by Deryn Lake
As arranged, they left town early and had reached Kensington by the time those members of the beau monde who had residences nearby were first stirring in their beds. John turned to Emilia.
“Do you think I dare call on Miss Chudleigh?”
“At this hour?”
“That’s partly the reason. If she is concealing Lucinda and her brother in the house, then I might catch them unawares.”
“But you can’t ask to search the place. You haven’t the right to do that.”
“No. But I might find the children at breakfast, or hear them moving about. I think it’s worth incurring her wrath. The only thing is, what excuse can I make?”
Emilia’s angelic features hardened and she suddenly looked extremely cynical. “My darling, an attractive male would not need an excuse to call on Miss Chudleigh, particularly, I imagine, when she is deshabille.”
John looked shocked. “You have a wicked mind. Such a thought would never have occurred to me.”
“Much! Now make your call. I’ll go on and take breakfast with your father.”
In the event, Emilia was uncannily correct. Having been informed by a footman that Miss Chudleigh was not yet up, the Apothecary sent in his card. A few moments later the man reappeared and said that the mistress would receive the visitor after all - in her bedchamber. This was a custom often adopted by the London belles of fashion, where it was considered chic to entertain from one’s bed, but the very thought of it made John feel decidedly nervous as he followed the servant up the curving staircase and along a fine and spacious landing.
Miss Chudleigh, scantily clad about the shoulders and breast but wearing a great deal of cleverly applied make-up, reclined against lace pillows, her hair covered by a pretty cap trimmed with blue satin bows. In her hand she held a bone china cup, from which she sipped delicately. She looked at John over the rim, the enormous eyes artless.
“Mr. Rawlings, to what do I owe this honour?”
“I was passing and came in on the spur of the moment,” he answered truthfully.
“Really? Just to see me? I feel flattered indeed.”
Oh God, he thought, I just hope she doesn’t try to drag me into bed with her. He forced a smile. “Of course to see you, dear lady.”
“May I ask why?”
John attempted to look roguish. “Perhaps I wanted to discover if you are as beautiful in the morning as you are the rest of the time.”
Elizabeth Chudleigh gave a silvery laugh and patted the bed beside her. “Come and sit down.”
“I’ll take a chair if you don’t mind.”
She pouted. “Why?”
“Perhaps I don’t trust myself,” John answered and raised a brow, wondering whether he looked as anxious as he felt.
Miss Chudleigh’s hands began to play idly with the bow at the top of her nightgown. “I should have you thrown out, Sir.”
“I’ll try to behave myself, I promise.” Before she could answer, the Apothecary lifted his head as if he were listening to something.
“What is it?” asked his companion.
“I thought I heard children’s voices.”
“There are no children here, Mr. Rawlings.”
“A pity,” said John musingly, and leaned back in the chair. folding his hands behind his head, and giving her what he hoped was a smouldering glance. “You would have made such a beautiful mother. I have a theory that all lovely people should have a child and leave their perfection behind them on the earth.”
“How poetic.”
“Possibly so, but would you not agree with the sentiment?”
She changed the subject, rather significantly he thought. “Would you like some champagne? I believe that a glass or two in the morning is extremely beneficial for the health.”
“You may well be right. Yes, I would love some.”
Miss Chudleigh pulled a bell rope hanging conveniently over the bed. “Now, you are to stay where you are until the servants are dismissed. I would not wish you and I to be the subject of gossip.”
“Perish the thought.” John moved his head again. “Are you sure there are no children in the house?”
“No, definitely not. The wind must be bearing the sound from the school close by.”
“The Brompton Park Boarding School. Lucinda Drummond, the girl I mentioned to you, attended that place dressed as a boy.”
“How shocking.”
“Indeed. What is even worse is that she was raped there.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“It’s true enough. Do you know, for a while I believed her to be George Go ward’s daughter, then I thought perhaps she was yours.”
Miss Chudleigh went very white but her predicament was saved by the arrival of a footman. For one terrible moment John thought that she was going to give orders for his physical removal but she merely ordered champagne, a bucket of ice and two glasses. He could not help but notice that she pulled the bed coverings high, hiding her provocative neckline while the servant was in the room, but that as soon as the man had gone Miss Chudleigh slipped the coverlet down again.
“Is this not a truly glorious autumn?” she said, her colour restored, her eyes wide with innocence.
The ruthless side of the Apothecary’s nature gained control. This was the moment, he thought, to regain the advantage and risk being manhandled out. “So Georgiana Goward and Lucinda are not one and the same person?”
Miss Chudleigh looked decidedly impatient. “Why are we talking about this girl? I’ve told you for once and for all that I do not know her.” She stared at John angrily, the lovely eyes hard as steel.
“Forgive me. London society thrives on gossip as well you know. Cruel though it is, rumour reached my ears that you had secretly given birth to a child, and as the wretched Lucinda told me that her mother was one of the most beautiful members of the beau monde, the exquisite to end them all, I cannot be blamed for supposing it to be yourself.”
This was a total falsehood but well worth the telling as Miss Chudleigh’s lips parted and her eyes widened.
“I think you flatter me, Mr. Rawlings. But no, the girl is not mine. I wonder who this paragon mother can be.”
