by Deryn Lake
John slowed his pace. Who could it have been and what did they want? And had he been right not to tell
Emilia about it? Yet what harm could befall her? She was surrounded by servants and lived the life of a young mother, protected and cherished at all times. He had told Axford, the head footman, about the incident and requested that he check every lock and bolt at night. Further than that, short of reporting the incident to Sir John Fielding, who had far more serious matters to occupy his time, there was nothing the Apothecary could do about it.
“You all right, Sir?” asked Gideon breathlessly.
“Yes, why?”
“You’ve slowed your pace.”
“I was just thinking about something.” And in a rush of confidence John unburdened himself to the boy.
Gideon looked defiant, his fair skin flushing with excitement. “Do you want me to keep watch, Sir? I can sit up all night with a blunderbuss. I’ll blow the bastard’s head off if he comes near.”
John laughed. “It happened a few days ago. It’s just that I was remembering it.”
Gideon looked disappointed. “You know I would, Master.”
John smiled. “I appreciate your loyalty. Perhaps you would double check the locks for me. Axford said he would do them but I think it would be as well for someone to have another inspection.”
The apprentice looked pugnacious. “Consider it done, Sir. I shall check everything last thing at night. Woe betide the man if I catch him.”
“I don’t know that it was a man.”
“But surely no woman would come into the garden late.”
“Why should anyone, if you take my meaning. That’s the puzzle. What did they want?”
“Um …” said Gideon, suddenly very serious.
Rose was up and rushed to the door at the sound of her father’s footsteps. He swept her up into his arms, delighting in her presence, in the smell and feel of her. She would be three next April and was already advanced in speech and behaviour, filling him with intense pride. As yet she was unaware that she was to be presented with a sibling next June and considered John her property. For though she loved her mother, Rose’s main love was for her father. Now she greeted him.
“Papa, I saw Miss Priscilla.”
“Did you, sweetheart? When?”
“When I was out for my walk. She was walking too.” Emilia came to join them and John gave her a fond kiss. “I hear you’ve seen Priscilla.”
“Yes. I was out with the basinette and ran into her. The poor thing is going half-demented with this production of hers.”
John followed her into the parlour, where a good fire burned in the grate.
“What exactly is it she’s doing?”
“Well, it’s something on the lines of a masque, with singing and dancing and music. She has written the story and now it is up to us to act it.”
“And who does she expect in the audience?”
“For a start most of Princess Amelia’s ladies: namely the Countess of Hampshire, Lady Georgiana — she’s in it and the only other young one so you will appreciate how desperate Priscilla is — Lady Featherstonehaugh and Lady Kemp, and Lady Theydon, of course. The men are mostly husbands and hangers on.”
“Hangers on?”
“Well, you know what I mean. Then there’s the young professional actor.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Michael O’Callaghan.”
“Yes, you’re right. I asked her about the King’s Theatre the other night and she admitted that she met him to audition him.”
“Oh, is that what they call it these days.”
“John, don’t be wicked. She was genuinely seeking somebody.”
“I’ll wager she was.”
Emilia looked reproving. “I don’t know what is the matter with you.” She paused, then said, “You don’t like Priscilla, do you?”
He felt he couldn’t lie. “Not a great deal, no. I find her somewhat concerned with herself and her affairs. But that is just me. The important thing is that you like her and she is a good friend to you.”
“Yes, she is,” Emilia answered, just a hint of defiance in her tone. “I am having a great deal of fun rehearsing for the show.”
“Has she adapted it to suit the house in Curzon Street?”
“Yes, but it will not be quite so effective as it would have been at Gunnersbury House. She had planned to have it in the grand saloon there which is situated on the first floor, apparently with magnificent windows. We would have played in front of them with the audience in little chairs in front of us.”
“I see. And is there no saloon as grand in Curzon Street?”
“Not really. It is nothing like as big. Still, the audience will just have to squeeze in tightly.”
John sighed, the idea of being crammed amongst a jostling throng returning. He comforted himself with the thought of his new suit, already ordered. Then he felt guilty and remembered the pleasure the whole enterprise was giving to his wife, and took himself to task for being as self-centred as he had earlier accused Priscilla of being.
He put his arm round Emilia. “Shall we go to the playhouse this evening?”
She blushed a little. “My darling, Priscilla has called a rehearsal for us younger people at four o’clock. Apparently Mr. O’Callaghan cannot get there until then.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Do you mind? I could cancel it, I suppose.”
“Nonsense. Go and enjoy yourself. I’ll be perfectly happy remaining here with Rose.”
“Promise?”
“I do.”
“Then in that case I shall go and change. Priscilla is always so well dressed and I would hate her to think me sloppy.”
But John thought as his wife left the room that he had an urge to go out and wondered whether he might visit the Pandemonium Club. However, he felt slightly weary and not quite up to their activities. Perhaps, he considered, this could be the very night to call on Samuel and Jocasta and see how they were faring. But then came a better idea. A visit to Sir John Fielding, a man nearly always at home because of his disability. He could call on him at Bow Street and discuss old cases. Suddenly feeling cheerful, John went upstairs to change.
