by Deryn Lake
“Master, I was expecting you early,” he said.
“I was waylaid by a most extraordinary event”. And drawing his apprentice into the compounding room during a temporary lull in custom, John told Nicholas the whole pathetic story.
“And where is the girl now?”
“At home. I left her in the hands of the head footman, Dorcas being away with Emilia. Thank God he is old and kindly, for I fear for her safety with some of the younger men. She’s a beautiful little thing.”
“You’ll have to give strict orders, Sir.”
John grinned. “For the notice they’ll take of me, I certainly will.”
The door bell clanged and both returned to the shop.
“Good day to you, Mr. Rawlings,” said a cheerful voice, and the Apothecary gaped in amazement.
“Mr. Turnbull! Why, I was only thinking of you this morning.”
“Were you now. And why might that be?”
“I apprehended a runaway from Brompton Park School.”
“Oh that place! Well, I’m hardly surprised. What did you do with the young absconder?”
“I did not return him, I can tell you that, Sir, can you spare me ten minutes? I would very much appreciate your advice.”
“By all means,” said Digby jovially, and allowed himself to be shown into the compounding room where John brewed tea while Nicholas saw to the customers.
The Apothecary, uncertain whether to tell all the truth, found himself greatly encouraged to do so by Turnbull’s honest, ordinary countenance, which reacted with horror as the terrible tale unfolded.
“And you say that this girl’s callous mother inflicted such a plight on her own flesh and blood?”
“Yes. But the headmaster, Sebastian, can be little better. He must have known full well that he had a girl in his midst and deliberately chose to do nothing about it.”
“As ever. As I told you I have written to him on numerous ocasions regarding the behaviour of his rowdies but he declines to take any action.”
“Do you think a visit might be in order?”
Mr. Turnbull looked delighted. “I would say it is essential. No doubt he’ll raise a hue and cry for poor Lucinda as soon as he realises she’s gone. So best we”And no doubt I’ll be accused of abduction when the truth emerges.”
Digby looked thoughtful. “I doubt you could be. The girl is over the age of consent and is free to enter service or an apprenticeship of any other arrangement for that matter. It is probably only the mysterious mother who could legally object.”
“I rather think she would prefer to remain silent than draw attention to herself.”
“But who is she? Do you have any idea?”
John looked thoughtful. “It has to be somebody highly placed in society. Nobody else would go to such lengths to hide the fact that she has children.”
Digby Turnbull pushed out his lower lip. “Could be anybody. They’re all at it, farming out their bastards and unwanteds to any unscrupulous woman who’ll take ‘em.”
John sighed. “You’re right. But in any case, the sooner I tell the wretched headmaster what has happened the better it will be for the girl.”
“So do you plan to return to Kensington tomorrow?”
“It seems as if I will have to.”
Digby looked stolid. “Then I’ll accompany you. I have come back to town to prepare the servants for the investiture but another day without me will make little difference.”
“Is that the ceremony at which John Fielding is to be knighted?”
“The very same. It takes place at the end of the month. Will you be present? Three guests are allowed.”
“No. Those three will be his wife, niece and clerk, I imagine.”
“Which is quite right and proper.”
“Indeed, Sir. Now will you do me the honour of coming to dine? It will be an all male gathering I fear but I would be delighted if you would agree. We shall eat at four o’clock.”
“I should be honoured,” said Digby Turnbull, and having made several purchases and taken John’s personal card, he bowed several times and sauntered from the shop.
The next day brought yet another early start, but not before John had given some money to the resourceful Nicholas
Dawkins and told him to buy Lucinda a dress and apron suitable for a girl in service. Then he had watched as the two of them had left the house together, heading for a dressmaker who ran up clothes in a matter of hours. Something about Lucinda’s small stature and Nicholas’s tall spareness as they walked side by side, she still garbed as a boy, touched his heart and he was pleased when his apprentice extended a hand to guide her across the road.
He had arranged to meet Digby Turnbull, who seemed to have rooms in several royal palaces, at the junction of St. James’s Street and Piccadilly, and for them then to proceed to Kensington via Knight’s Bridge. Fortunately, there being not a great deal of other traffic on the highway, this journey was achieved in excellent time and so John and his companion found themselves deposited outside the Brompton Park Boarding School by Irish Tom at just after ten o’clock in the morning.
It was a magnificent building with a half-moon carriage sweep leading to it, yet the house itself was the other way round, the sweep leading to the back of the place and the central wing and the two adjoining pavilions facing the extensive garden. Yet though the house was wide, nine windows - all large - gracing its facade, it was only two storeys high, there being dormer windows in the roof where the domestics, no doubt, were housed.
A man servant, dressed soberly, answered the door. “I have come to see Mr. Sebastian,” announced Digby Turnbull grandly.
“Do you have an appointment, Sir?”
“No, but you may tell him that I wish to see him regarding Lucas Drummond.”
For a very ordinary looking man, John thought, Mr. Turnbull certainly had an impressive way with him.
“I will discover if he can receive you, Sir.”
