Death in Hellfire (2 page)

“Then it’s settled?”

“It is.”

“Obliged to you, my friend. I shall inform Jago of your decision.”

“And give him my kindest regards when you do so.”

“That I most certainly will do.”

Walking home through the crowded and noisome streets, John Rawlings wondered whether he had done the right thing. Much as the thought of attempting to infiltrate the circle of Sir Francis Dashwood - a politician who had long intrigued him - appealed to the Apothecary, the idea of leaving Rose at so interesting a time of her life, frankly did not. Even as he approached his house in Nassau Street he felt his heart lift and running up the steps to the front door, he hastened inside. Rose was nowhere to be seen and John turned to one of the footmen who came hurrying up.

“Where is Miss Rose, Frederick?”

“She’s gone out to Leicester Fields with her grandfather, sir. They are taking the air.”

“Then I’ll go and find them.”

And as quickly as he had come in, John turned and made his way back down Gerrard Street, into Princes Street, left into Lisle Street, sharp right into Leicester Street, then into the Fields themselves.

Behind him lay Leicester House, formerly the residence of Frederick, Prince of Wales, father of the present King, George III. To John’s left was the former home of William Hogarth, who had died three years previously. The sign of The Golden Head, which had hung outside for so many years, had been taken down and the place had a somewhat desolate air. John stared with interest, wondering exactly what had been the painter’s connection with Sir Francis Dashwood. But his thoughts were distracted by his glimpse of a tall figure leaning heavily on its great stick, but for all that walking well and still upright, holding the hand of a little redhead.

“Father,” he shouted, “Rose. I’m here.”

The child heard him, for truth to tell Sir Gabriel had grown somewhat deaf with the passing years, and turned in John’s direction, waving her free hand enthusiastically.

“Hello, Papa. Come and join us.”

John ran forward, suddenly immensely happy, feeling that life was good, given point and meaning by the advent of Rose. Coming up to the pair, he bowed swiftly to Sir Gabriel then scooped his daughter up, lifting her high to his shoulder.

She squealed joyfully, full of the sunshine that only a five- year-old can know. “You are so funny, Pa.” Then she removed John’s hat and placed it on her own head, concealing almost all of her face in the so doing.

The Apothecary tickled his daughter under the chin, the only part of her features visible. “You think so, eh?”

“Yes, I do.” She raised the hat which fell to the ground. “Oh sorry, Papa. I’ll pick it up.” She wriggled downwards and rushed to retrieve the headgear while John and Sir Gabriel looked at one another and laughed.

“A most engaging child,” said the older man. “It is always a pleasure when she comes to stay.”

John cleared his throat. “Talking of that, I’m afraid I have to ask you a favour, sir.”

“Oh?”

“You know that I went to see Sir John today?”

Sir Gabriel’s golden eyes lit with inner amusement. “He presumably wants you to work on some affair of his? And you would like me to take Rose to Kensington while you do so? Am I right?”

“As usual, perfectly.” John sighed. “How have you mastered the art of knowing exactly what I am about to say?”

Sir Gabriel smiled and said, “I have known you since you were a small boy, remember. I would be a poor creature indeed if I was not aware by now of how your mind works.” The Apothecary gave his adopted father a swift kiss on the cheek. “What an amazing being you are.”

The older man responded with a deprecatory wave of his hand. “Think nothing of it my child. But tell me, are you going out of London? Is that why you want me to care for Rose?”

“Yes, indeed I am, sir. I am off to West Wycombe, the reason why, I feel I should keep confidential.”

Sir Gabriel bent to take Rose’s hand once more. “Investigating the wicked Sir Francis, no doubt?”

“Perhaps.”

“I see you will not be drawn and for that Sir John Fielding should be proud of you. Of course I will care for my granddaughter. It will give me infinite pleasure to do so. But may I ask you a favour in return?”

“Name it, sir.”

“I would prefer to spend a month in town, staying in my old house in Nassau Street. Indeed that is the reason why I brought Rose back personally from Kensington. Occasionally I get an urge to see London once more. And this is one of those times.”

John put his hat - offered to him by an anxious Rose - back on his head. “But, Father, that would be an ideal solution. I can’t think of anything better than you keeping an eye on the place in my absence.”

“And what about your shop?” asked Sir Gabriel with a touch of acerbity.

His son pulled a face. “Alas, I have to leave it in the hands of Nicholas Dawkins - again.”

The older man sighed. “Poor young man. One of these days you will have to release him.”

“But Father, he doesn’t want to go. He swears he is greatly attached to me - and to Shug Lane.”

“Nevertheless he is of an age now when he should have his own premises.”

“I know,” said John, looking miserable.

“I rather imagine him in Kensington.”

“So do I,” the Apothecary answered heavily, and thought of the apothecary’s shop that he and Sir Gabriel had bought between them which had mostly been managed ever since by apothecaries seeking experience before they went on to premises of their own.

Rose interrupted. “Papa, can I climb a tree?”

“No, sweetheart, only boys do that.”

“How unfair. Why can’t girls?”

“Because of their attire,” Sir Gabriel answered succinctly.

“I could wear trousers,” Rose protested.

“Like Lady Elizabeth,” said John, and instantly had a vision of the woman he had fallen in love with, her supple body encased in men’s clothes, her dark hair pulled back and hidden beneath a concealing hat, her beautiful face intent on the task she had set herself.

He must have made a small involuntary movement because Sir Gabriel said, “How I would love to meet that lady. You speak of her with much fondness, my son.”

“Perhaps one day you will, sir. As for the second part of your sentence, let us say I have developed a certain
tendresse.”

“
And held it for quite some while, I believe.”

John merely smiled ruefully, aware that his father could read him like a book. He changed the subject. “How do you think I should present myself at West Wycombe?”

