by Deryn Lake
‘Why so secret?’ Lord Delaney went on, running a narrowed eye over the Apothecary, and obviously not missing the fact that he was both young and attractive looking.
‘Because I did not wish you to think I was ill, my love,’ Sarah continued in the same patient voice.
‘Humph,’ said his Lordship.
‘My Lord,’ put in John, bowing again. ‘I see that my presence disturbs you and I will take my leave. However, I trust that you will allow me to prescribe for Lady Delaney. So large and well grown a baby with so delicate a mother will need all the help that my physick can give them.’
He had dragged the old fellow’s attention away from jealous thoughts at last. ‘What’s that you say?’
‘I said that your son – if son it be, for I have not yet made the test – is large, while your wife is small. Therefore it is my duty as an apothecary to ease her symptoms and to treat her as best I can.’
‘Test?’ said Lord Delaney, his mouth opening slightly. ‘Did you say test?’
John shrugged a careless shoulder. ‘There is an ancient belief that the swinging of a pendulum over the abdomen of a pregnant woman will reveal the sex of the unborn child. Of course, there is probably nothing to it. However, many parents enjoy this innocuous practice, more for a joke than anything else.’
At last Lord Delaney stepped into the room from his hovering position in the doorway, revealing himself as a handsome man, probably aged about seventy, very expensively dressed and wigged and keeping a good figure for his years. His vision, though, had obviously let him down and he wore a pair of magnifying glasses upon his nose, behind which his eyes appeared as big as decorative buttons and decidedly glassy. In a way, John thought, this gave Sarah’s husband a rather vulnerable look which she probably found endearing.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said now, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. ‘Should we indulge in this harmless foolery?’
‘Why not?’ she answered with relief, obviously aware that he had accepted the Apothecary’s presence as innocent. ‘Does it really work, Mr Rawlings?’
‘It is a method used in the country, I believe, to sex unborn calves and lambs.’
‘So what kind of pendulum do you require?’
‘Your wedding ring suspended on a piece of your hair would do well.’
Without further ado Lady Delaney pulled out a hair, grimacing as she got two rather than one, and threaded her wedding band on to it. ‘There!’
‘Now lie back on the sofa.’
She did so and John, leaning forward, hung the motionless ring over her rounding belly.
‘What is supposed to happen?’ asked Lord Delaney, whispering as if he were witnessing some magical art.
‘If the ring goes in a clockwise direction, the child is a boy. If it swings counterclockwise, Lady Delaney is carrying a girl.’
‘And how do I know that you will not swing it one way or t’other yourself?’
‘By conducting this experiment in person,’ John replied with an exasperated sigh, and handed the ring to the older man.
After a few moments of absolute stillness, the wedding band swung clockwise, quite definitely so. ‘A boy, Sir,’ said the Apothecary drily. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Oh Arthur!’ Sarah exclaimed, jumping up and putting her arms round her husband’s neck.
‘An heir!’ he cried in triumph, and burst into tears.
‘Would you like me to confirm that?’ asked John, who by now was in an evil mood, partly caused by intense fatigue and hunger, and partly by irritation with the world at large.
‘Oh yes, yes,’ yelled Lord Delaney ecstatically..
‘Very well,’ said John, and leaning forward dropped a coin between Sarah’s delectable breasts, of which he had a momentary enchanting glimpse. ‘And which side did it fall, Madam?’
‘Why, to the right.’
‘Then you are most definitely expecting a son.’
Lord Delaney wept afresh while Sarah crossed to the bell rope and tugged it. ‘This calls for merrymaking, I am sending for some champagne.’
‘But of course,’ said Arthur. He threw his arm round John’s shoulders. ‘My dear young friend, you have made me the happiest man in London.’
Actually, the Apothecary thought cynically, it was Jasper Harcross who did that. Aloud he said, ‘I am mightily pleased to hear it, Sir.’
‘I trust you will stay for supper?’
‘That would be very pleasant. I have been so busy today I haven’t had time to eat since breakfast.’
