Death in the Peerless Pool (11 page)

‘No. I left early and on a whim went to the King's Theatre and there saw Miss Coralie Clive in Twelth Night. Then I renewed my friendship with her by taking her out to supper. Afterwards I escorted her home to the house she shares with her sister, and that, alas, was that. I returned to Nassau Street as chaste as when I left it.'

Instead of smiling one of his whimsical smiles, Sir Gabriel laid down his fruit knife and leant on the table, looking at his son in a penetrating manner.

‘Naturally you confide in me only what you want me to hear, but I have, none the less, drawn certain conclusions over the years, one of which is that you have held a deep tendresse for Miss Clive for some time.'

John smiled wryly. ‘There have been other people too, Father.'

‘I am aware of that, my dear, and I would have thought it very odd if there had not been. Still, I think Coralie is queen of your heart.'

‘She has never gone completely from my thoughts, if that is what you mean.'

‘Have you considered wooing her formally, then asking her to be your wife? After all, you were twenty-seven in June, not too young to enter into matrimony.'

The Apothecary sighed. ‘Father, as I have told you several times – Miss Clive is wedded to the theatre. She has no wish to marry at this stage of her career.'

Sir Gabriel attacked a pear, rather savagely, John thought. ‘I fail to see why she cannot have both,' he said with acerbity. ‘Many great ladies of the theatre are married women.'

‘Perhaps she is afraid that a child might come along and spoil her chance of success.'

‘But you are an apothecary, John, and obviously know a great deal more about the prevention of such an occurrence than does the average male.'

His son nodded. ‘Thanks to that gallant soldier, Colonel Cundum, there really is no longer any need for men to go forth and multiply.'

Sir Gabriel smiled wickedly. ‘But is Miss Clive aware of such an invention?'

For the first time during their conversation, John looked embarrassed. ‘How would I know? She is a woman of our times, so I presume so. After all, the Colonel created his device over a hundred years ago. It is hardly anything new.'

Sir Gabriel lifted an elegant hand. ‘Enough of that. The question of your future can be decided only by you. As to the present, a Runner from Bow Street called last evening with a letter from Mr Fielding. Would you like it brought to the table?'

The Apothecary nodded, and his father gave instructions to a footman. A few minutes later the letter bearing the seal of the Public Office was delivered on a silver tray. Breaking the wax, John scanned the contents.

A couple of addresses were enclosed on a separate piece of paper.

‘A summons?' said Sir Gabriel.

‘To Bath, no less.'

‘That should prove amusing. It will be the height of the season.'

Thinking that he would rather stay in London and pay court to Coralie, John nodded. ‘It will indeed. Ah well, I had better get to the shop and warn Nicholas that he will be in charge once more.'

‘Will you send for Master Gerard?'

‘He is getting very old and frail. I think I shall ask him to attend only on alternate days. Nicholas has been apprenticed three years now and his area of knowledge is considerable.'

‘Perhaps that is one of the advantages of signing indentures with an older boy.'

‘You may be right at that.' John stood up. ‘I'll get to my packing. I shall catch a flying coach from the Golden Cross, Charing Cross, late this afternoon, and so go straight from the shop.'

Sir Gabriel looked very slightly put out. ‘That is a blow. A footman of Lord Anthony's came earlier this morning with an invitation for us to dine today.'

‘A pleasure I shall have to forgo, though please present my compliments.'

John's father looked reflective. ‘What a terrible tale they had to tell us yesterday; about the abduction of young Meredith. Do you think that by any chance the boy is still alive?'

The Apothecary's expression was grim as he answered, ‘If he is, you can depend on it that it is better by far they never find him.'

