remember her and the way she came for me.â
Samuel overheard him. âThereâs darkness in this case, isnât there, John?â he asked fearfully.
âDarkness â and a great evil,â 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 oâclock, 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 Kempâs 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 Poolâs 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.
âI believe there are two ways into the Peerless Pool,â 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.
âYes, Sir,â the waiter being questioned had answered. âOne 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.â
âAnd what is the purpose of that?â
âIt 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.â
Mr Fielding had nodded. âI presume there is someone on daily duty there?â
âOh yes, Sir.â
There had been silence, and then Joe Jago had asked a question, his ragged features harsh in the early morning light.
âBut 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?â
âYes, Sir. You did, Sir.â
âAnd is this, too, locked at night?â
âSo I would imagine, though that is the duty of Mr Kempâs household servants, not the waiters.â
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.
âSo it seems there are three entrances by which the body could have come in, Joe.â
âIt looks like it, Sir.â
âThough only of use to someone with a key or a friend on the inside of the Garden.â
âSo it would appear.â
âDid 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.â
âThe one in which he â¦â
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 morningâs 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 Rankinâs room. Mr Fielding nodded occasionally but deliberately asked no questions until John had finished speaking. Then he said, âTell me, was Mother Hamp sober enough to be questioned before you left?â
âJust about.â
âDid you ask her if Hannah had given notice of quitting?â
âI did, but she replied no. I then enquired when she had last
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