Death in the Dark Walk Page 9

  He came abruptly back to the present as she spoke again. ‘How much?’

  ‘I would like you to accept it with my compliments. If it does you good I can arrange to deliver further supplies. The cost would then be sixpence.’

  ‘Not cheap.’

  ‘It is made from the finest ingredients,’ John answered solemnly.

  For a second a flicker crossed the Comtesse’s mouth, though whether she was smiling or simply irritated, John was not absolutely certain. But it was at that moment, just as he was trying to make up his mind about her, that he heard a door open behind him and turned to see that a man had come into the room, a man whom he instantly recognised as the wearer of the black cloak in Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens.

  ‘Louis,’ said the Comtesse, feebly leaning back against the cushions, ‘our visitor is an apothecary who has called with some medicine for me.’

  John bowed low, ‘My name Is Rawlings, Monsieur le Comte. John Rawlings.’

  ‘Have we met before?’ asked the newcomer, narrowing an eye.

  John hesitated, wondering whether to broach the subject of the Pleasure Gardens quite so soon in their acquaintanceship. Eventually he said, ‘I have recently been freed from my indentures, Sir, and have been out and about a great deal since. Perhaps that is why my face seems familiar.’

  The Comte looked bored. ‘I doubt we would have been at the same assemblies,’ he answered in supercilious tones, and walking past the Apothecary went, without any marked enthusiasm, to kiss his wife’s hand.

  He was an attractive creature with the dark hair and eyes typical of his race; in fact it was only too easy to visualise him as a lady’s man of prodigious charm. Enormously irritated by him, John decided to fire the opening shot and wipe the smile from the Comte de Vignolles’s handsome face. He made for the door, then turned as if he had forgotten something.

  ‘How observant you are, Monsieur!’ he exclaimed. ‘I would never have remembered if you had not said. Of course I saw you the other night at Vaux Hall. I was there with a friend and together we studied the beau monde with interest. How sad it was that such an enjoyable evening should have ended in so terrible a tragedy.’

  ‘Tragedy?’ said the Comtesse, propping herself up on one elbow. ‘What tragedy?’

  ‘Ah, Madam, I hardly know how to speak of it,’ John gushed on, aware that de Vignolles’s brown velvet eyes were glaring in his direction. ‘You see, there was a fatality. A lady of the night, a kept creature so it is said, was cruelly done to death by an unknown hand. Though, strangely, the friend who accompanied me saw her arguing with a man and has made a statement to that effect to the Public Office.’

  ‘What man?’ asked the Comte abruptly.

  John gave him a radiant smile. ‘Oh, it was no-one he knew, merely a fellow in a black cloak. A dark foreign-looking chap, so my friend said.’

  ‘Sounds like you, Louis,’ said the Comtesse drily.

  ‘There are hundreds of foreigners in London,’ de Vignolles answered, yawning, and John mentally awarded him a point for coolness.

  ‘Well, I must take my leave,’ he said, giving the invalid another bow. ‘Let it be hoped that the Elixir will serve its purpose. I am resident at number two Nassau Street should you require any further supplies.’

  ‘And should you decide to speak to me privately,’ he thought, as he followed the footman down the stairs and left the home of the Comte Louis de Vignolles.

  As Vigo Lane was on his route home, John decided that now was the moment to call on Hannah and present her with the jar of ointment which he had purchased in Evans Row. Somewhat guilty that he had made none of these preparations personally, he consoled himself with the thought that he was investigating a murder and all was fair in the circumstances. Yet, despite that, the Apothecary made a mental promise to explain his deceit to Master Purefoy in the near future and somehow try to make amends. But passing beside the wall and high trees which protected the beautiful gardens of Burlington House from the common herd, John put such thoughts from his mind as he entered the quiet surroundings of Vigo Lane.

  Exactly as on the previous occasion, the door of number twenty-four stood invitingly open but this time the Apothecary unhesitatingly stepped inside, only to find that the house was not empty. A large fair lady, well rouged and painted, stood in the hallway passing the time of day with Hannah, who was half-heartedly swishing the floor with a tattered mop.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said John and turned to go, afraid that the caretaker might be on the point of saying something tactless about the murder.