The early morning rush of custom, generally made up of those attempting to cure the excesses of the night before – nausea, a pounding head or fear of the clap – was clearly well and truly over. As John Rawlings walked into his apothecary's shop in Shug Lane, it was to find the place unnervingly quiet, not a soul being visible on either side of the counter. As part of his duty as an apprentice, Nicholas Dawkins would have risen early and gone to sweep and clean the premises before his Master appeared, and, sure enough, the place was glistening, but of the young man himself there was no sign whatsoever. Slightly puzzled, the Apothecary stood looking around him, then his lively eyebrows rose as from the compounding room at the back of the shop came the distinct sound of a suppressed giggle.

‘Good morning,' he said with considerable emphasis, and waited to see what would happen next.

Nicholas, his pale face unusually flushed, appeared like a jack-rabbit out of a burrow. ‘Good morning, Sir.'

‘You have company?' John asked pleasantly, then drew in a breath of surprise as in Nicholas's wake, walking with her nose tilted saucily and a mighty confident expression on her face, came none other than Mary Ann Whittingham, the Blind Beak's niece, adopted by him as a daughter and brought up as such.

‘Well, well,' said the Apothecary, too confounded for words.

She made a charming curtsey. ‘Mr Rawlings, how pleasant to see you again.'

Inwardly he could do nothing but smile at the barefaced gall of the little witch, at fourteen quite one of the most ravishing creatures in town. Outwardly, John looked severe, his mind racing over the exact nature of the relationship between his apprentice and John Fielding's kin.

Nothing daunted, Mary Ann spoke up. ‘I see you are startled at my presence but, if you recall, I have known Nicholas for an age. Remember that he lived in our house until he signed indentures and went to live with you, Sir.'

‘Of course,' John answered lightly. ‘How foolish of me to forget.'

Mary Ann smiled, her expression pert, but there could be no doubting the look of guilt in Nicholas's amber eyes. They had been in the back of the shop toying and kissing, John felt sure of it. However, there was little he could do until he got his apprentice alone, and even then other than thundering on about the pledges of indenture, one of which was that the apprentice would not fornicate, a vow broken by many as they got older, there was not a great deal to be said. Mary Ann, after all, was over twelve, the age of consent, and Nicholas was not far off his twenty-first birthday, having been apprenticed later than most.

Knowing full well that the girl was more than aware of his dilemma, the Apothecary gave a pleasant smile. ‘Is Mrs Fielding shopping with you, my dear?'

‘No. My aunt sent me out with a servant to get a few physicks, so naturally I came to your shop. Nicholas was just showing me how you compound your simples. It was truly fascinating.'

‘I'm sure it was,' John answered smoothly, controlling a strong urge to put her over his knee and give her a smart smack to remove her smug expression.

The youthful flirt looked up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Well, I must be on my way, Mr Rawlings. Do you think that Nicholas might carry my parcels for me?'

‘No, Mary Ann, I do not. He has work to do and I cannot spare him. Did you walk here or come by chair?'

‘By chair. That is how I managed to get rid of the maid. I bribed my chairmen to dodge down an alley and thus avoid hers. Isn't it amusing?'

‘Not in the least,' answered the Apothecary with much feeling. ‘I shall hail a sedan for your return. You must not go about unaccompanied.'

‘Oh, don't let me bother you; Nicholas can escort me.'

‘Oh no, Nicholas can't. He has wasted enough time already this morning. Young man, go and pound me a mortar of vervain while I escort Mr Fielding's niece to a chair.'

‘Yes, Sir,' answered the apprentice, peony-faced, and went into the back of the shop, the limp that became worse whenever he was distressed showing badly.

Taking the wayward minx firmly by the arm, John marched her into the street and hailed two passing chairmen, who looked relieved at the prospect of carrying so light a load.

‘To the Public Office in Bow Street,' he ordered, ‘and no stopping on the way, whatever the pretext.'

‘Very good, Sir.' And picking up their burden they hurried off at a jog trot.

John did not waste words. Striding into the compounding room, he said, ‘Nicholas, what is going on between you and Miss Whittingham?'

