by Deryn Lake
Louis frowned. ‘No, I can’t say that I did.’
‘He was crouching quite near you, having crept through the crowd to get a better view.’
‘Oh yes, I vaguely remember someone now you come to mention it.’
‘You don’t know who he was by any chance?’
The Comte shook his head. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
John smiled wryly. ‘I was rather afraid you might say that.’
De Vignolles looked interested. ‘Why? Is he connected with this affair in some way?’
‘That,’ said the Apothecary, ‘is what I am most anxious to find out.’
Chapter Nine
Just as darkness fell over London, Samuel Swann returned to Nassau Street with a smile on his face, so broad a smile, in fact, that it took no great act of clairvoyance on John’s part for him to guess where his friend had gone after they had parted company earlier that day.
‘You’ve been to Leicester Fields, haven’t you, you sly old fox?’
Samuel attempted to look serious. ‘But on your behalf, my friend.’
‘My behalf? Odds my life, now I’ve heard every excuse known to man!’
‘I went to observe,’ Samuel replied, with an attempt at dignity. ‘And to ask questions.’
‘Did you now? Well, you can tell me all about it in the hackney to Marybone. Now hurry and get changed.’
‘Did Sir Gabriel give permission for me to borrow his clothes?’
‘I have not seen my father all day,’ John answered with just the slightest note of asperity. ‘He left the house early, then returned while I was gone, changed into evening dress and went out again.’
‘I wonder what he’s up to.’
The Apothecary’s crooked smile appeared. ‘Something or other, I’ll warrant. This is odd behaviour for my parent. Anyway, there’s no time to think about it. We must get to Marybone. So, in his absence, I give you permission to wear what you like. Within reason,’ he added.
An hour later, finely arrayed, the friends stepped forth and hailed hackney coach number 44 in which they set out for the village of Marybone, lying some distance from London’s heart, the name deriving from the old church of St Mary le Burn, much favoured for illicit and runaway marriages, which had once stood on the banks of the River Tyburn. Fourteen years earlier, in 1740, a new church had been built further up the village High Street, but the old title had gone with it and the entire district had thus been given the name of Marybone.
It was a flawless night, the moon coming up over rolling fields, casting long and extraordinary shadows over the winding contours of Marybone Lane. High above the small dark dot of the carriage, the star-filled sky hung like the spangled canopy of an exotic tent from Araby, and the lights of the Pleasure Gardens, resembling a cluster of terrestrial stars, enhanced the glow and added to the splendour of the evening’s enchanting vistas. For having left the town behind, the carriage was passing through pastoral land, cattle grazing in the moonlight and pretty rivers flowing like quicksilver amongst the verdant grasses.
The village of Marybone itself was much favoured by London families of good position, who had country houses in its High Street. It was these gentry folk who had become the principal patrons of the Gardens, availing themselves of subscription tickets for its balls and concerts. For Marybone Gardens, even more than those of Vaux Hall, had a strong musical tradition, together with a reputation for providing supreme cakes of rich seed and plum, made by the manager’s daughter, Miss Trusler. All this, added to Miss Trusler’s almond cheesecake, meant that visitors from town would also make the journey to this rural retreat. Yet there was another, far less innocent, reason why the beau monde set forth for the village, risking attack from highwaymen and footpads.
In the seventeenth century a little group of Huguenot immigrants from France had settled in Marybone and, in recognition of their presence, a tavern called The Rose of Normandy had been built in the High Street. At the back of this rural inn there had been bowling greens and gardens, and these had become the origin of the Pleasure Gardens, entrance to which eight-acre site was currently reached through the tavern. But The Rose of Normandy itself had undergone a change and had now become notorious as a gaming house where deep play was commonplace. And it was to these gaming rooms, rather than to the less innocent pastimes, that John and Samuel now made their way, determined to play yet not to wager beyond their limited means.
There were several raffling shops, as the gaming rooms were known, and passing through them watching how the cards flew and the dice rattled and fine gentlemen lost their money with ease and negligence, John drew in his breath at the size of the stakes. Rouleaus of guineas, some many inches high, were stacked before the players, who chanced all on raffle, a game of dice in which the stakes went to the gamester who threw a pair-royal. And it was here, resplendent in black, her mask a shimmer of stiffened gold tissue, that the Lady he sought was seated.