Had it really been ten years? John thought, as the hackney coach he had hired rumbled through the darkness towards the tall, thin house in Bow Street. Ten long years with almost as many cases of brutal murder to solve? Yet he knew it had for he had ended his indentures in 1754 and now a decade had passed since he had first glimpsed the house in Bow Street. Then he had been a terrified boy, taken in for questioning before the menacing Blind Beak. Now he was an established apothecary and had become a personal friend of the Fielding family. A great deal had changed indeed in those ten years.
It had been through that very first case that he had come into contact with Coralie Clive. She had saved his life, later he had saved hers, so in a way they owned one another. It had been inevitable that she would become his mistress and eventually marry him. But he had grown tired of her relentless ambition and had suddenly married Emilia Alleyn, never regretting his decision for a moment.
In the hackney’s dark interior John felt himself grow hot, remembering Elizabeth di Lorenzi and the passion he had felt for her even while on his honeymoon. Once, very nearly, he had been on the point of possessing her. Then his marriage vows had stopped him, just as they would now. In fact he was more in love with Emilia today than he had been at the time of his wedding to her. He knew that some of those forced into arranged marriages who claimed it was possible to grow together, were right. He and his wife were becoming more united with the fullness of time.
Peering out through the gloom, John saw the thin house rise before him. Knocking on the roof with his great stick he brought the hackney to a standstill and paid the driver off. Then he looked up at the first floor salon. The curtains were drawn against the night but there were lights on, Sir John Fielding was at home.
Greeting the Court Runner who was manning the Public Offic
e, the Apothecary enquired whether it would be possible to see the great man without an appointment.
“I should think so, Mr. Rawlings. He’s nearly always available for you.”
He whistled up the staircase and a servant called down, “What’s going on?”
“It’s Mr. Rawlings. He’s called to see Sir John but he ain’t got an appointment.”
A face appeared. “Hang on, Mr. R. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
The face withdrew again and John was left to look at the Runner, who was carefully examining a ledger.
“It’s very cold,” he ventured.
“Cold indeed, Sir. Not much crime about, actually.”
“You mean they’re all staying indoors.”
“That’s about it, Sir.”
The footman reappeared. “Come up, Sir, and welcome, Sir John will receive you.”
Gratefully John climbed the stairs to where the family lived above the Public Office and the Court, and was shown into the familiar first floor salon. Here everything was cosy and warm, the light from the fire and candles throwing a red glow over the furniture and walls. But all paled into insignificance beside the figure that sat in a high-backed chair beside the fire. Resplendent in a flowing wig, his powerful features throwing sharp shadows, his eyes covered by a black ribbon which concealed them from the gazes of the curious, sat the Principal Magistrate of London, Sir John Fielding himself.
John bowed as the Blind Beak rose. “Mr. Rawlings, what a pleasure. It has been a while, has it not? My dear fellow, how are you keeping? And your lovely wife?”
“We are all very well, Sir.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. Take a seat, do. Have you dined? If not you must do so with us. I insist.”
“How very kind of you, Sir. I’d be delighted.”
“Meanwhile have some punch.” And without waiting for an answer, the Magistrate rang a bell.
“And how are Lady Fielding and Mary Ann?”
“Both well, though the girl’s a handful. We have more blades and bucks calling here than we have room for. Half the town is in love with her. But she, little madam, will have none of ‘em. I reckon the girl’s holding out for a high position.”
Just as I thought, considered the Apothecary. He cleared his throat. “She is indeed ravishingly pretty, Sir.”
“Old Lord Elibank fell for her and made a fool of himself,” the Beak continued with a slightly hollow laugh. “Why, the poor fellow is old enough to be her grandfather. But that didn’t stop him going for her, cap in hand.”
“And Mary Ann? How did she respond?”
“Spurned him I imagine. Anyway he limped off, very sorry for himself.” John thought that he had been right once more, that Lord Elibank had shown signs of being acutely uncomfortable at Sir Gabriel’s birthday party.
The Blind Beak sighed. “Daughters are a trouble, I assure you.”
John smiled ruefully. “I still have all that lying ahead.”
“Yes. Well, let’s hope that the next one is a boy.”
“I would quite like that, I must admit.”
There was a small knock and the door opened to reveal Elizabeth Fielding, carrying a tray on which was a jug of punch and two glasses.
“May I join you?” she asked.
John had risen to his feet and bowed. Now he said, “It would be a pleasure, Madam.”
“I wondered if you might be discussing something.”
The Magistrate turned his head in her direction. “Only daughters, my love.”
Elizabeth pulled a face. “Daughters indeed. The little cat is out with her maid, gone to visit a female friend. I only pray that they don’t get into any mischief.”
Sir John laughed his tuneful laugh. “Might as well hope that the moon turns black. Anyway, enough of her. We’ll bore our guest. What news from you, Mr. Rawlings?”