“You may tell him from me that if he does not do so I shall place this matter before Mr. John Fielding of Bow Street.”
A voice called from the top of the staircase leading from the round entrance hall. “Show the gentlemen up, Jenkins.”
The Apothecary and his companion exchanged a glance and with a dignified gait started to ascend the stairs.
Mr. Sebastian, who was everything that John disliked, being heavily wigged, heavily jowled and heavily stomached, stood awaiting them at the top, fiddling with his watch chain. Well?” he said.
Digby came straight to the point. “You, Sir, are a jackanapes. A young girl was raped beneath your roof and you have done nothing whatsoever about it.”
The red complexion deepened to purple. “Simply because I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir. How dare you come here uninvited and make false accusations against me.”
John spoke up. “You recently had a pupil called Lucas Drummond in your charge. Is that not so, Sir?”
Mr. Sebastian frowned, pretending, not very convincingly, to be deep in thought.
“Drummond? Drummond? The name’s familiar. I think you’d best step into my study, gentlemen.” He produced a book from his desk. “Ah, yes, here he is. There are two of them, of course. Lucas and Frederick.”
“I rather think you mean were. Lucas - or shall we call him by his real name, Lucinda - ran away yesterday and has put herself under my protection.”
Sebastian went from purple to deep violet. “Under your protection? What rubbish is this? And why are you calling the boy by a girl’s name?”
“For the simple reason he is a girl and you damn well know it.”
He was a good actor, John had to give him that. “Girl! Girl! We do not have girls in this establishment, Sir.”
Digby came in furiously. “You not only had a girl here but you deliberately turned a blind eye to the fact. So much so that the poor creature was raped in her bed the other night by one of your older pupils and was so terrified that she has run away.”
The Apothecary was lost for words. Was it remotely possible, he wondered, that Mr. Sebastian had actually been deceived about Lucinda’s gender? He caught Digby Turnbull’s eye and saw that he was thinking the same thing.
The headmaster continued to speak. “So you say you have the boy in your care?” His voice took on a nasty edge. “And what do you intend doing with him might I ask?”
“If you are hinting what I believe you may be,” John answered, “you can cease to do so forthwith, or the consequences will not be pleasant for you. The creature in my charge is a girl, and before your mind goes down that path as well, I have engaged her as a servant for my wife.”
“For the last time,” growled the headmaster, his cheeks so discoloured he looked fit to have a stroke at any moment, “there are no girls at the Brampton Park Boarding School.”
He had won, there was no doubt about it. By the simple means of denying everything and refusing to budge, Sebastian had silenced them. Inwardly John seethed with rage but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Mr. Turnbull tried one last thrust. “You say you have informed Lucinda’s parents. May I know who they are so that we may write and assure them that all is well with the child.”
“Certainly not,” said the headmaster, rising to his feet to indicate that the interview was at an end. “All such information is strictly confidential. How dare you even ask it, Sir. Now to the practicalities. I want Lucas Drummond handed back into my care within the next twelve hours.”
“That, Sir,” said John, also standing up, “you can sing in the street for. There is no Lucas and as you deny the existance of Lucinda you cannot demand her return. Besides the child is of an age to speak for herself. You can pursue me through the courts if you want to claim her. And then what a pretty can of worms shall be opened. I promise you that I would spare you nothing.”
Mr. Sebastian glared at him. “You have not heard the end of this affair, young man.”
“Neither have you,” said John, “nor has Lucinda’s mother when I finally discover her actual identity.”
Chapter 4
They drove back to town in gloomy silence, both wondering whether they had completely wasted their time. So much so that when they reached The Hercules Pillars, the coaching inn at Hyde Park Corner, its odd name deriving from the fact that it was situated at London’s western limit, as were the rocks guarding the entrance to the Mediterranean, the two men alighted to take refreshment. The hostelry had already been made famous in a novel, Tom Jones, written by Mr. Fielding’s half-brother, Henry. Consequently, sightseers frequently visited the place, some half-believing that Squire Western and his entourage were real people and had actually stayed there. Now, as Digby Turnbull and John Rawlings shouldered their way into the taproom, they found it was as crowded as ever.
There were no seats to be had except for two at the very end of the room, close to a long, low window overlooking Hyde Park. The reason why these had not been taken, John discovered as they drew close, was that a dog, apparently dead, lay beneath, legs aloft, mouth agape, its tongue lolling.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Turnbull mildly.
“It’s here or nowhere,” John answered, looking around.
“Whose is it?”
“Probably wandered in off the street to die, like a wise creature. At least its last moments would have been spent in the warm.”
At that moment, the dog, without moving, voided wind. The Apothecary raised a svelte brow. “So that’s why nobody’s sitting here. It plays dead, then lets rip at all comers.”
“I’ll take my chance with it,” answered Digby. “To stand in this crush would be too much after a morning such as ours.”
A pot boy, sweating profusely and pale with exhaustion. was summoned and went away with their order, glancing miserably at all the other customers demanding his attention.
“I doubt he’ll be back within a half hour.”
“Was it even worth coming in here?”