“Zounds, I did not know an apothecary led such a hectic life.’
‘I am very popular, Sir. I have quite a reputation for my strengthening potions. In fact older gentlemen come from far and wide.’
‘Really?’ said Lord Delaney, looking interested.
‘Really,’ answered John, and took a sip of the champagne which a discreet servant had poured for him.
Five minutes later he was asleep in the chair by the fire, the combination of wine and weariness having taken their inevitable course.
‘What a charming boy,’ said Lord Delaney, looking down at John’s slumbering form. ‘What was that he was saying about our son being large for his age?’
‘He thought the child may be born prematurely. I might have no more than a seven month pregnancy.’
‘Well, all the Delaneys are big men,’ his Lordship said proudly. ‘I am the exception to the rule, alas.’
‘You are the dearest husband in the world,’ answered Sarah, tweaking his nose and draining her glass simultaneously. She held it out for a refill and then raised it to make a toast. ‘To you, darling, and to our boy. And also to Mr Rawlings, such a very charming – and clever – young man!’
Chapter Twelve
So delighted was Lord Delaney with the young apothecary whom he now considered not only to be a genius but also his protégé, that he sent him home in one of the Delaney coaches, especially brought round from nearby Bruton Mews. After this, having slept most of the way, John fell wearily into bed. But the next morning he made up for his day without food by consuming another heroic breakfast, at which Sir Gabriel raised thin eyebrows.
‘My dear child,’ he commented, ‘anyone would think you are starving near to death during your working hours.’
‘I am,’ John answered, his mouth full, and he regaled his father with a detailed description of the previous day’s exploits.
Sir Gabriel listened in silence, sipping coffee from a bone china cup. ‘So whose is the child?’ he said eventually. ‘Surely not James Martin’s?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he would never have entrusted Jasper Harcross with the task of removing the boy from the Foundling Hospital. No, my wager would be on the victim himself as the father.’
‘Then why the handkerchief initialled J.M.? And the subsequent loving care and attention?’
‘Perhaps he just felt sorry for the child.’
‘But that doesn’t explain why it should have been Mr Martin who abandoned him at the gates.’
‘If he did. Perhaps the handkerchief was purely coincidental and was dropped by a passer-by.’
The Apothecary frowned. ‘There are too many coincidences for my liking. There has to be a thread in this somewhere.’
‘I’m sure there is,’ answered Sir Gabriel. ‘Perhaps a surprise visit to Mrs Martin might not come amiss.’
John groaned. ‘The very thought makes me shudder.’
His father clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Be of stout heart, my lad. She is obliged to answer your questions or face the Beak.’
‘I think even he, the great John Fielding, might quail in her presence.’
‘I doubt it,’ Sir Gabriel replied naughtily. ‘Remember, he has the advantage of not being able to see.’
‘You’re incorrigible,’ said John, and left the breakfast table with a smile on his face.
‘By the way,’ called his father, just as the Apothecary was about to leave the house
. ‘There is a letter for you on the hall table. It is from Serafina. She is having a few friends for supper and cards tonight and wonders if you would care to join them. I know because I dined with her and Louis yesterday. We played dice.’
‘Did she win?’
‘Occasionally she was kind and allowed her husband and me some good fortune.’
John popped his head back in through the front door. ‘She is the finest gamester in England, isn’t she?’
‘I would say probably the entire known world.’
‘Oh dear!’ sighed the Apothecary, and went on his way.
The first hour in the shop produced little trade except for two beaux, their white make-up cracking and ghastly in the bright morning light, who came in for a reviver after a night out at some assembly or other. One of them was promptly sick immediately outside, and John had enormous pleasure in throwing a bucket of icy water over both the offender and the contents of his guts. For good measure he chucked a pitcher of brown disinfectant as well, managing to soil and spoil the beau’s pea green frock by careful aiming.
‘Mind what you’re doing,’ called the silly creature petulantly.
‘And so do you!’ John shouted back furiously. ‘Next time I’ll put some arsenic in it for good measure.’