It was an odd thing but John, who had no intention of so doing, suddenly found himself telling the Magistrate about the late intruder in the garden.
Sir John listened in total silence, as did his wife. Eventually he said, “So this creature took off when he realised you were watching?”
“Yes. But what puzzles me is his motive. Why stand so silently and stare at my house? What could he hope to gain?”
“Perhaps it was someone from the streets looking for somewhere to sleep.” This from Elizabeth.
Oddly, John found this comforting. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Do you know, you’re probably right. So it was nothing sinister after all.”
But for all that as he hired a hackney coach to take him home and dismounted in Nassau Street, he looked over his shoulder, full of sudden dread.
A coach was approaching and as it turned in from Gerrard Street he saw the familiar figure of Irish Tom on the box. Making a bow, John opened the door and pulled down the step and was rewarded with Emilia’s spectacular smile.
“Oh, John, I didn’t think you were going out. Have you had a good time?”
“Yes, I dined with the Magistrate and his wife. And what about you? How did the rehearsal go?”
“Excellently.” He could smell wine on her breath and smiled to himself. “But you’ll never guess what.”
“What?”
“Lady Theydon has managed it. She has persuaded Princess Amelia that the masque is to take place at Gunnersbury Park. In fact, the Princess is going to keep her Christmas there and is despatching servants tomorrow to heat the place up.”
John opened the front door, feeling the warm air from the hall come to greet him. “But how will this affect you? And Michael O’Callaghan, come to that?” Emilia’s small face took on a slightly worried look. “Ah, that is where you come in.”
“Me?” said John, helping her off with her cloak, then removing his greatcoat.
“Yes, you.”
He took her hand. “Come into the library. Let’s have a drink before we retire. Wine is good in moderation for pregnant women.”
Her guilty expression made him chuckle to himself. “Perhaps I shouldn’t. I have had three glasses tonight.”
“Well, one more won’t hurt you.”
He poured two glasses of claret then returned to his chair by the fire. “Now, how do I come into the grand design?”
Emilia smiled, a fraction nervously. “Priscilla has invited me to stay at Gunnersbury. Just for four days during which time she will rehearse as frequently as possible. Mr. O’Callaghan has also been invited. On the fourth day we will perform for the Princess. Oh, John, do say I can go.”
“Well, of course you can. You have given enough of your time not to drop out now. When is this to be?”
“We, that is Mr. O’Callaghan and myself, are to arrive at Gunnersbury on the eighteenth. We will perform for the Princess on the twenty-second and then you and I can travel back in time for Christmas.” She looked so appealing, her face taking on the childlike look that had always so attracted him.
“And when do the full court go to Gunnersbury?”
“Some time next week. When the servants have got the place habitable.”
“How nice, to walk in when everything is warm and comfortable I mean.”
Emilia sipped her wine. “Well, you do.”
John laughed. “You’re right, of course. I have a very contented life, thanks to you.” He paused, drank a little, then said, “I shall miss you.”
“But it’s only four days, John. For you will come and join me on the fourth.”
“Yes, only four days apart,” he answered, and stared into the flames.
Chapter Five
His advertisement having appeared in The Daily Courant, John’s business did increase slightly. Firstly, ladies appeared in his shop, interested in his perfumes. Secondly, he was called out more to undertake medical duties. Every time he left he worried about leaving the place in the sole charge of Gideon Purle. But so far there had been no cause for complaint.
It seemed to the Apothecary, when he looked back, that during the third wee
k of December he was hardly at home. Leaving the house before it was light and coming back well after the time to dine, sometimes quite tired if there had been a particularly trying patient, he rarely saw his daughter and little of his wife.
“But sweetheart, you cannot go on like this,” Emilia complained.
“It will ease off, I assure you. It’s only the first enthusiasm following the advertisement.”
But they both knew he was lying, that his particular manner, combined with the most effective use of medicines, was finally building his practice up.
“If only Nicholas were still with me,” he said with a sigh.
Yet that was impossible. The Muscovite was successfully running a shop in Kensington and had his own apprentice. That particular door was closed.
John worked on, hardly noticing which day was which, until eventually Emilia said, “You do realise that I leave for Gunnersbury tomorrow.”
“What?”
John’s attention, completely absorbed with a young woman with a terrible attack of loose teeth, snapped back to the present with a jolt.
“I said I am leaving for Gunnersbury House,” Emilia repeated with just a hint of ice in her tone.
“My darling, I had no idea. Truth to tell I’ve been rather taken up with problems. I’m sorry.”
She relented. “Oh, I hate leaving you like this. But I promised to take part and I can’t let Priscilla down. You do understand, don’t you?”
He suddenly, inexplicably, felt deeply depressed. “Must you go?” was out of his mouth before he had time to control it.
“Oh, John! Yes, I must. I gave my word. Irish Tom will drop me then come back and be at your disposal. He will bring you down on the twenty-second. It is all arranged.”