Death in the Peerless Pool (10 page)

A sudden wild whim to do something exciting and unplanned overcame John Rawlings as he journeyed back from his visit to Lord Anthony Dysart's splendid new home. Indeed, so much did it have him in its grip that he lowered the carriage window and called up to the coachman, ‘Would you be good enough to take me to the King's Theatre in the Hay Market. I should just have time to see the start of the play.'

‘Very good, Sir,' came the reply, and the driver changed direction, turning right off Piccadilly instead of going straight on to Nassau Street. But it was a little more than love of the theatre which drew the Apothecary to a new production of Twelfth Night, now in the first week of its run. In truth, as soon as his eye had alighted on the poster advertising the play, he had determined to see it. For playing the part of Viola, that Shakespearean heroine who spends most of her time on stage dressed as a boy, was the woman who had haunted him ever since he had met her four years earlier, in 1754; none other than the rising young actress Coralie Clive, younger sister of the famous Kitty. Suddenly most anxious to see her again, John jostled his way into the pit, where sat the professional classes; young merchants of coming eminence, barristers and students of the Inns of Court, physicians and apothecaries. The critics also sat in this part of the theatre and denoted their status by smearing their upper lips with snuff. With only a few minutes to spare, John took his seat and looked around him.

The stage, as ever, was half filled with boxes, packed with exquisites and fine ladies, all decidedly tipsy, or lounging footmen reserving places for their late-coming masters. Even with the play about to start, a blood swung a high leg over a box's ledge, staggered slightly, and accidentally sat down hard upon his privy parts, causing him to wheeze with pain and rendering him incapable of further movement. To assist him, one of the two sentries posted upon the stage, a ridiculous custom frequently dispensed with by David Garrick of Drury Lane, heaved the wretched fellow over the edge, where he sprawled in a chair, quite done in. At this, the occupants of the gallery showered the box with oranges until the poor recipient, still bent double, was compelled to leave through a door at the back. Competing valiantly with this chaos, the sounds of the orchestra were lost, and the actor playing the part of the Duke was forced to repeat the immortal words ‘If music be the food of love, play on' twice, in order to make himself heard. The Apothecary felt his stomach tighten with anxiety at the thought of the fate that awaited Coralie, due on stage next. But she took it all with quiet calm. Dressed from head to toe in a hooded black cloak, she stared out at the audience as if they were the waves of the sea Viola was meant to be regarding. Raked by those beautiful green eyes, even the rowdiest gallery-goer fell quiet, and Coralie began her scene in silence.

She was as attractive as ever, John thought, her dark hair shining in the lights, her lashes black against her roses-and-snow complexion. Watching her, the Apothecary wished, as he had so very many times before, that Coralie did not have the power to move him to such vivid fantasies about loving her. For truth to tell, though he had enjoyed the favours of several young ladies during his lifetime, he had never for one moment forgotten Miss Clive, nor stopped caring for her in a very deep and special manner. In fact, John had one great wish: that Coralie would put aside her burning ambition to be as great an actress as her famous sister and love him in return.

Her opening scene done, the gallery, who obviously adored her, burst into wild cheering, and were only stopped by the entrance of Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek, the latter tremendously well played by a famous queer-garter who minced about the stage on such tremendously high heels that John wondered how on earth the actor kept his balance. To further add to the general hilarity, one of the sentinels guarding the stage, by day no more than a common soldier, became overcome with laughter at the sight of Sir Andrew's strut and visibly clutched his sides.

Coralie appeared dressed as a boy, her costume deepest violet, and received a wild cheer from her supporters in the gods. John would have joined in had it not been for the intellectual company amongst whom he sat. Speaking her lines in a clear, carrying voice, with just the merest attractive catch in it, the actress took her part with great skill, far outshining a very stilted Miss Hippesly, struggling to give some sparkle to Olivia. Unable to help it, John felt himself falling in love with Coralie all over again.

