Death and the Black Pyramid (14 page)

‘. . . glad to be out of it I can tell you.'

‘I'm sure you are, my dear. But don't dwell. It's all over now.'

‘Yes, thank God. Poor Charles. His guts saved him from a terrible ordeal.'

‘Yes, indeed.'

They were alongside the Apothecary, just passing him, and the light from a shoemaker's shop shone directly on them. John gave an audible gasp. He was astonished to see the dark little milliner, Jemima Lovell, and walking beside her was none other than the woman who had travelled back from Devon with him, Lucinda Silverwood herself.

Thirteen

The hackney coach dropped him next afternoon at the corner of Gerrard Street, and the Apothecary practically ran the rest of the way to Nassau Street. Dashing up the few steps to the front door he inserted his key in the lock only to feel the door being pulled from the other side and to hear a little voice saying, ‘Papa, is that you?'

He practically flew into the reception hall. ‘Sweetheart, how did you know?'

‘She has been telling me for the last two days that you were coming,' said Sir Gabriel Kent, making his way out of the library, walking slowly and leaning heavily on his cane. John turned to him and just for a minute saw his father quite clearly.

Sir Gabriel was now eighty-three years of age and as spare of frame as ever. But time was at last taking its toll on him and he no longer stood straight and tall but was starting to stoop, while lines of wisdom had cut deep into his countenance. His skin had become the colour of parchment, matching his amazing white wig, and his hands were covered with the brown marks that some people called death spots. But his eyes were still bright and golden and looked at John with the same clarity that they had always held.

‘My dearest boy,' he said, and embraced his son warmly. ‘Rose has a gift indeed for she has been informing me all day yesterday and most of today that you were on your way to see us.'

John smiled a secret smile at his daughter, knowing full well that she had been born with ancient magic. However, the child's next question disturbed him slightly.

‘How is Mrs Elizabeth?' she asked.

‘Very well, thank you,' answered her father, somewhat nonplussed.

‘Come, my son, let us repair to the library,' said Sir Gabriel, then turning to Rose he added, ‘Dearest, I wish to speak to your father privately. You may join us in thirty minutes.'

The red hair flew as she tossed her head but she trotted away to her nursemaid obediently enough. John stared after her.

‘Does she miss her companion Octavia?'

Sir Gabriel straightened his shoulders. ‘Well, I think she does somewhat. But most of all, John, she misses you.'

He led the way into the library and the Apothecary sat down opposite him and allowed his adopted father to pour him a small sherry. He stared at the great old man as he passed him his glass.

‘Father, there is something I have to tell you.'

‘Oh yes?' And Sir Gabriel gave him a glance which held a great deal of amusement in its depths.

John, for no reason, felt awkward. ‘It's about Elizabeth di Lorenzi.'

The golden eyes gleamed. ‘Something to do with the reason she wanted to see you, no doubt.'

‘Yes. Sir, you are going to be a grandfather once more.'

Sir Gabriel's face creased. ‘I see that you didn't waste your time in Devon then.'

John felt himself blush. ‘Well, I . . .'

His father interrupted him. ‘There is no need to explain to me, my son. You have been a widower for some years and I know that at the time you were very much in love with the Marchesa di Lorenzi. Tell me, are you still?'

‘Yes, yes I am. But she will not marry me, Sir, despite the fact that she is carrying my child.'

‘So she intends to give birth to a bastard?'

‘Yes, I fear she does. But don't worry about her position in society. She is rich and she is powerful. Only a few people will abandon her.'

‘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.'

Sir Gabriel sat down in a chair that Gideon brought for him. ‘I can honestly declare, John, that it is a pleasure to be in your shop again. It has such a calming atmosphere. Would you not agree, Mr de Prycke?'

‘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?'