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ rejoined the buxom creature boldly. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘Well, er, it is Hannah I came to see actually. I have some ointment for her rheumatism.’

  The woman’s eyes lit. ‘Are you a physician, Sir?’

  John smiled crookedly. ‘No Ma’am, I am an apothecary.’

  ‘And I am Mrs Cole, widow of the late Mr Cole, milliner. Allow me to present you with my credentials.’

  And from nowhere she produced a trade card which she thrust into John’s unwilling hand. Bewilderedly he read, ‘Mrs Candace Cole, Artist in the Treatment of Feathers, Flowers, Muslins, Gauzes, Crapes and Velvets. At the Sun in St Paul’s Church Yard. Wholesale or Retail at Reasonable Rates.’

  ‘Pray step inside for a glass of Rhenish and sugar,’ Mrs Cole continued. ‘Wine is so refreshing in the heat of the day, is it not?’

  ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ answered John, frantically seeking an excuse, ‘but, alas, I have an urgent visit to make. I merely called to see Hannah en passant as it were.’

  Mrs Cole waved a waggish finger. ‘Five minutes will make little difference, surely.’

  The Apothecary, horridly aware of the gleam in her eye, decided on desperate action. ‘Madam, I have only told you half the truth. I am an apothecary as I said. But I am also here to enquire into the death of your neighbour, Elizabeth Harper. I am one of Mr Fielding’s Fellows.’

  ‘Are you now?’ she answered, surveying him with even greater interest. ‘Then you must indeed come in, You see, Hannah found a letter when she searched the girl’s apartment and, as she could not read, brought it to me. So now what do you say?’

  ‘I say that a glass of Rhenish would be delightful,’ John answered manfully, and allowed himself to be led into the downstairs suite of rooms, well aware that Hannah was giving him a knowing leer as the front door was closed firmly behind him.

  ‘Now do sit down and make yourself comfortable Mr . . .?

  ‘Rawlings. John Rawlings.’

  ‘. . . while I slip into something cooler. The afternoons are tedious hot, are they not?’

  ‘Er . . .’ answered John,

  But she had already vanished and he was left alone except for the presence of a particularly repellent dog which bared its teeth at him and growled.

  ‘Be quiet,’ whispered John commandingly, at which it growled all the more, getting up from its cushion and approaching his leg in a speculative manner.

  ‘One move nearer and I’ll cane you, so I will,’ he hissed again, but was saved by the return of Mrs Cole who swept the creature up in her arms and deposited it on her lap. She was now wearing a flowing robe made of some diaphanous material which revealed that she did not have a great deal on underneath. Averting his eyes from a pair of breasts the size of pumpkins, John cleared his throat.

  ‘Now, Ma’am, you have something to tell me I believe.’

  She brushed a straying curl with a plump hand. ‘I could certainly tell you many things, Mr Rawlings, and indeed would like to.’ She smiled winsomely. ‘But I take it you refer to Hannah’s finding?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Mrs Cole stood up again and the dog crashed to the floor, yelping. ‘But I forget my manners. I asked you in to take wine with me and take wine you shall.’

  And with that she swept to a side table, her garment trailing, and poured out two glasses of Rhenish.

  ‘No sugar for me,’ said J
ohn. ‘It rots the teeth.’

  Mrs Cole, who had been about to give herself a generous helping, stopped with the spoon in mid-air. ‘Just so,’ she replied.

  ‘And now I really must get down to business,’ the Apothecary said determinedly. ‘Tell me about the letter Hannah found.’

  His hostess rearranged herself in her chair, breasts wobbling as she took a sip of wine. Staring at the floor, John felt himself break into a sweat.

  ‘Well, it was a communication of sorts, though the most ill-spelt, ill-educated thing it has ever been my misfortune to observe.’

  ‘May I see it?’

  Mrs Cole made a little moue. ‘There now, I’ve just settled comfortably – and little Quin-Quin too.’ She patted the dog which growled again. ‘Be a sweet fellow and fetch it for me. It’s over there in my writing box.’