“As a dissolute young rogue I would imagine.”

“Doing what precisely?”

Sir Gabriel paused. “That I’m not certain about. Allow me to give it some thought.”

Rose interrupted. “Pa, please can I climb a tree? I promise to dress like Mrs Elizabeth if I do.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” answered John, and thought he sounded exactly like Emilia used to before her terrible and tragic end.

Chapter Two

T
hat evening they had supper with Serafina and Louis de Vignolles, their two greatest friends in London. There were also two surprise guests whom John had often thought about but had by way of accident rather than design, missed seeing for some considerable time. Samuel and Jocasta Swann, parents of one child and with another on the way, came to the dining table rather late and somewhat self-importantly, or so John thought.

He had known Samuel since he had been a small child and loved him like a brother; in fact in all of his life he could think of every important event and associate Samuel with it. But Samuel had married an heiress and gone to live in Curzon Street, while his goldsmith’s business had gone from strength to strength, and consequently he had put on weight both physically and in character. John, embracing his friend warmly, felt Samuel draw away and could have wept.

“My very dear friend,” he said, pretending not to notice, “you look so well. And Jocasta, motherhood becomes you.”

“Thank you, John,” she replied stiffly, and the Apothecary thought that they had both changed and not for the better.

Sir Gabriel, sensing John’s discomfiture, came in, saying urbanely, “How delighted I am to see you two young men reunited. It has been unfortunate that John has been away so much recently but now that he has retaken his position in town I feel certain that we shall be seeing more of you.”

“Let it be hoped so,” Samuel replied without enthusiasm. Serafina came in. “I called at your shop in Shug Lane t’other day, my dear. I was quite taken aback by the charm of Nicholas. What a truly delightful young man he has grown into. Why, I nearly included him amongst the guests for this evening and would have done so were it not for the fact of embarrassing you.”

“Oh, you should have asked him,” answered John, “I wouldn’t have minded in the least.”

Samuel said rather pointedly, “I most certainly wouldn’t expect my apprentice to be asked to supper when I was present.”

“Nicholas is now a qualified apothecary, Samuel. Did I not tell you?”

“No, I don’t recall you doing so. But remember John, I have only seen you twice since my wedding.”

So that was it. Samuel had taken offence, egged on no doubt by Jocasta who would have considered it rude and unmannerly of the Apothecary not to be a regular visitor at their grand home in Curzon Street. But this sort of thing needed threshing out privately. John composed himself as best he could and merely gave his old friend a seraphic smile.

The supper as usual was superb, Comte Louis proving an excellent host with both the quantity and quality of his wines. All having imbibed well, the conversation came round to the subject of children.

“My dears, I am feeling positively elderly,” said Serafina.

“My daughter is ten years old and her brother two years younger.”

“You have had no more?” asked Jocasta, clearly interested. “No. Louis and I decided that two were enough.”

And Serafina smiled at her husband who gave her a very knowing wink.

“And you, John,” Serafina continued, turning towards the Apothecary, “you have the delightful Rose.”

“Whom I haven’t seen for a year,” said Samuel pointedly.

“I shall bring her to you tomorrow if that would be agreeable,” John countered, still smiling broadly.

Samuel looked towards Jocasta. “Would that suit you, my dear?”

Yet again she replied without enthusiasm. “Yes, I think so.” John caught Sir Gabriel’s eye and felt rather than saw his raised eyebrows. “I shall arrive at eleven o’clock if that would be in order,” he said.

“I shall be at my shop at that time,” Samuel answered airily. “Perhaps you could make it nearer the dining hour.”

The Apothecary felt the first pangs of irritation. He had known Samuel for as long as he could remember and though admittedly there had recently been years when they had not met - particularly the times when he had been on the run, accused of the murder of his own wife, and otherwise engaged in the West Country - there was no need to treat him like a mere acquaintance.

“I’ll come at whatever time you like,” he replied, an edge in his voice.

Jocasta gave a polite cough. “Perhaps you would bring Rose to dine with us, John.”

Controlling himself, John said, “How kind of you to invite us. At what time do you have your dinner?”

“Rather late, I’m afraid. At six o’clock. It’s because Samuel is so busy at work.”

“That will be convenient, thank you,” the Apothecary answered, thinking that he would have to have the child put to bed in the afternoon in order to ensure that she didn’t fall asleep at the table.

Serafina, sensitive to the undercurrent, suggested a hand of whist at this juncture and made up an unusual game with all six of her guests included. John found himself partnering Samuel, while Louis gallantly bowed to Jocasta. The only two good players in the room, Sir Gabriel and Serafina, were forming an unbeatable team against which the others had no chance.

Samuel, however, had either improved his game or was having a run of early luck for he won the first hand and appeared somewhat smug about it.

“Well done, Sam,” John exclaimed, to be rewarded with a strange look which he could not interpret.

John played half-heartedly. He had never been fond of cards, unlike Sir Gabriel, and his attention soon started to wander. He had been thinking more and more of late that he must employ a full-time companion for Rose. She was five years old and divided her time between London and Kensington, being transported between the two by Irish Tom, as reliable a guardian as one could wish to find. And though she had a nursery maid she lacked a mother figure, someone to whom she could chat and talk as one female to another. He decided that he must place an advertisement in
The Public Advertiser
immediately and see what this brought forth.

His mind wandered on to Elizabeth, as it frequently did. He presumed because of his recent treatment at her hands that their relationship must henceforward be one of friendship and friendship alone. And bitter though it was to accept this, he knew that he must, for the sake not only of his daughter but also his sanity. Elizabeth had more power to disturb him than any woman he had ever met - including both his beloved Emilia and the glorious Coralie Clive - and the only way forward that he could see was to make a great effort to put her to the back of his mind, almost impossible though this was going to be.