“I have been trying to find out for days with absolutely no success. So the rumours about you are not true? I find it hard to credit that you obtained that sparkling loveliness without knowing the bloom of motherhood.”
He was flattering her so hard he thought his tongue was going to fall out, yet she was vain to a degree that was incalculable.
“Do you truly find me beautiful?”
“Exquisite.”
“You have seen very little of me.”
Help, here comes the seduction, the Apothecary thought. He stood up and crossed to the window. “One can imagine.”
There was a knock on the door and servants with traysappeared, setting everything down with a flourish. “Would you like me to pour, Madam?”
“No, Mr. Rawlings can do that. And Merrill…”
“Yes, Madam?”
“Pray see to it that I am not disturbed for a while.”
“Very good, Madam. But what if the Duke should call?”
“That is a different matter.”
John, who had remained staring out over the grounds, now turned to look at her and audibly gasped. Nudity was clearly something from which Miss Chudleigh did not shy. She was out of bed, standing stark naked and smiling at him impudently.
“Was it true that you once went to a masked ball wearing nothing but your mask?” he asked, gulping.
“I believe I had on three fig leaves.”
“I won’t ask where they were placed.”
“There, there and there.” She pointed.
“You’re perfect,” he said. “But then you know that.”
“Well, Apothecary, have I ever had a child?”
“If you have, there is not a mark on you to show it.”
She smiled at him, her face cat-like. “When I went to that ball I had given bir
th only two years previously.”
Her vanity had trapped her. Here was the truth at last.
“So you are a mother?” Her smile broadened and she nodded slowly. “Where is the child now?”
“He died in infancy. It was not… convenient… for me to raise him so I put him into the care of foster parents, and there he perished.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Of course. Why should I lie to you? I can assure you that my little boy has nothing to do with this girl you are looking for. He has been gone these fourteen years past. But let us speak of more pleasant things. Talk of death makes me sad. Mr. Rawlings, do you find me attractive?”
She had crossed the space between them and had woven her arms round his neck.
“Very,” John gasped, not at all sure where to put his hands.
“Well then,”
“Well then what?”
“Why don’t you show me how much?”
“I am a married man.”
Miss Chudleigh gave a careless laugh. “I’ve never known that stop anyone before.”
“Not even an apothecary?” asked John wildly.
She looked surprised. “Why should they be any different?”
“Because we regard all people as our patients and therefore treat them with respect.”
“Rubbish,” she answered roundly, and giving him a hearty push backwards onto the bed, leapt on top of him, nuzzling his face between her breasts.
Momentarily, John knew what it must be like to drown, then he was saved by an urgent knocking on the door. With a hiss of rage, Elizabeth got to her feet, pulling a wrap around her.
“What is it?” she called angrily.
“Madam, the Duke is here. I told him you were still sleeping and he is taking coffee below.”
“Oh, merciful Heavens.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Mr. Rawlings, you must leave at once. Turn right out of my door and you will come to a back staircase. Then you must go through the kitchens and out that way.”
“But…”
“No buts. I cannot have the Duke upset.”
“Very well.” John decided to make a good exit. Bowing low, he kissed her hand. “What can I say, Madam, but thank you for the pleasure that wasn’t quite mine. Good day to you.”
With that he snatched up his cloak and hat and hurried from the room, wondering in a wicked little part of his mind whether he was sad or glad that the Duke of Kingston had arrived just in the nick of time.
“So the lady has had a child, has she?” asked Sir Gabriel, dressed for strolling into the village with his daughter-in- law and son.
“Yes, but as I said to you, I do not believe it to have any bearing on Lucinda’s disappearance. Nicholas was wrong. I’m sure of it. Somebody else is the girl’s mother.”
“But who?”
“George Goward’s first wife?” asked Emilia.
“Um,” said her husband and fingered his chin. “Why is that man omnipresent?” he asked after a while.
“What do you mean?”
“I pick up a runaway and out of the kindness of my heart offer her a position in my home. That should have nothing to do with the case in hand, namely Goward’s murder. Yet somehow, time and again, I come up with the idea that the two things are connected.”
“If Lucinda is his daughter, then they most certainly are.”
“But she said her mother was highly placed in society, and according to Digby Turnbull Goward’s wife died when the girl was bom.”
“Supposing he was wrong, or lying,” said Emilia, in a voice that she used especially when she was talking of mysterious things. “Supposing she left Devon and became a member of the beau monde. What then?”
“I think another chat with Turnbull is indicated at this stage,” put in Sir Gabriel. “He’s in Kensington. I saw him last night. I shall invite him to dine with us.”
“Father,” said John, “how do you always manage to come up with the right answer?
Sir Gabriel smiled. “My dear child, it is just a matter of age and experience. And don’t you grin at me like that, young man. Just because you are preparing for fatherhood doesn’t grant you immunity from your own parent.”
Emilia intervened. “Let us stroll forth. I need to breathe some fresh air again. London’s streets become more noxious by the second.”
“Allow me to offer you my arm,” said Sir Gabriel gallantly. “It is very good for my reputation to be seen walking out with a beautiful woman.”
