Death in the Peerless Pool by Deryn Lake

John thought what an excellent place it would be to cloak the activities of a French spy ring.
    Directly opposite the Hospital, on the other side of the lane, stood the rear of the complex that housed the Peerless Pool and the Fish Pond, together with the other buildings belonging to the Pleasure Garden, including Mr Kemp’s grand dwelling place. There was the back way in, the Apothecary noticed: a gated entrance leading off Pest House Row. Would it have been possible, he wondered, for someone to have come through that gate and stealthily make their way to the Fish Pond, hidden by the cover of the trees? Certain that at night it would have been all too easy, he put his hand out to give the gate a push, only to find that today it was locked.
    â€˜Interesting,’ he said to Samuel.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜If the gate is as secure as this at night, as Mr Kemp assures us it is, it means if the body were taken to the Fish Pond this way, the murderer either had a key or …’
    â€˜Was let in by an accomplice on the inside, as you suggested.’
    â€˜Exactly. Now listen to this.’ And the Apothecary repeated to his friend the thought that had struck him after they had last parted company.
    â€˜â€™Zounds!’ Samuel’s jolly eyes lit up. ‘Have you told Mr Fielding?’
    â€˜Nicholas went round with a note containing the information early this morning. It should have reached the Beak before he set off for the Peerless Pool.’
    The Goldsmith looked eager. ‘Shall we present our compliments to him before he leaves?’
    â€˜By all means. But first let us find the lodging house of the late Hannah Rankin and see what information, if any, that yields up.’
    On closer examination it was easy to see that the cottages of Ratcliff Row, which was situated a quarter of a mile further up the lane, directly opposite the fields and a path leading to Mr Kemp’s house and the Pleasure Garden, had been rebuilt at the same time as the Cripplegate or God’s Gift Almshouses. These had been founded by Edward Alleyn, the well-known actor and joint owner of the Fortune Theatre in Playhouse Yard. Originally put up in 1620, the almshouses had been modernised exactly one hundred years later. Each was one-storeyed, with a red-tiled roof, shuttered windows and a green front door that opened directly on to the street. The houses where Hannah had lived were similarly designed, except that their front doors were a bold, if somewhat weathered, blue. Jauntily approaching the first one, John raised the knocker.
    Even before it descended, a woman appeared. ‘Yes?’ she said beadily.
    John assumed his urbane expression. ‘I am seeking the whereabouts of a Hannah Rankin. Would you be able to help me at all? Do you know where she lives?’
    â€˜I might,’ the woman answered, narrowing eyes that had not been large to start with.
    â€˜So what must I do to obtain your assistance?’ the Apothecary replied charmingly.
    â€˜State your business,’ she retorted. ‘That’s what, young Sir.’
    John conjectured possibilities, smiling the meanwhile. If he announced that he was conducting affairs on behalf of John Fielding, then he would have authority but little cooperation. If, on the other hand, he fabricated a feasible story, he might get a great deal further. His smile broadened and he bowed.
    â€˜Mistress Rankin and I are distant cousins. I was hoping that I might pay my respects to her now that I am in town.’
    The mean eyes glinted. ‘You don’t look like no cousin to me. She’s a rough thing, is Hannah.’
    â€˜So you do know her?’
    â€˜There’s not many come and go in this row that I don’t.’
    Samuel entered the discussion with his usual disastrous approach. ‘I’ll wager there’s not much goes on here that you miss, Ma’am.’
    He laughed heartily and looked affable but the woman curled her lip.