Death in the Dark Walk by Deryn Lake Read Free Book Online Page A

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    One of the most enviable qualities of Sir Gabriel Kent, in the estimation of his adopted son at least, was his ability to remain silent when the situation so demanded. Indeed John was never more grateful for this attribute than during the short journey back to Nassau Street from the Public Office. Having seen his son emerge onto the step of the house in Bow Street, Sir Gabriel had merely held open the carriage door and beckoned him inside, then called to the coachman to take them home. After that he had simply remarked that it promised to be a fine day and had said nothing further. At home, he had behaved similarly. Wishing his son good morning and saying that he would speak to him over dinner, John’s father had disappeared in the direction of his study leaving the Apothecary no option but to go to bed and sleep off the effects of such a devastating night.
    Awoken by bright sunlight at three, John, having but one hour left in which to prepare, hastily took a bath in the tin tub brought to his bedroom for the purpose, shaved, then dressed carefully in dark satin breeches, fine white stockings, a pink coat and floral-patterned waistcoat, thinking to himself that it had been some years since he had worn such elegant clothes at mealtimes.
    Dinner was served in the first floor dining room from which there was a fine view of the grounds of Leicester House and the gracious building itself. It was at present occupied by the Prince of Wales, George II’s grandson, who preferred it to the royal residences, some said because it got him away from his domineering mother Augusta, widow of the King’s son Frederick. Looking out of the window, John thought how pleasant it was to be at home again after his seven years of study, during which he had lived in his Master’s house, only allowed to go out on Sundays and generally kept in order. Then he remembered Mr Fielding’s commission and glittered his disturbing smile at his father.
    Sir Gabriel looked up from the delicate sherry which he was sipping before the meal commenced. ‘Do you wish to tell me everything now or shall we wait until the port?’
    â€˜That might be a better time, I believe.’
    His father understood and nodded, for once the meal had been served the servants would be dismissed and they would be alone to talk frankly. Thus, John chattered of trivialities as he devoured every cover set before him, relishing the fine cooking of home. Sir Gabriel, on the other hand, ate like a connoisseur rather than a gourmand, his fork flying amongst the tastier fishes and meats, his silver knife delicately peeling the skin from the fruit with which he ended his repast.
    â€˜I’ve missed you, you know,’ said John, his features alight with affection.
    â€˜But you’ve seen me. We have been in constant touch.’
    â€˜It is not the same as living under your roof.’
    Sir Gabriel leant forward, the curls of his long wig brushing against the white damask tablecloth. ‘And do you not think I have missed you? That this house has not seemed full of ghosts without your presence?’ He looked up over John’s shoulder at the full-length portrait of Phyllida, Lady Kent, painted by Thomas Gainsborough before the artist had returned to live in his native Suffolk.
    â€˜Tell me, Father,’ said Gabriel’s adopted son, reading his father’s thoughts and carefully changing the subject, ‘what do you know of Mr John Fielding?’
    The tawny eyes looked thoughtful. ‘A remarkable person, part of a remarkable family. Why, his half-brother Henry, now alas a very sick man, must be one of the most talented people alive. Not only did he write my favourite novel,
Tom Jones
, to say nothing of the most bitingly satirical plays in the English language, he also began the policing of this lawless capital.’
    â€˜I thought Sir Thomas de Veil did that.’
    â€˜Sir Thomas was Principal Magistrate but he did not have