The first two acts over, there followed a short interval during which the Apothecary was tempted to go backstage. However, he resisted, and went instead to take refreshment with the rest of the audience. And it seemed that not only the spectators had consumed wine, for, the interlude done, the outrageous Mr Sparks attacked the role of Sir Andrew Aguecheek with even more verve than he had in the first half, obviously enjoying the benefits of alcoholic liberation. The sentry who had laughed so heartily in the opening acts was now so overcome with mirth that he actually fell convulsed upon the boards, much to the amusement of the rest of the house, who roared alongside him. They also guffawed at the ill-treatment of Malvolio, something that the Apothecary had never found in the least amusing, considering that this revealed a dark, cruel element to the play which he did not care for at all. However, everything else was redeemed by the performance of Miss Clive, a grave and serious as well as beautiful Viola. Entranced, John sat in the darkness of the theatre and listened to the plaintive voice of the Clown as he sang the closing words of Twelfth Night: ‘When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain.'

Outside the theatre there was the usual throng of people waiting for their coaches, summoning hackneys, or rushing to find sedan chairs. The Apothecary stood amongst them, longing to see Coralie but afraid that she might be otherwise engaged, or no longer wish to speak to him. Then he chided himself for being faint-hearted and strode round the building to the entrance used by the actors and actresses.

‘Yes, Sir?' said the doorman.

‘Could you take this to Miss Clive, please.' And John wrote in pencil on the back of one of his cards, ‘May I take you to a late supper and renew our acquaintanceship?' He handed it to the man together with a tip, then waited nervously for something to happen.

A great crowd of people surged forward as Mr Sparks, arrayed in canary silk, sallied forth, leaning on a beribboned great stick and announcing his intention of going off to sup at the Old Black Jack in Lincoln's Inn Fields, lovingly known as The Jump. His admirers duly piled into hackney coaches and followed in the wake of his carriage, grinning and chattering like a troop of merry monkeys. The Apothecary stared after them, much amused, and thus missed the very thing he had been waiting for. It was only a waft of her distinctive perfume which told him Coralie Clive was standing beside him. He turned to look at her and in his eyes she had grown even lovelier in the year since he had last seen her.

Her emerald gaze sparkled. ‘Mr Rawlings, we meet again.' She curtseyed politely.

The Apothecary gave his very best bow. ‘Miss Clive, it has been too long a time.'

‘It has indeed been quite a while. Tell me, how have you been faring?'

John smiled crookedly. ‘May I answer that over supper? I hope you will do me the honour of joining me.'

She tortured him for a good half-minute. ‘Well …'

‘You have another appointment?'

‘I promised my sister, Kitty, that I would go straight home and play cards with her.'

Despite the fact that he attempted to control it, the Apothecary could feel his face falling. ‘Oh, I see.'

Coralie smiled, and John's heart lurched. ‘But as it has been such an age since we met, I am quite sure she will understand.'

The grin was on his lips before he could stop it. ‘I am the happiest man in London.'

Coralie's cool green stare had a hint of mordancy in its depths. ‘Oh, surely not.'

Momentarily, the Apothecary showed his real feelings.

‘Oh, surely yes,' he said, bowing very slightly. He became incisive. ‘Now, Madam, where would you care to sup? I had thought of The Rose in Covent Garden, but if that is not acceptable to you …'

Coralie gave him a ravishing look, fair set to steal his heart. ‘It would be most acceptable. We are bound to see the leading dramatists of our day at its tables.'

‘To say nothing of our leading actresses. Your performance tonight was sovereign, if I may speak so boldly.'

Like all in her profession, Miss Clive glowed. ‘Do you really think so?'

‘I think, Madam, that you have now reached the high mark set by your sister, and that one day, not so far away, you may well surpass her.'

Coralie looked modest. ‘Kitty is the leader of our field, despite the pretensions of Miss Woffington, who has risen to the heights of her fame in the prone position, in my view.'

John's elegantly mobile eyebrows rose. ‘You refer to Mr Garrick?'

‘Indeed I do.'

The Apothecary laughed. ‘There's mischief in your look, Miss Clive.'

‘Is there really, Mr Rawlings?'

‘There certainly is. Now let me hail a hackney coach before I tell you how beautiful you are and make a complete fool of myself.'

