by Deryn Lake
‘But what of you, John?’
‘I am resigned to my fate. But even if I could marry her it would mean giving everything up and going to live in Devon, for she would never come to London.’
‘Why not?’
‘She loves the countryside and the whole way of life. She cannot bear the thought of being a mindless town belle of fashion with nothing to do all day but play cards and gossip.’
‘And could you not open a shop in Exeter?’
The Apothecary smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t know that I could manage it. Remember that I have been brought up in the city and am used to the noise and the stinks. Besides, even if I were to go to her cap in hand she still would not have me. She is fiercely independent.’
‘As are you, my boy. And therein lies the problem I believe.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Two proud people love each other but can never give up their way of life.’ Sir Gabriel steepled his long fingers. ‘But I have said enough. We will discuss the matter no further. Let us drink a toast to my forthcoming grandchild.’
He pulled a long bell cord and when a servant appeared ordered some champagne to be sent up from the cellar. They were in the middle of drinking it when Rose reappeared.
‘Can I speak to Papa now, Grandfather?’
‘Yes, my darling, you certainly can.’
With his daughter perched on his knee and drinking a toast to the child that was to come, John felt totally happy. But then he thought of the mystery of seeing Jemima and Lucinda walking along together and tried to find a logical explanation for it. What had Miss Lovell been doing in Lewes? Admittedly Mrs Silverwood had said she lived in that area but the dark young lady had given no such reason. It was a great puzzle which was possibly connected with the murder of William Gorringe.
Rose said, ‘You’re very quiet, Papa. Are you thinking something?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘What about?’
‘About something that happened while I was away. I am sorry that I can’t discuss it with you but one day I will talk to you about everything.’
‘When will that be?’
‘When you are sixteen,’ John answered, plucking a figure out of the air.
She counted on her fingers. ‘Another eleven years to wait.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
She turned an enquiring face to him. ‘Tell me about Mrs Elizabeth, Papa.’
He hesitated, wondering what to say, but it was Sir Gabriel who stated in a perfectly normal voice, ‘She is going to have a baby, Rose. A little brother or sister for you.’
The child looked surprised. ‘I don’t quite understand.’
John wished that his father had not started going down this particular path, determining not to tell Rose any more than she could comprehend.
‘I am the baby’s father, sweetheart. That is how it will be your brother or sister.’
‘I see,’ she answered, though it was clear that she did not really. ‘When will he be coming?’
‘In February,’ John answered, ‘though we cannot be certain that it is a boy.’
‘I think it is,’ she answered, and gave John a smile which had such traces of his late wife in it that it tore at his heart.
Rose got to the ground. ‘I shall go and prepare a painting for him.’
‘How very thoughtful of you,’ Sir Gabriel answered.
‘He will be delighted with that,’ John added, but when she had left the room he turned to his father, ‘Why did you have to tell her that, Papa?’
‘What precisely?’
‘That Elizabeth is going to have a baby.’
‘My dear child, should Rose see the lady – at Christmas-time or whatever – she will notice at once. One cannot keep such things from young and bright minds like that with which my grandchild has been blessed.’
John grinned. ‘You’re right, of course. And perhaps we will all keep Christmas in Devon, including you, Sir.’
Sir Gabriel looked pleased. ‘I am delighted that at last I shall have the chance of meeting the woman who has had so profound an effect on you. And I shall also have the opportunity of visiting my old friend Sir Clovelly Lovell. Thank you for including me.’
John nodded, hoping madly that Elizabeth would agree to them descending on her at the festive season. Then he changed the subject.
‘I haven’t told you this before but there was trouble on the journey down.’
‘Of what nature?’
‘A murder,’ John answered succinctly, and proceeded to relate to his father the whole story, including his recent visit to Lewes, his sighting of the amazing Vinehurst Place and the spellbinding effect it had had upon him, and finally his seeing the two women – whom he had not realized were even connected to one another – walking through the fog together.
Sir Gabriel sat in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Perhaps they formed a friendship through the coach journey and arranged to see each other again.’
‘I suppose it is possible but it is also highly unlikely.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Miss Lovell was working at Lady Sidmouth’s making hats and headdresses for the ball which she is about to give. And Mrs Silverwood was at her daughter’s helping with the birth of her first grandchild.’
‘So not much chance to communicate, eh?’
‘None at all I would say.’
‘Then I agree with you. It’s damnable odd. Are you going to see John Fielding about it?’
‘Yes, I shall go tomorrow. And on the following day I must leave once more. I promised Elizabeth that I would return in time for Lady Sidmouth’s rout.’
‘Why don’t you take Rose with you?’
‘I would like to but I feel it would be wrong of me without seeking the Marchesa’s permission first.’
‘A good reply. Now, my son, let us stretch our legs a little before the hour to dine. Where shall we walk to?’
‘To Shug Lane, if it is not too great a step for you, Sir.’
‘My dear child, I shall go there with ease. And, of course, the assistance of my cane.’