“Even one who is growing rounder by the day?”
“It is at that time that they are the most beautiful of all.”
They set forth for The Cold Bath, a short, pleasant walk from their house, and there sat down in the small tea garden attached. Though nothing like the Peerless Pool in London, the Bath offered an invigorating swim for those hardy enough to brave itswaters. John had been in on several occasions, though never lingering long, but today, feeling the need to plunge into icy water after his extraordinary encounter with Miss Chudleigh, he left Sir Gabriel and Emilia drinking coffee and eating buns oozing with butter, and went to the bath house.
The attendant taking money and handing out towels, looked dubious. “Bit crowded in there today, Sir. Might be worth waiting a while. Got the boys from the Brompton Park School in.”
The Apothecary hesitated, not particularly enjoying packed swimming pools but knowing that his father and wife would not want to linger too long, particularly as they had a dinner guest.
“I’ll just have a quick plunge.”
“It’s your choice, Sir.”
Within the bath house, which was small indeed in comparison with the cold bath at the Peerless Pool, was a heaving mass of juvenile humanity, yelling with one voice as it took to the water. John, clad in drawers and shivering slightly, hesitated on the brink, wondering if he had been foolish even to contemplate such a venture. Then a hand made contact with the small of his back and the next second he was gasping as he plunged beneath the surface into water so bitter that it would not have disgraced a polar sea. Fighting his way upwards, John’s head broke free and he panted in air, only to feel something wrap itself round his feet and pull him downwards again. Dragged into the icy depths, the Apothecary kicked wildly.
It seemed that no one was taking any notice of the struggle going on in their midst, and it occurred to John that this was no more than a schoolboy prank, that his life was not actually in danger. But for all that he fought wildly to free himself from the hands that had now reached up and were grabbing at his waist. Then the full import of what was happening dawned on him. It was a jape for sure, for the assailant was undoing his drawers and pulling them off. In front of all those horrible children, John was faced with the prospect of climbing out of the bath, cods naked.
His head came above water again and with a mighty effort he reached down and grabbed the hair of the little beast who had attacked him. Tugging viciously as he felt his drawers finally depart, John hauled with all his strength and up came the spluttering face, pustules and all, of Lord Arnold Courtney.
“I might have guessed,” said John and pushed the boy down again, holding him under till it was no longer safe to do so, then pulling him up once more.
“Right,” the Apothecary continued, “answer a question or I’ll drown you.”
“Damn you,” said the boy, and kicked in the direction of John’s privy parts. Then he called, “Help” to his peers, who ignored him and continued to scream at one another about the temperature.
John’s fingers closed on the boy’s neck. “So you want to be rough, do you?”
Arnold shook his head, unable to speak. The Apothecary released his grip very slightly.
“The other day I asked you about Lucas Drummond and when I did so you went white as a sail. You knew damned well that he was a girl, didn’t you? And shall I tell you why? Because you were the one who took advantage of her and caused her to run away in the first place. That’s why your brother was beating you, wasn’t it?”
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Arnold drew in breath, then sneered. “So what if I did? She was more than willing.”
The Apothecary’s grip tightened once more. “She predicted you’d say that. Well, my fine friend, I intend to call on your brother and confirm his suspicions about you. Then I shall leave you to his tender mercies.”
“I care nothing for him.”
“Next time there might not be anyone there to intervene. Think about it. Now, do you want to go under water again or are you going to tell me where she’s gone?”
Arnold shook his head. “I don’t know and that’s the truth. She stole Fred out by dead of night, then vanished. I swear it.”
He wasn’t lying, John felt sure of it, but he pushed him under again for good measure, then with as much gravity as he could muster, hauled himself out and made a stately progress to the changing booths, attempting to close his ears to the cheers and catcalls of the pupils of the Brompton Park Boarding School as he made a dignified exit.
Digby Turnbull shook his head. “But surely,” he said, “Hannah Goward must have died to enable George to marry Lady Mary. I mean, he couldn’t have committed bigamy, could he?”
“I suppose anything is possible. After all, the West Country is a long way away. News might never have spread to London,” John answered.
“I don’t agree with you. It only needs one letter, one visitor, for the story to come out.”
“Mr. Turnbull has a good point. We live in a small world. It is difficult to conceal anything these days, John,” added Sir Gabriel.
The Apothecary smiled feebly, thinking of Elizabeth di
Lorenzi still hidden away in Devon and no one aware of her existence. “You’re probably right,” he said.
The three men were sitting at port, Emilia having retired to another room to read for a while before she went to bed, and it had been John’s father who had steered the conversation round to the death at St. James’s Palace. Not that there had been any reluctance on the part of their guest, who seemed more than anxious to catch up with the state of affairs.
“I am amazed that the case remains unsolved,” he said now.
“I doubt it ever will be. Nobody seems to have seen the moment when he was pushed, or won’t admit to it,” the Apothecary answered gloomily. “Besides there are so many people with a hearty dislike of George Goward - Mr. and Miss Witherspoon to name but two. As well as those who had no respect for him - Jack Morocco and Miss Chudleigh amongst the foremost. Anyway, with all those suspects, who to choose without more evidence?”