  Longing desperately for a quick escape, John opened the lid and saw lying on top a grubby piece of paper. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘Most certainly. I trust you do not think that any of my correspondence would look like that.’

  John unfolded the scrap and gazed on a scrawling, unformed hand which had obviously cost its author dear to write as much as it had.

  ‘My swet Lizie,’ he read. ‘Yew have Broke Mi Hart. I canot Live Wit Yew Gon. If Yew do not Reetun I shalle Kil Miselfe. Cum home for the Love of God. Jem.’

  ‘How tragic!’ exclaimed John involuntarily.

  ‘Tragic indeed,’ responded Mrs Cole, misunderstanding. ‘The ignorance of the labouring classes is quite reprehensible. I employ them in my workrooms, you know, and, believe me, can vouch for their stupidity.’

  ‘It is hardly their fault if they have not received the benefits of a good education,’ John answered reasonably. ‘What is more reprehensible is the lack of schools for the poor, I believe.’ He cleared his throat, determined not to get involved in deep discussion. ‘Anyway, meagre though it is, this letter is enlightening enough.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It reveals that Elizabeth Harper had a sweetheart when she left to come to London, someone who felt so deeply about her that he threatened suicide.’

  Mrs Cole drained her wine glass and gave a contemptuous laugh. ‘Then more fool him. The girl was a thoroughly bad lot. I’ve never seen such a little schemer in all my born days. Small wonder that she came to a violent end.’

  ‘You knew her well?’

  The widow looked indignant. ‘Certainly not! Respectable folk do not associate with a creature of that sort.’

  ‘Then there is nothing of interest you can tell me about her?’

  A look of cunning crossed Mrs Cole’s countenance. ‘Well, I’m sure if I put my mind to it I could recall something. Why don’t you stay awhile and see what I can remember? I feel certain I could be of service to you.’

  And with this last remark she thrust the pumpkins forward until they were only an inch or so from John’s nose.

  Gulping audibly, he got to his feet. ‘No, really, I must be on my way. Duty calls and all that.’

  ‘Men who work and never play are dull fellows,’ she replied sulkily.

  ‘Alas, that is very true,’ he answered, edging away.

  Brightening, Mrs Cole stood up once more, yet again ignoring the dog which cascaded downwards, howling as it went. ‘You could come back tomorrow, surely Mr Rawlings? There is much for us to talk about, I feel certain of it.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, hastening to the entrance. ‘Thank you for the wine.’

  ‘Are you going to keep the letter?’

  ‘Oh yes, that is evidence which Mr Fielding will most certainly want to have.’ He paused as an idea came to him. ‘If you think of anything further perhaps you could contact him at the Public Office. Good day to you.’ And with that the Apothecary was out of the door before she could utter another word, only stopping to thrust the jar of ointment into Hannah’s hand, where she stood eavesdropping in the passageway, as he hurried out into the street.

  No sooner had John set foot inside his own premises than he knew something unusual had taken place. The very air breathed it and he was not in the least surprised when, even while relieving him of his hat, the footman murmured, ‘There is a gentleman to see you, Master John. He arrived just now and I have shown him into the library.’

  ‘Is he French by any chance?’ John asked, gleaming with triumph.

  ‘Yes, Sir. He gave his name as the Comte de Vignolles.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said the Apothecary. ‘Even sooner than I expected. Tell him that I will join him shortly.’

  Five minutes later he strode into Sir Gabriel’s fine book room in an exact reverse of the situation which had been acted out earlier that day, to find the Comte staring moodily out of the window.

  ‘I believe you have tried to trick me,’ said de Vignolles abruptly, without turning round. ‘Who the devil are you, pray, to live in a town house yet act like some common blackmailer off the streets?’

  ‘I am exactly what I say,’ John replied calmly. ‘I am an apothecary who served his apprenticeship in Evans Row. This house belongs to my father, Sir Gabriel Kent, under whose roof I am again dwelling now that my indentures are over. What I did not tell you, Monsieur, is that not only did I see you at Vaux Hall the other night, but that I am also assisting Mr John Fielding in his hunt for the killer of Elizabeth Harper.’