Naturally, the most enigmatic woman in London had a crowd round her, watching as her elegant hands seized the dice box and nonchalantly rattled it before she threw two queens upon the green cloth before her. Joining the throng, John and Samuel, drinking the punch they had obtained on the way in, moved to a more advantageous position, observing the faces of the other players, some striving hard to maintain the cool facade that was de rigeur when losing a fortune.
Henry Fox, the politician, of course merely smiled affably. But there were others, some who leant back so that the shadows would mask their expressions, betraying by the tightening of their fingers or the way they shifted in their chairs the strain that they were under. John let his eyes rove round the table, studying the assembled company, enjoying the sight as much as he had done the lighting of the Cascade. Then a tall figure seated at the end of the table drew his attention. Resplendent in ebony breeches and silver waistcoat, together with a black coat lavishly embroidered, and wearing a heavily powdered nine-storey wig, its long curls flowing over his shoulders, sat Sir Gabriel Kent.
‘Father!’ exclaimed John, and received a very cool look for his pains. For the dice box had come round to his parent’s place and everyone in the room had grown still.
Sir Gabriel inclined his head to the Masked Lady, who bowed back graciously, her lovely mouth curved in its amused and amusing smile.
‘Good luck, Sir,’ called someone who was not playing. Elegantly, John’s father shook back the lace from his wrists and picked up the dice box, giving it a careless shake before he rolled the contents out towards the centre of the table. Two kings gleamed in the candlelight and there was a momentary gasp before the other players began to push their rouleaus in Sir Gabriel’s direction.
‘God’s life!’ whispered Samuel, very impressed.
John remained silent, breathing in the Masked Lady’s perfume and identifying it as spirit of ambergris, musk, bergamot and Oil of Rhodium, probably from the shop of Charles Lillie, the perfumer.
‘Well done, Sir,’ she called to Sir Gabriel, who smiled and, leaning across, offered her his box of snuff. It was his finest, made of silver with a Moco stone in the lid.
‘Why, thank you,’ she said and took a good pinch, placing it on the back of her hand and inhaling just as deeply as any man.
‘You played well, Madam,’ he answered.
‘Nonsense, that was but a game of chance, a lucky throw and there’s an end to it. No, I prefer cards where one’s skill and wit is pitted to the full against that of an opponent.’
‘Then perhaps you will move with me to the room in which whist is being dealt?’
The Masked Lady shook her head. ‘I thank you, Sir, but I fear I have another appointment. I am engaged to play at White’s before the night is out.’
‘Then allow me to accompany you,’ said Sir Gabriel, rising to his feet. ‘No Lady should travel alone along these perilous ways once dark has fallen.’
John was filled with admiration, aware that his father had, at his son’s behest, joined the quest to discover the L
ady’s true identity. And, or so he guessed, she too had some inkling of it, for she let out her rather husky laugh and answered, ‘Fiddlesticks! A woman such as I long ago learned how to protect herself. Not only do I travel armed but so does my black boy. A sweet child, to be sure, but a deadly shot.’
Sir Gabriel gave an elaborate bow. ‘Then I hope, Madam, that I will soon be granted the pleasure of conceding you a victory.’
‘You are very gallant, Sir,’ said the Masked Lady, rising to her feet.
At once, every other gamester at the table sprang up, for whether they admired or detested her, she was a creature of such fascination that all felt bound to pay her respect. With a smile she acknowledged the salutations of her fellow gamblers then turned to go, making her way through the crowd which had gathered round her chair. Yet as she drew level with John she paused momentarily before sweeping past, leaving nothing but the trace of her perfume hanging in the air for him to remember her by. Very conscious that she had been studying him from behind her mask, he felt the colour come into his cheeks.
So she had seen him at the Pleasure Gardens and recalled him, though why she should have done so John simply could not think. Yet for all that, he felt immensely flattered, almost to the point of elation, that the most mysterious and sought-after woman in town had picked him out of a milling throng and studied him carefully enough to know him again.
