Death in the Dark Walk by Deryn Lake Page A

his drink. ‘You will recall me telling you that I observed poor Lizzie arguing with a man in a black cloak.’
    â€˜Whom I now have every reason to believe, having heard Mr Tyers’s description, was her former lover, the Comte de Vignolles.’
    â€˜Was it, by God! Then that makes things even stranger. You see, I’ve remembered there was another man giving her the eye at just that moment. He winked and nodded at her then disappeared into The Dark Walk, and mighty furtive he was acting too. Glancing all about as if he did not wish to be detected. And not to keep you in suspense, I’ll tell you straightway who it was.’ Samuel paused and swallowed noisily.
    â€˜Well?’
    â€˜That rampant young blade, the Duke of Richmond.’
    â€˜And he winked at Lizzie? You’re positive?’
    â€˜I most certainly am.’
    John’s brows leapt. ‘Then perhaps she went to meet him . . .’
    â€˜And he strangled her in passion.’
    The Apothecary shook his head. ‘We can’t jump to such a conclusion even though Richmond must obviously be implicated in some way.’
    â€˜Well, I’m glad my journey was not in vain.’ Samuel finished his glass and held it out for a refill. ‘There’s something else too. You know that mysterious woman who wore a mask?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Odds life, if she wasn’t standing near me too. In fact she was so close I could have touched her.’
    â€˜I don’t suppose her disguise slipped by any chance?’
    â€˜Not a hope of that. But she wore a distinctive scent. It filled my nostrils.’
    â€˜What was it?’
    â€˜Now how would I know that?’
    The Apothecary clicked impatiently. ‘Because every perfume is unique.’
    Samuel shifted his broad shoulders. ‘It is in your line of business to identify smells – though I can’t say I envy you some of ’em! So don’t blame me if I’ve no knowledge of such things. It was lovely, though. By God, it was.’
    John grinned. ‘Now don’t start hankering after its wearer. She is unobtainable in every way.’
    Samuel sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He finished his brandy and brightened again. ‘So what’s next?’
    â€˜First and foremost, I visit the Comte de Vignolles and his ailing wife. Then, if I’ve time, Lucy Pink. And tonight, my friend, if you’re game, we go to Marybone to watch the gamblers. The Masked Lady will probably be there,’ John added casually.
    â€˜Then I’ll join you,’ answered Samuel.
    â€˜I thought you might.’
    â€˜Do you think I could borrow those clothes of your father’s again? I did not come prepared for a social occasion.’
    â€˜I’ve got the feeling that these days a visit to Nassau Street means being prepared for anything,’ John answered ruefully.
    â€˜It would certainly seem that way,’ agreed Samuel as the two of them made their way in to breakfast.
    An hour later the friends left the house together, and proceeded on foot down the length of Piccadilly where they parted company, John turning right into Old Bond Street and thence to Evans Row. Here he called into the shop of his former Master, Richard Purefoy, and stood as he had for so many years looking outwards through the two bow-fronted windows with their shelves containing jars and bottles, all tall and elegant, the latter swollen with bulbous bases. It seemed strange to be buying a mixture which he himself had not compounded, but for the moment John had no choice in the matter. Wishing Master Purefoy good day, making some excuse about his father wanting the physick urgently, John hurried out again, glad not to have been drawn into conversation, anxious to get the next part of his mission over and done. Substituting a label that he had written at home for the bottle’s original, John strode towards Hanover Square, wondering what kind of