In his absence and now that Nicholas Dawkins, his former apprentice, had married and gone to live in the delightful village of Chelsea, John had appointed a retired apothecary to come and run his shop for him. And as John entered the premises in Shug Lane the other man came from the compounding room, a slight frown upon his face. His name was Jeremiah de Prycke and as soon as he saw who it was he changed his expression to one of a somewhat forced grin. That is his facial muscles contorted leaving his eyes unsmiling, a pale china blue and slightly bolting. He wore a long black gown and a hat, even though the day was warm, and he bowed low on seeing John.
‘Mr Rawlings. How are you? I was not expecting you back quite so soon.’
‘I am very well, thank you Mr de Prycke. And how has young Gideon been behaving himself?’
Behind Jeremiah’s back John’s apprentice could be seen pulling the most terrible faces and making an obscene gesture.
‘Oh, well enough,’ Jeremiah answered in a voice that suggested that Gideon had conducted himself appallingly.
Sir Gabriel said drily, ‘What excellent news. I am delighted to hear it.’
Jeremiah who, most unfortunately, had far more hair upon his chin than on his head, waggled his straggly white beard.
‘Oh well, taking into consideration his youth, you know.’
‘Mr Rawlings,’ protested Gideon, ‘I am eighteen years old. And I have been out adminstering all the clysters which Mr de Prycke considers not his province. I truly can say that I have behaved to the best of my ability.’
Jeremiah turned on him pettishly. ‘Did I not say so, you silly boy.’
John intervened. ‘Have you been called out a good deal, Mr de Prycke?’
‘Quite a lot, yes. Mostly by people with imaginary ailments. Time wasters all.’
‘Really? You do surprise me. The majority of patients I tend are genuinely in need.’
‘To be honest with you, Sir, I prefer the country. There are far too many people in London for my liking. As you know, I live quietly in Islington. But even that is not far enough away for me.’
‘You should go to an island in the Atlantic ocean,’ Gideon muttered to himself.
‘What was that?’
‘I said London is noisy and full of commotion.’
Mr de Prycke looked annoyed and his hat slipped sideways slightly revealing a few straggles of wispy white hair and a completely bald pate. He turned to John.
‘Are you back permanently, Sir? Are my days with you finished?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. I must return to Devon and will probably be away another two weeks . . .’
Behind Jeremiah’s back Gideon mimed hanging himself.
‘. . . so if it is no trouble I would ask you to continue covering for me.’
‘I shall enquire of my landlady whether she can continue to rent me a room. It is far too far to travel in from Islington every day, you see.’
‘I do hope that I am not causing you any trouble.’
Mr de Prycke looked winsome, or at least made an effort to do so by drawing his mouth in tightly and forcing a roguish expression into his eyes.
‘Not at all, Sir. Not at all.’
When the Apothecary considered how much he was paying him, he did not feel quite so guilty. In fact he did not feel guilty in the least when he studied the expression on Gideon’s face. He addressed himself to his apprentice.
‘I would like you to take as many calls as you can, Gideon. It will be excellent practice for you. Do you not agree, Mr de Prycke?’
‘Well, there are certain commissions . . .’
‘Certain, yes. But I want the boy to get as much experience as possible. Besides it will get him out from under your feet.’
‘There will be some advantages admittedly.’
‘Then I am sure you will pursue them,’ said John vigorously. He motioned to Sir Gabriel. ‘Are you ready to return home, Sir?’
‘I am, my son.’ The old man made a slight bow in Mr de Prycke’s direction and was rewarded with a salutation that set Jeremiah’s gown billowing like a sail.
‘So delighted to meet you, Sir Gabriel.’
‘Indeed.’
Out in the street Sir Gabriel turned to John. ‘What a beastly creature. I do hope that he is not upsetting Gideon too much.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. He reminds me of something that one would see peering at one from deep in the sea.’
‘A crab?’
‘Possibly. I was thinking more on the lines of a squid.’
‘Good gracious. Well, I shall keep an eye on young Purle and make sure that he is not suffering too greatly.’
‘Thank you, Father. Please write to me if there is any trouble.’
‘I will most certainly.’
That night John went to bed early and fell into a deep sleep. But he woke in the small hours and thought of how he had once shared this bed with Emilia. And even though he now loved Elizabeth he knew that Emilia held a very special place in his heart. In the darkness he spoke to her.
‘My darling, I miss you. I know you will understand me falling in love again. But be assured that you are and always will be very special to me.’
Was it his imagination or did he feel himself suddenly grow warmer as if a pair of loving arms had enfolded him? Whatever it was, the Apothecary felt strangely comforted and slept peacefully once more.
Fourteen
John thought that if he had been given a guinea for every time he had visited Sir John Fielding’s salon on the first floor of the tall, thin house in Bow Street, he would be a wealthy man by now. As he climbed the twisting staircase he felt that he knew every stair and every turn. It was dark and the Beak Runner in the Public Office had given him a candle the better to see his way up but as he approached the door it was flung open and the figure of Joe Jago, silhouetted against the brightness of the room behind, stood waiting for him.
‘My very dear Joe,’ said John, ‘how wonderful to see you again.’
‘And you too, Sir,’ said the other man, and welcomed him into the salon.