They minced away angrily, stamping their high heels, while John, having checked that everything outside was fresh and clean, went within to prepare for proper custom. As he had half expected, at ten o’clock sharp Lord Delaney’s coach crunched through the narrow confines of the lane and disgorged its owner at the front door bearing a list in his hand. He smiled on seeing the Apothecary, wiped his spectacles, and made his way within, leaning hard upon his great stick.
‘My very dear young friend,’ he began, his smile growing by the second, ‘I have come on behalf of m’wife and m’self with an order as long as your arm. Everything is here from oil of Venus and eau-de-luce to potions for pregnancy and childbirth. I am, er, also interested in the strengthening compound you mentioned.’
The Apothecary looked at the list, his eyes widening.
“Zounds, my Lord, this is a purchase of considerable size. Would you prefer to go to the coffee house while I prepare it? Or would you like to step inside? I can offer you refreshment.’
‘I’ll stroll about a while for my health, then return and drink a cordial with you. I feel I have so much to say. With the news that Lady Delaney is to bear me a son my whole world has changed. All thanks to your good young self.’
Hoping to God that the pendulum prediction was going to prove correct, John attempted a humble expression which did not fit too well with his inner doubts.
‘It was nothing, Sir. I just followed a simple country method.’
His Lordship went white. ‘But it is accurate, isn’t it? The future of our line is pinned on the outcome.’
‘All I can say is that rural folk swear by it.’
Lord Delaney looked relieved. ‘They always know best. It’s the clean air they breathe. I feel much healthier on my estate in Suffolk, d’ye understand? Talking of that, is your physick truly efficacious? The one for mature gentlemen, I mean.’
‘They keep coming back for it, if that is any proof of its power.’
‘Ah,’ said his Lordship, obviously well pleased. ‘Well, I’ll saunter forth, my boy, and return in an hour or so. I’m very mindful of my well-being these days. We older fathers!’
He executed a small and nimble dance step, then strode away with a cheery whistle.
‘Jasper Harcross, you’ve done some good at last,’ murmured John, then set about his task of compounding those items on the list not already made up. But there he was to be thwarted, for the doorbell rang continuously, customers pouring in off the streets, partly to avoid a sudden squall. Yet everyone bought at least one item, attracted by the Apothecary’s display of exciting bottles, filled with strange blue liquid, together with his array of exotic perfumes.
‘I would like a large bottle of otto of roses, and some oil of cinnamon,’ said one young lady who had alighted from a sedan chair. ‘I’ve just met Lord Delaney and he recommended you, said you were quite bon ton in fact.’
‘D’you have some verdigris for my face paint?’ asked an emasculated nothing, waving a handkerchief stiff with powder.
‘I want a remedy for corpulence,’ said a stout lady, flopping into the only chair available.
‘Don’t eat,’ responded the pretty fellow instantly, and fell against the counter, laughing hysterically.
‘How dare you?’ demanded the big woman, heaving herself to her feet and looming over him in the most menacing manner.
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ the beau giggled, oblivious to her presence.
The smart young lady suddenly pealed with mirth. ‘Never eat again might perhaps be better.’ And collapsed in the direction of the beau, at which they jigged a strange sort of ritual cackling dance together. Fighting desperately to control himself, no mean feat, the Apothecary bowed low.
‘Youthful high spirits, Madam. Please forgive them. If you would care to step into my laboratory I will serve the merrymakers, then give you a private consultation.’
Slightly pacified, the object of derision moved into John’s compounding room, and it was while she was doing this, accompanied by a great deal of sighing and clucking, that Will, the theatre boy, came in, colliding in the doorway with Lord Delaney.
It was an extraordinary moment, a moment that, for no particular reason, the Apothecary committed to memory and would recall time and again. He saw Will gaze up at the important personage entering with him, saw Lord Delaney glance down to see who had bumped against his legs. Then he observed Will look over at him and mouth words which he could not catch.