“Zounds!’ exclaimed Samuel softly, ‘did you see the look she gave you?’
‘No,’ said John, desperately trying to be casual.
‘I think she fancies you.’
‘Oh don’t be silly. A woman like that could have any man she chose.’
‘Well, she certainly held you in regard.’
‘I think perhaps she recognised me from Vaux Hall.’
‘Which compounds my theory. She saw you at the Pleasure Gardens and fell madly in love at first sight.’
‘Oh really!’ snorted John, but secretly he was delighted that his friend should think him capable of capturing the attention of anyone as attractive, as fascinating and dark a riddle, as the Masked Lady.
‘Damme, but she’s quite a gal,’ commented a rumbling voice beside them, and the Apothecary saw that Henry Fox had left his place and was watching the Lady leave, her little black page, clad all in silver, a turban with three crimson feathers on his head, running behind her.
‘Very much so,’ answered Sir Gabriel, coming to join the party. He bowed to the politician. ‘Sir, I am just about to play a hand at whist in company with my son and his companion. Would you care to make up a four?’
‘Gladly,’ said Fox, returning the salutation. ‘I was just going in to find a partner.’
‘Then let us proceed.’ And all smiles and nods, they made their way into the room next door.
But though the play was sharp and demanded concentration, John Rawlings laid his cards as if he were in a dream. Again and again in his mind’s eye he relived the moment when the Masked Lady paused in her sweeping exit and looked at him. Then somewhere at the back of his mind he heard Henry Fox say, ‘Terrible business at Vaux Hall the other night,’ and John’s attention careered back to the present moment like a racehorse at full gallop.
‘I wasn’t there,’ Sir Gabriel was answering, ‘although my son was present. He told me all about it, of course. Did you know the girl, Sir?’
Henry Fox guffawed. ‘If I did I wouldn’t admit it. She was a whore, no less. But, seriously, I knew nothing of her, though I believe my brother-in-law Richmond – young scampish dog that he is – had sampled her charms. He’s a regular tail twitcher as far as women are concerned. He could hardly wait to get in The Dark Walk the other night. Which is where the poor girl was done to death, is it not?’ Something of the unfortunate nature of what he had just said must have occurred to him, for he added, ‘Young Charles was with Miss Patty Rigby, of course.’
At this, Samuel gave a violent cough and John, focusing on their earlier conversation, recalled his friend’s certainty that the Duke of Richmond had not only been alone and acting in a furtive manner, but that he had actually winked at Lizzie as he made his way into The Dark Walk. ‘I believe the Public Office at Bow Street are investigating the crime,’ John said noncommittally. ‘They have already questioned me but I was able to convince them of my innocence.’
‘Really?’ said Mr Fox, his eyebrows raised almost to the level of his wig. ‘Then it’s as well young Richmond had a companion. Good heavens, I suppose it won’t be long before they seek him out and me too for that matter.’
John could almost have embraced his father who said, laughingly, as he laid a card, ‘You’d best try to recall your movements, Sir. Then you’ll be ready for that Blind Beak fellow.’
Henry Fox frowned. ‘Damme, you’re right, you know. Now let me see. Lady Albermarle was with us that evening. We had supper first then Richmond and I went to see the lighting of the Cascade. After that we went back to the box for a while and had a bumper or two of champagne. Then Miss Rigby saw some friends and went to join them for a visit, Richmond went to find her, and Lady Albermarle and I remained together for the rest of the time.’
‘Well, I can certainly vouch for you as far as the Cascade is concerned. I saw you there,’ John answered quietly.
Fox turned to him. ‘Really? Where were you?’
‘Standing on the edge of the crowd, looking about me. There was a most varied selection of people present, or so I thought.’
‘Indeed there was.’
‘Did you by any chance notice a young jackanapes, a ‘prentice lad dressed within an inch of his life in a rich blue coat fit for a lord?’
Fox frowned deeper. ‘No, I can’t say that I did. Why?’
