath.

It was Jack.

The shock was so great that the Apothecary sat for a moment, gulping, before he searched in his coat pocket and, drawing out a hip flask, had a good-sized nip of brandy. Then the sight of Jack's equally stricken face had him wiping the mouthpiece with his sleeve and passing the beaker over, smiling cynically at the sheer outrageousness of the situation.

‘Well,' John said, when the coachman had taken several large swigs, ‘it seems that you are unable to elude me altogether, hard though you might try.'

Jack laughed, clearly seeing the ridiculous side of the situation. ‘God love you, Sir. I owe you a great deal. It was only necessity that made me bolt. I'll say more of it later.'

And he winked a brilliant eye, then rolled it slightly in the direction of the aged couple. Understanding, John winked back and they sat in a remarkably companionable silence until the rhythm of the coach had its desired effect and the two old people fell asleep, their heads rolling inwards towards each other and their snores blending in a strange sort of harmony.

‘Now,' said the Apothecary, a determined expression on his face, ‘I want you to tell me the truth, and the whole truth at that. I have to know all that went on at Sir Vivian Sweeting's home in the days of Hannah Rankin if I am going to get anywhere in solving the puzzle of her death. Am I right in thinking that all the children, including yourself, were abducted from other homes and brought to Welham House against their will?'

Jack put his hand out for the hip flask and took another deep draught. ‘Oh yes, you are quite right. There were dozens of us, mostly sold on to brothers or into private slavery for people with perverted minds. And don't think they were all male buyers either. Dreadful old women purchased boys for their delight; some bought girls too. It was the most terrible trade the world has ever known – and still is to this day.'

‘And what of you children that Sir Vivian kept? What was your function?'

‘He retained those to whom he took a fancy, plying us with drink and teaching the little girls the arts of love – he had a defloration mania, of course.'

‘And the boys?'

‘They were sodomised. Often he would dress us all up as little Arabs and call us his harem, abusing us one after the other, girls and boys alike. You will never know the degradation we children endured. In the end I fought back, biting and kicking him so savagely that I thought he was going to kill me. But he decided to let me work in the horse dung instead. And eventually I think he almost forgot about me. That is until he tried to kill me a few days ago.'

‘Was that because I had appeared on the scene, asking questions?'

‘It was. He thought I was going to tell everything, either to you or the Marchesa.'

‘And were you?'

‘Yes indeed, regardless of the consequences to myself.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘I personally don't care what happens, but I would never betray the person who killed Hannah Rankin; they did a service to mankind. But I knew that the time had come to end all the secrecy and expose Sir Vivian for what he is.'

‘Do you know who murdered Hannah?'

‘Yes, I believe I do.'

‘Are you going to tell me who you think it is?'

‘No I'm not.'

And this was said with such an air of finality that John knew he would get no further down that track and that he must change the topic.

‘There was a girl called Lucy Petronelle Allbury who was kidnapped from Prior Park while you were at Welham House. Do you know anything about that?'

The coachman nodded wearily. ‘She had been seen by one of Sir Vivian's friends, a depraved old nobleman who adored fair-haired young girls. Hannah Rankin actually did the snatching, then the child was taken to London. But as soon as he had despoiled her, the nobleman lost interest, and she was turned out on to the streets like an unwanted animal, forced to fend for herself. I know this because I heard Sir Vivian discussing the girl with Orlando.'

‘And what of him? And what of you? Where did you come from originally?'

Jack smiled a sad, sweet smile. ‘Both of us were brought from across the water, I think probably from France. After we were abducted Orlando and myself, along with several others, were held in a house near a port. Then the man in charge of us brought us here by ship. Hannah met us at the quayside and took us to Welham House. It had all been prearranged.'

‘Are you then French?' John asked, his spine icy, remembering how Jack had told him of a garden and the Apothecary had dreamt about it but been unable to make the link until this moment.

‘Perhaps. I told you, I believe my name was once spelt with a “c” and a “q”.'

Jack reached for the flask again, and John saw that his hand was shaking violently. ‘It was at that time, when Orlando and I were together in that terrible house near the port, that we swore to be brothers. We had no one but each other. We also swore that one day, when we were older, we would kill Sir Vivian Sweeting and all those involved in our degradation and downfall.'

‘And have you?'

Jack's violet eyes flashed. ‘That would be telling you, now, wouldn't it?'

‘Very well. Just two more questions. Why did Sir Vivian stop trading in children? For he obviously must have done. Hannah left years ago and there are no longer any around the place.'

Jack gave a frightening and humourless laugh. ‘If I say, you will never believe me.'

‘Try.'

“He fell in love with Orlando. He taught him everything he knew about abuse and humiliation, then he found he adored the boy. So when Orlando, to save others like us, asked Sir Vivian to end his vile trade of abduction, the disgusting creature agreed. But at a price.'

‘What price?'

‘That Orlando became the grand seducer. That he initiated to lust all young and innocent and defenceless creatures that crossed his path, then told Sir Vivian every detail.'

Man of the world though the Apothecary considered himself, he felt his stomach heave.

‘This is hideous,' be said.

‘Thank God I escaped and was banished to the stables. At least I felt clean in the horse shite.'

‘I presume it was the Marquis de Saint Ombre who brought you to this country.'

‘I didn't know it at the time but Orlando found out from Sir Vivian and told me who the man was.'

‘Did you kill him? Is that why you got up from your sick bed and, aided and abetted by Orlando, headed for town? In order to commit a murder? Is that what made your perilous flight so necessary?'

‘Mr Rawlings,' said Jack, leaning forward and putting his hand on John's arm, ‘there is no defence for shooting a man in cold blood. Do you really think I would betray myself thus?'

‘You just have by telling me how the Marquis was killed, a fact that I did not mention. So it had to be either you or Orlando who did the deed, swearing to it as blood brothers might. I cannot think that Sir Vivian would shoot one of his former henchmen.'

‘Why not? You have no proof who it was,' Jack answered. ‘And you most certainly are not going to get anything further out of me.'

And folding his arms across his chest, the coachman closed his eyes firmly, signifying that conversation and questions were at an end.

John stared out of the coach window into the darkness, allowing the fearfulness of the story to sink into his brain. To say that he was appalled by it was not fully stating the case. It was the most terrible tale of human corruption that he had ever heard in his life. Being honest with himself, he no longer had the wish to find the murderer – or murderers – of Hannah Rankin and the old Marquis. Only natural curiosity and the feeling that having once started a task he must finish it now inspired him. Sipping from his hip flask, John gazed bleakly into the blackness of the night.

Eventually, though, the jolting of the carriage and the amount he had had to drink combined to send him into a doze, deep sleep being impossible in such uncomfortable conditions. But almost as soon as he closed his eyes, John had a strange vision. Surprisingly, not of the horror story he had just heard but rather of the Dysart family portrait which Gregg had shown him at Westerfield Place. In his mind's eye, the Apothecary looked again at the four servant boys sitting on the ground, and something stirred in his subconscious, something that he should have seen earlier but which was at last becoming clear to him.

Terrible though the journey had been, the coach was punctual and swept into the courtyard of The Plume of Feathers in Southgate Street at exactly ten o'clock. Jack and John immediately disembarked, leaving the old couple to descend at their leisure.