“Yes, Mr. Rawlings, it was. We were routed this morning, we may as well admit it, so it was necessary for us to withdraw and regroup. And what better place than a warm and cosy inn?”
“If by cosy you mean heaving with humanity, then you’re right. But Sebastian did best us, didn’t he?”
Digby Turnbull had never looked more ordinary or more honest than when he answered, “I have heard it said that to deny all knowledge of an event is an excellent defence. And I can truly say that I, personally, have never seen it better employed. But it is, when all’s said and done, an ostrich’s way.”
“Your meaning, Sir?”
“That the truth will emerge one day; it almost always does. And then he will be worsted for his lies and evasions.”
“I hope you’re right. Do you think he will take this matter further?”
“No, Sir, I don’t. By the way, did you notice that he referred to Lucas/Lucinda’s parents, not just her mother?”
“Yes, but I thought that was a bluff.”
“I wonder,” said Digby thoughtfully.
“Yes,” John answered slowly, “now that you come to mention it, so do I.”
There was a silence during which the dog voided wind again, still without moving. And then the Apothecary’s attention was drawn by two voices, known yet not identifiable, speaking in urgent tones quite close at hand.
“... think I didn’t hear,” said one, female, “then you are mistaken. To anyone with the remotest idea, the innuendo was obvious.”
“But who has the remotest idea?” answered the man. “You are letting your imagination run away with you.”
“Far from it. I’ll swear that one or two members of the company looked at me knowingly.”
“Guilty conscience and guilty conscience alone,” the male voice drawled in reply.
There was a hiss. “You bastard! Never forget that you are not without guilt.”
“But you would never name it.”
“Would I not if I were driven.”
It was at that most interesting moment that the pot boy reappeared, kicking the dog accidentally as he set down two glasses and a jug. The animal, thus disturbed, began to bark furiously, drowning out all other sound. Cursing, John stood up to discover who it was who had been speaking. But he was too late. All he saw was the skirt of a woman’s cloak as she went out of the taproom to the street, and the backview of a man, vaguely familiar.
Digby looked up from pouring the wine. “Was that someone you knew?”
“Yes, but though I recognised their voices I could not place them. Do you know they almost seemed to be blackmailing one another about revealing some terrible truth.”
John’s stolid companion sighed. “That could be virtually anyone in the beau monde. They’re all riddled with corruption. I fear for society, I truly do.”
“You’re right,” the Apothecary answered, taking a draught. “Recent events do not encourage one to have a great deal of faith in human nature.”
“I suppose Lucinda really is a girl,” said Digby rumina- tively.
“She certainly is. I particularly noticed her breasts,” John answered thoughtlessly, then pulled himself up short for being just as base and basic as all the rest.
By the time they left The Hercules Pillars, neither man was feeling as fraught as they had earlier. In fact the glow of good wine was about them as they clambered into the coach. It would seem that Irish Tom had also had the benefit of ale because he set off at a brisk pace and reached Piccadilly in record time, dropping Digby off so that he could walk the short distance to St. James’s Palace.
“When is the investiture?” John asked, as his companion alighted.
“On the 30th September.”
“It should be most impressive.”
“It is a colourful ceremony indeed. Tell
me, how will Mr. Fielding manage? I mean regarding his blindness.”
“His wife, Elizabeth, will walk with him, arm in arm. That is what he does in a place he doesn’t know. Of course he has memorised his home and the courtroom. In those he has only a switch or cane to guide him.”
“He could have been knighted privately, you know.”
“I somehow think that he would not have wanted that. He is a very proud man, is John Fielding.”
“So I have gathered.” Mr. Turnbull paused. “You know him quite well, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“Do you intend to mention the Brompton Park School affair?”
“Yes, I think I will, just in case there are any repercussions. I may as well state my side of the case.”
Digby looked thoughtful. “I wonder just who Lucinda’s mother is.”
“We’ll know one day,” John answered, but did not feel the confidence that his cheerful manner implied.
It seemed that everybody had returned to town, for several letters awaited the Apothecary as he walked into his hall, where they were handed to him before he made his way to the library to read their contents. The first, in flowery hand, was from Miss Chudleigh, announcing that she had returned to court to resume her duties as maid of honour to the Princess of Wales, the young King’s mother. She hoped very much to see him again and entertain him in her apartments. No mention whatsoever was made of Emilia. The Apothecary smiled wryly and threw it on one side, then picked it up again with a thoughtful expression on his face.
The second was from the Blind Beak himself, inviting him to dinner that very day. Suddenly realising that if he was going to accept he had little time in which to prepare, John rang a bell and when a lower footman replied asked him to fetch the head man.
The staff had changed enormously since John’s marriage and Sir Gabriel’s departure to Kensington. Three of the older servants, including the cook, had gone with him, and the arrival of Emilia, complete with her personal maid and a newly employed housemaid to assist, had altered the entire balance of the household, which had once been all male and dominated by footmen, Sir Gabriel, who had never considered his establishment grand enough to employ a steward, had left behind the head footman, Axford, to make sure that the newlyweds’ domestic life ran without a hitch.