  ‘So you bluffed your way into my home and would, no doubt, have told my wife everything had I not interrupted you.’ And the Comte wheeled round and stared at John furiously.

  ‘And that is where you are completely wrong. I went to visit her only because I wanted to understand you better. I am not a married man, Monsieur, so I needed to know why you took the dead girl as mistress.’

  ‘And now you do, I imagine. Having met the sickly creature that my lively wife turned into, perhaps all is clear.’

  John sighed. ‘Monsieur, Mr Fielding has asked me to question all those who were in the Pleasure Gardens on the night of the murder. Indeed, he has instructed me to treat every one of them with suspicion. Therefore I have to point out that you could have had a motive for killing Elizabeth. Is it not the case that, although you set her up in comfortable apartments in Vigo Lane, she deserted you and went to live with another man? Could not the quarrel you had with her – to which we have a witness – have led to something far more violent?’

  ‘By God,’ the Comte cursed furiously. ‘It could have done, but it most certainly did not. Of course I was angry, hurt too. But by all that is holy, I swear I walked away and left her for the cheap slut she was.’

  John nodded silently. ‘And this quarrel, this quarrel from which you strode away, exactly where did it take place?’

  ‘In the Grand Cross Walk.’

  ‘And where did you go after it was over?’

  ‘To the Grand Walk.’

  ‘So according to you Elizabeth made her way across to The Dark Walk alone and there met her death?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Monsieur le Comte,’ said John gently. ‘I pray you sit down and briefly tell me the whole story. Everything you can remember about Lizzie, with particular reference to anything that could shed light on this matter.’

  De Vignolles shot him a penetrating glance. ‘For a young man you have a very soothing manner. I suppose it comes from working amongst the sick.’

  ‘Possibly. Now please continue.’

  ‘There is not a great deal to tell. My wife changed completely not long after we were married . . .’

  ‘Because you started a love affair with another?’ John guessed shrewdly.

  The Comte looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, that is true.’ He spread his arms wide, palms uppermost. ‘I am a Frenchman.’

  The Apothecary gave a small chuckle. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, I began to frequent the brothel in Leicester Fields and there I met Elizabeth Harper, as bright and saucy a being as any man could ever wish for.’ He gave John a tragic look. ‘I confess I fell in love with her, old
fool that I am.’

  ‘But surely you are only in your thirties.’

  ‘And she not eighteen. I could have been her father, and yet I was totally infatuated. Then along came Midhurst, who had youth as well as money, and she upped and abandoned me without a word.’

  ‘Simply moved out?’

  ‘Yes. I expect you know about Vigo Lane and the fact that she left all her things behind her.’

  John nodded. ‘So you went to the Pleasure Gardens on the off chance, and at last had the opportunity to air your grievances?’

  ‘Yes, but that is all I did do. I adored the cruel bitch. Even though she had betrayed me, I would never have harmed her.’

  And with that the Comte, quite suddenly and without warning thrust his head into his hands, his shoulders heaving. If it was an act it was a fine one indeed, and John could do nothing but stare uncertainly before ringing for a servant to fetch brandy. Then he, too, took his place at the window until de Vignolles had once more controlled himself.

  ‘Love’s a damnable thing,’ gasped the Frenchman.

  ‘Perhaps your wife also thinks so,’ John answered quietly.

  ‘Alas, she does not. She long ago ceased to care about me and now is totally preoccupied with her health. It really isn’t easy living with her, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure of that.’ John turned round as a footman came in bearing a tray which he set down on a side table. ‘Thank you, Perkins. I’ll pour for our visitor.’ He handed the Comte a generous measure. ‘There is just one more question I would like to ask you, if I may.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘At Vaux Hall that night, you were present at the lighting of the Cascade?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Did you by chance notice a boy, quite a small young fellow whom I would have taken for an apprentice had he not been so elegantly dressed?’