John sighed. ‘He interests me, that’s all.’
‘And me,’ Sir Gabriel added urbanely. ‘My son asked what such a little rascal might be, no more than a mere boy yet dressed so lavishly.’
‘And what did you reply, Sir?’
‘That in the City guilds and in the best shops in London, the apprentices are the sons of gentlemen, wearing full-bottomed wigs and good clothes when off duty, just as he did himself.’
Fox turned to John. ‘Well, there you have it, my young friend.’
‘Yes,’ answered the Apothecary, smiling at his father, ‘there I have it.’ He changed the subject. ‘Tell me, Mr Fox, do you get any inkling as to who the Masked Lady might be?’
‘There’s a strong rumour that she is the Princess Augusta – you’ve probably heard it yourself – but her she ain’t for sure. No, I reckon she’s a titled widow, inheritee of some damnable great estate without the funds to run it, so that is why she started to gamble.’
John looked thoughtful. ‘I think you’ve hit on something there, Sir. For, other than for the thrill of it, why would she indulge in such deep play?’
‘Perhaps she wishes to be independent,’ Sir Gabriel remarked. ‘Perhaps she wishes to have money that is hers and hers alone.’
‘I don’t care what the reason is,’ said Samuel warmly, ‘I think she is wonderful. How I would love to know her.’
‘And I too,’ added John with equal enthusiasm.
‘Ah ha,’ said Henry Fox playfully. ‘I’ll wager she’s stolen the hearts of these two young gentlemen.’
Sir Gabriel raised a brow, still dark and elegant despite his advanced years. ‘Were she not so young she would steal mine as well. For how I like a woman of wit and vivacity.’
‘And those qualities,’ said the politician, nodding, ‘she certainly has a’plenty.’
They travelled back in a small convoy, Mr Fox’s coach immediately in front of that of Sir Gabriel, thus lessening the risk of being attacked by the highwaymen and footpads who haunted the road leading to Marybone. It was a known fact that in the in the 1730s Dick Turpin used to rob the Pleasure Gardens’ patrons and that once, having publicly kissed a beauty of the time in the Gardens themselves, whispered to the lady, ‘Be not alarmed, Madam, for you can now boast that you have
been kissed by Dick Turpin. Good morning!’ But, whether that last story be true or false, Sir Gabriel and Mr Fox were tonight taking no chances and did not part company until they had reached the safety of the town.
‘Well, that was a good evening’s work I think,’ said John’s father as the politician’s carriage headed away towards his London residence, Mr Fox’s principal home being at Holland House in Kensington village. ‘Would you agree, John, that he is not the man you are looking for?’
‘I never seriously thought he could be but, yes, if Mr Fox gives the name of Lady Albermarle as she who will vouch for him, then he is clearly innocent.’ He gave Sir Gabriel an admiring glance. ‘You drew him out very cleverly, Sir.’
His father looked modestly pleased. ‘It seemed an opportune moment to do so.’
‘Most certainly. I’m sorry I startled you earlier. It was such a very great shock to see you at Marybone and engaged in play with the Masked Lady at that.’ John sighed. ‘I am following Mr Fielding’s instructions to the letter but seem no nearer to the solution of this crime.’
‘The victim has already been replaced at the brothel,’ Samuel interrupted, also sighing sadly. ‘You remember Dorcas, the maid, the one who answered the door to us, John? Well, she has been promoted whore and another country innocent found as servant. No doubt she, too, will be corrupted in her turn. It’s a sad world, I think.’
‘Very,’ said Sir Gabriel. He patted his son on the arm. ‘It may seem that you are making little progress, but all the while you are gathering facts and assimilating information. And then the day will come when, just like a puzzle, all the little pieces will fit together and the final picture will emerge.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I do.’
The coach had turned into Nassau Street and, having deposited its passengers, went on to the stables in Dolphin Yard. Yawning, John would have gone to bed at once, following Samuel who, like a guest of long acquaintance, had already made his way upstairs, had not Sir Gabriel beckoned him on one side.
‘John, come sit with me in the library a moment. I want to tell you of my day’s adventures.’