Inside it was all cheer and brightness – the curtains drawn, the fire blazing, the light of many candletrees illuminating the polished furniture. The only thing missing was the Blind Beak himself.
‘He’s still in court, Sir,’ said Joe. ‘Finishing off a difficult case. He shouldn’t be too long.’
John hovered. ‘May I sit down?’
‘Of course you can. Goodness me. You’re almost one of the family.’
‘And where are Lady Fielding and Mary Anne?’
‘They are out visiting friends. May I offer you some refreshment, Sir?’
John had dined only an hour before, taking the meal early in order to eat with Rose, who had a very long face about her as it was her father’s last night in London.
‘I promise I will be back in two weeks’ time, sweetheart,’ the Apothecary had said in order to reassure her.
‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Papa.’
‘I must say goodbye to Mrs Elizabeth, darling.’
‘I see.’
Sir Gabriel had interrupted. ‘Would you rather be driven by Irish Tom, John? I am sure that Rose and I can manage without him for a fortnight or so.’
‘No, Sir. I know you use him daily. Besides I will try and get a flying coach this time. It should be quicker.’
‘As you wish, my boy.’
Now the Apothecary looked up at Joe. ‘I dined recently so a small port would be very welcome.’
Jago poured out two glasses and sat down opposite John, noticeably leaving the Blind Beak’s chair vacant.
‘So how are things going with you, Sir?’
John peered into the depths of his glass. ‘I am to be a father again, Joe.’
‘Ah,’ came the slightly nonplussed reply.
John looked up. ‘The mother is Lady Elizabeth, the Marchesa di Lorenzi. I have repeatedly asked her to marry me but she refuses point blank.’
‘Oh dear! I don’t quite know what to say, Mr Rawlings. I am rather inexperienced in these matters.’
The Apothecary gave him a look of much fondness, thinking to himself that as far as he knew Joe Jago had never been married and had not had a great deal of contact with the opposite sex.
‘It is an unusual situation I admit. But then Elizabeth is a highly unusual woman, Joe.’
‘I agree with you there, Sir. But on the odd occasions I have met her I always found her pleasant enough. I’ll never forget how kind she was to you at the time of Mrs Rawlings’s death.’
‘She was more than kind, Joe. I think she saved my life. That is, that you and she saved it between you.’
The clerk flushed beneath his red hair, ill concealed by an old and tired wig. ‘I did what I could, Mr Rawlings. That is all.’
The Apothecary could have wept for the goodness of people around him but fortunately at that moment they heard a familiar heavy tread on the stairs and both men stood up. Joe went to the door and as it was thrown open, called out, ‘Mr Rawlings is here to see you, Sir,’ and the Blind Beak came into the room.
The man was now forty-six years old and stood well over six feet tall. As well as being of great height he was also well built so that his physical presence, to say nothing of his persona, filled the room. He wore a long and somewhat old-fashioned wig of curling white hair which hung to his shoulders, accentuating his nose and his full and passionate mouth. He had pushed up the black ribbon he always wore over his eyes so that they were exposed, closed as usual, beneath a pair of jet black, rather heavy, brows. But his hands – this evening carrying a cane to help him find his way – were beautiful, long and slender, almost feminine in their s
hape and delicacy. On his little finger the Magistrate wore a gold ring with an amethyst which glistened in the light.
As always John bowed. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Sir.’
‘My dear Mr Rawlings, how nice to hear your voice. Take a seat do.’
Because he knew the room so well, the blind man made his way without difficulty to the great chair which stood beside the fireplace. Lowering his frame into it, he turned his head to Joe.
‘Jago, fetch me a drink, there’s a good chap. I feel wretchedly depressed.’
‘Why, Sir, if I may ask?’ said John.
‘Because I have news from my contact in Paris that that devil Wilkes is thinking of returning to England. He’ll make trouble, mark my words.’
Into John’s pictorial memory came a list of the members of the Hell-Fire Club with Wilkes’s name prominent among them. That is until the man had fallen out with Sir Francis Dashwood, the founder, and had been barred from attending. Now he was in voluntary exile in France having been expelled from the House of Commons and convicted in the Court of King’s Bench for printing and publishing issue Number 43 of the North Briton – in which he had libelled George III – together with Wilkes’s pornographic ‘Essay on Woman’. He had four years previously come face-to-face with Sir John Fielding and demanded that the Magistrate issue a warrant against the Secretaries of State for theft of papers from his house. The Blind Beak had denied the request, knowing full well that the papers had been officially seized.
‘You refuse me, Sir,’ Wilkes had shouted, ‘then you too shall hear from me!’
It had been an empty threat but the news that the man was thinking of returning from France quite clearly made Sir John ill at ease.
‘But let us not waste good conversation on that universal hound,’ said the Magistrate now. ‘A health to you, Mr Rawlings. Tell me, how is the world using you?’
‘Sir, I have become involved in a murderous situation,’ answered John.
‘Tell me of it.’ And Sir John Fielding sat back in his chair, put his head against the cushioned mat and listened while the Apothecary told him the story of his journey to Devon and all that had transpired since. Eventually he spoke.