Miss Clive lowered her eyes. ‘I thought your interests lay elsewhere.'

‘Who told you that?'

‘Your long absences.'

‘Last time we met you called me a positive ruffian.'

‘Well, so you were; unshaven, unwashed, a veritable vagabond.'

‘I had just come straight from the Romney Marsh to London with not a moment in which to do anything about my appearance.'

Coralie smiled. ‘I know, but in my defence I was not aware of it at the time.'

‘Then you forgive me?'

‘Let us forget the whole incident.'

‘Gladly,' said John, and kissed her hand.

It was at that moment that a hackney appeared round the corner and dropped off a passenger. Hurrying, the Apothecary managed to secure it and made much of helping Miss Clive up the step and into its somewhat odoriferous confines. And, once inside, he snuggled as close to her as he possibly could without appearing extravagant in his behaviour. To his relief, Coralie did not move away.

John cleared his throat. ‘I read that Richmond married last year,' he said with a bold attempt at being casual.

The actress raised her chin. ‘Yes, I went to the wedding, and a very fine affair it was.'

‘His bride is very beautiful, I believe.'

‘Her nickname is The Lovely, she is so blessed with looks. Do you know what Walpole said about the pair of them?'

‘No.'

‘The perfectest match in all the world; youth, beauty, riches, alliances, and all the blood of all the kings from Robert the Bruce to Charles II. Isn't it sickening?'

‘Nauseating.'

Coralie turned a brilliant glance in the Apothecary's direction. ‘I take it you are much relieved that the Duke is finally spoken for.'

His attempt at nonchalance became pitiable. ‘I've always been fond of Richmond. He and I have never fallen out.'

‘That is not what I said. John, you glowed green every time the poor man's name was mentioned. Confess it. You were convinced that he and I were lovers, weren't you?'

‘I admit that I believed that last time we met.'

The actress gave a scornful laugh. ‘You openly accused me of it, you mean.'

‘I thought we were going to put that incident behind us and start afresh.'

Coralie nodded, her expression softening. ‘You're right, let us not rake over old ground. And the answer to your question is no. Richmond had a hundred conquests but I was never one of them. I preferred to be his friend rather than his creature. Do you understand?'

John longed to say that should she ever become his mistress she would be adored, not regarded as a creature, but could not get the words out of his mouth. Miss Clive, not noticing his silence, went on speaking.

‘Anyway, that said, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to in the time since we last met?'

‘Precious little. That is until a few days ago.'

Coralie's green eyes rolled. ‘Not Mr Fielding again?'

‘I fear so. There has been a mysterious death at the Peerless Pool which I am helping to investigate.'

‘One of these days,' the actress predicted weightily, ‘you will find yourself in trouble, my dear Sir.'

‘You mean that I'll get too close to a killer for comfort?'

‘Yes, I do.'

‘But surely that has already happened, and it was you, if memory serves. who saved my life on that occasion.'

‘Just as you once saved mine.' Coralie laid her gloved hand in his. ‘Does that not mean that we are bound together in some way? Or have I already asked you that?'

‘Yes, you did at the time and I replied that I did not know. But I have been making enquiries since and the answer is that, as a result, your life belongs to me and mine to you.'

Miss Clive laughed but did not withdraw her hand. ‘Surely not. It sounds so dramatic.'

‘It was a dramatic thing we did.'

She turned to look at him, her profile a mere silhouette in the dimness. ‘Yes, it was, wasn't it?'

‘Certainly,' John said, and would have kissed her had the hackney not rumbled to a halt and the driver called out, ‘The Rose Tavern'. Cursing his luck, the Apothecary got out to pay the fare, wondering if the day would ever come when his wish would be granted and he would make love to the elusive Coralie Clive.

‘So, my dear,' said Sir Gabriel Kent, picking delicately at a piece of fruit while his son devoured eggs and great hunks of gammon which he had carved off a side set upon the table.

‘So?' John answered, innocently raising his eyes from his breakfast.

‘You stayed late at the Dysarts'?'