Death in the Dark Walk Read Online Free PDF

awareness of mortality, the Apothecary attempted to summon up the last of his flagging wits as the carriage turned out of Russell Street into Bow Street, and drew to a halt before the third residence on the left-hand side.
    The Public Office, which he was now contemplating with dread, was situated on the ground floor of a four-storey house, the upper areas of the same still, surprisingly yet by custom, serving as the private residence of the Metropolitan Magistrate, Mr John Fielding. This practice had started some years earlier when, in 1738, Sir Thomas de Veil, Colonel of the Westminster Militia and Justice of the Peace for four counties beside, had moved to a new home in Bow Street. Despite his terrible reputation with women, Sir Thomas had been highly respected as a legal man, no mean feat in view of four marriages, twenty-five children, and lusty extra-marital liaisons. Indeed, it was a known fact that the magistrate had used a private examination room in his house for the interrogation of pretty female witnesses, a room from which a lady would always emerge with a smile on her face.
    Yet other, more serious, legal matters had also been conducted at de Veil’s dwelling place and in this way the Public Office had been born. Since Sir Thomas’s death it had become the custom for the Principal Justice of the Peace to live at the Bow Street residence. Now, looking at its tall thin shape as he got out of the carriage, John’s dark brows drew down once more at the prospect of what lay ahead of him.
    The hallway of the famous house was much like any other, a beautiful curving staircase leading upwards, while four doors and a passageway marked the entrance to the other rooms. An ornate mirror hung on the right-hand wall and, despite his feelings of dread, John was amused to see that all three of them, Lucy and Giles reacting just as he did, stopped to stare into it, hastily attempting to smarten their dishevelled appearance. He looked wrecked, the Apothecary thought; his wig askew, eyes circled and heavy, his crooked mouth compressed into a harsh line, the mobile brows straight and frowning.
    â€˜God’s life!’ he exclaimed, and pulled his headgear straight over his springing curls.
    â€˜This way if you please, Sir,’ said the dark Beak Runner and, much to his dismay, John found himself shown into a small room on his own, spying out of the corner of his eye that Lucy and Giles were also being separated one from the other.
    â€˜Mr Fielding won’t keep you long,’ the man added. Then the door closed and John Rawlings was alone for the first time since he had taken that fateful stroll down the Grand Walk. Pacing restlessly, the Apothecary began to examine the objects about him, rapidly coming to the conclusion that he had been put into Sir Thomas de Veil’s famous interrogation room. In any other circumstances a grin would have lit his impish features, but tonight even his ready humour was wearing thin.
    A long and comfortable sofa ran the length of one wall, a chair and table, together with a coffer, the only other furnishing. Opening the lid of the chest a spark of amusement momentarily returned and John chuckled to himself as he noticed several different items of female clothing and what appeared to be a collection of fans.
    â€˜Well, well!’ he said, and smiled his crooked smile.
    The sofa was even better to sit on than it looked and as he sunk deep into its long padded cushion, the Apothecary suddenly realised he was weary to the bone. With a yawn that started in his boots, he closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep, but whether for an hour or merely a few minutes he never afterwards knew, for he was abruptly awoken again by a persistent noise. From somewhere in the silence of the house was coming the distant sound of tapping and as it drew nearer, John identified the source as a cane rapping on floorboards. He froze as the sound progressed steadily towards the room in which he