The young man looked doom-laden. ‘Nothing untoward, Sir, I promise you. I respect Mary Ann. However, she is over twelve, Sir, if you take my meaning.'

‘I take it all too clearly. But that aside, she is still very young and unversed in the ways of the world, whereas you have reached years of discretion.'

Nicholas gave him a sudden bitter look. ‘I have experienced a great deal, if that is what you mean, Sir. But none of it has been particularly pleasant. In fact most of it has been harsh and terrible. But as to the promise I made when I was apprenticed, I have kept it, though it has been difficult indeed to do so, especially in recent times.'

John nodded, his expression less severe. ‘It is not an easy constraint to put on any young man, I am more than aware of that. In fact I would say to you that I would turn a blind eye to what you do in your private time were your choice of sweetheart any different. But Mary Ann, Nicholas, is the Magistrate's niece! I have known her since she was a little girl. She must be treated differently.'

‘Everyone has to grow up some time,' the Muscovite answered dourly.

John shook his head. ‘But not her, not yet. Mr Fielding would flay you within an inch of your life if you laid one finger on her.'

Nicholas's eyes suddenly filled with tears of pure wretchedness. ‘Then what am I to do?'

The Apothecary leant towards him and lowered his voice. ‘I am no killjoy, my friend, believe me, and therefore I am prepared to take a risk and rely on your discretion. For what I am about to say to you is not fitting for a Master to tell his apprentice and must never be repeated. But overriding conventional behaviour is my concern for your physical and mental well being, so listen to me.'

And then John explained to Nicholas Dawkins about the house discreetly hidden amongst the trees in Leicester Fields, a house visited exclusively by gentlemen, a house where a young fellow might learn about life and come out none the worse for it.

‘And you think I should visit there?'

‘I do.'

‘But what about my pledge?'

‘I would consider you to have broken that if you began an affaire with Mary Ann.'

The Muscovite looked knowing. ‘You are very protective of her, aren't you?'

John nodded thoughtfully. ‘There has been much on my mind recently about the dangers children face, from the mad girl at St Luke's, found working as a prostitute, to a little boy abducted in Paris and never seen again.'

‘But …'

‘Do not protest, Nicholas. Miss Whittingham is too young for love. You know it and so do I. It would be the ruin of her if she were to enter into a liaison with you at this stage of her development.'

The apprentice sighed gustily. ‘Are you forbidding me to see her?'

‘I most certainly am not. The moment something is prohibited, the more attractive it instantly becomes. See your friend, kiss her if you must, but take your pleasures elsewhere.'

Nicholas shot him a penetrating look, ‘You'll say nothing of this to Mr Fielding, will you, Sir?'

‘My lips are sealed,' John answered, and found himself the subject of a very warm handshake which ended in an affectionate hug. ‘I thank you for that, Sir. You are wise beyond your years.'

The Apothecary smiled crookedly. ‘If that were true, my friend, I think my life would be a great deal simpler than it is turning out to be.'

Discovering the times of departure from the Golden Cross not convenient to him, the coaches leaving too early to give him a full afternoon in the shop, John caught the 8 p.m. flying coach departing from the Gloucester Coffee House, Piccadilly, having first dined and answered the call of nature before he got aboard. Booking a place before he went to eat, the Apothecary ended up travelling in company with two others, whom he met when he went to take his seat, businessmen from Exeter, both determined to get a night's rest. Agreeing that this suited him well John settled down to sleep after the short stop at Brentford, and did not wake again until the coach pulled in at Thatcham at three o'clock in the morning. There, the passengers went to take refreshment and relieve themselves, having been allowed twenty minutes in which to do so. And though they grumbled about the shortness of the break, everyone was happy when Bath was reached at ten o'clock the following morning. Alighting at The Bear to take breakfast, John's fellow travellers bade him farewell, as he went inside to book himself a room in the coaching inn, a pleasant hostelry well used to catering for the needs of visitors to the spa.