‘Do you want to tell me something?’ John called over all the hubbub.
The boy nodded, then stared round the shop, taking in the beau and the girl, still giggling insanely, the rear view of the large lady disappearing into the back room, Lord Delaney’s jovial smile. And it was at that second that he panicked. Without another word Will turned and ran, up the cobbles of Shug Lane and out of sight, leaving John with the impression of someone very much afraid.
The Apothecary stood helplessly, longing to chase after him but quite unable to do so with a shop full of customers. The best he could manage in the circumstances was to make a mental promise to go to the theatre to see the child on his way home from Serafina’s supper party, when the evening performance at Drury Lane would be over and done.
‘Good trade, my young friend,’ said Lord Delaney, joining in the general air of jollity emanating from the other two customers.
‘Yes, very good, thank you, Sir,’ John answered automatically. But his mind was elsewhere, already conjecturing what it could have been that Will had wanted to say, and coming to the conclusion that the boy had remembered something of sufficient importance to drive him to leave the safety of the theatre and venture to Shug Lane to tell the Apothecary of it.
In a hurry as ever, John shut the shop promptly and hastened home to change into his very best clothes for the evening. How true it is, he thought, that old habits die hard. At the height of his passion for Serafina, when he had known her only as the Masked Lady and had gaped at her admiringly from afar, he had dressed to try and attract her attention. Now he was doing just the same thing, though his feelings for her had long since altered to those of friendship. Not having too much time to spend in preparation, yet finally satisfied with his appearance, unbelievably splendid in black and crimson, John set out in a sedan to Hanover Square.
It was a miserable night after a relatively fine day and John huddled in the chair, pulling his cloak around him. But when he alighted at number twelve a sense of warmth swept over him just from looking at its torchlit exterior, and it was with eager anticipation that he paid off the chairmen and hurried inside. Serafina and Louis were receiving guests in their stately upstairs salon and much to John’s delight, as he climbed the curving staircase, the sound of Corali
e Clive’s voice could be heard. Well aware that when they had met on the previous day the actress had been furious with him, the Apothecary adjusted his features accordingly. So it was a somewhat contrite looking young man who walked into the room and kissed his hostess’s hand, bowed politely to Louis, then finally went to greet the other guest.
‘Mr Rawlings,’ said Coralie, ‘I did not think you were going to be here.’
‘Would you not have come?’
‘Of course I would. We cannot let this vile murder ruin all our lives.’
‘What do you mean?’ John asked quietly.
‘That working for Mr Fielding means you will be forced to upset people sometimes.’
‘So have you forgiven me for irritating you?’
‘Naturally,’ she answered rapidly, but John still felt that there was a certain coldness in her voice.
Serafina came to the rescue. ‘My dear John, I have another pleasant surprise in store for you. Samuel is to be here at any moment, and later we are to be joined by Coralie’s sister, Kitty. She is performing in The Merchant of Venice tonight but will join us as soon as she can.’
‘It will be a great honour to meet her.’
‘And she can confirm that I was at home when she arrived back on the night before the killing,’ Miss Clive said acidly.
John suddenly lost patience with her and shot her an angry look, unaware that his eyes had deepened to the colour of wintry seas from their usual delphinium blue. Out of his deep affection for his hosts he remained silent, though there were many words he would like to have spoken, but his glance said it all and Coralie turned her gaze away, her back rigid. It was a great relief at that moment to hear Samuel clattering into the hall below, then pounding up the stairs with his usual noisy stride.
‘Ha ha,’ he said, bounding into the room. ‘A gathering of all my favourite people!’ And he set about effusive greetings which lifted the atmosphere enormously.
A footman poured champagne, another aid to conversation, and soon everyone was chatting freely, though Coralie directed her words mainly to Serafina and Louis, rather obviously, in John’s opinion. Finding himself alone with his friend, Samuel begged to be told all that had happened since they last met, explaining apologetically that he had been very busy with his new premises, where he was soon to set up as a goldsmith, and therefore unable to be of much help.