‘Indeed.’
Out in the street Sir Gabriel turned to John. ‘What a beastly creature. I do hope that he is not upsetting Gideon too much.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. He reminds me of something that one would see peering at one from deep in the sea.’
‘A crab?’
‘Possibly. I was thinking more on the lines of a squid.’
‘Good gracious. Well, I shall keep an eye on young Purle and make sure that he is not suffering too greatly.’
‘Thank you, Father. Please write to me if there is any trouble.’
‘I will most certainly.’
That night John went to bed early and fell into a deep sleep. But he woke in the small hours and thought of how he had once shared this bed with Emilia. And even though he now loved Elizabeth he knew that Emilia held a very special place in his heart. In the darkness he spoke to her.
‘My darling, I miss you. I know you will understand me falling in love again. But be assured that you are and always will be very special to me.’
Was it his imagination or did he feel himself suddenly grow warmer as if a pair of loving arms had enfolded him? Whatever it was, the Apothecary felt strangely comforted and slept peacefully once more.
Fourteen
John thought that if he had been given a guinea for every time he had visited Sir John Fielding’s salon on the first floor of the tall, thin house in Bow Street, he would be a wealthy man by now. As he climbed the twisting staircase he felt that he knew every stair and every turn. It was dark and the Beak Runner in the Public Office had given him a candle the better to see his way up but as he approached the door it was flung open and the figure of Joe Jago, silhouetted against the brightness of the room behind, stood waiting for him.
‘My very dear Joe,’ said John, ‘how wonderful to see you again.’
‘And you too, Sir,’ said the other man, and welcomed him into the salon.
Inside it was all cheer and brightness — the curtains drawn, the fire blazing, the light of many candletrees illuminating the polished furniture. The only thing missing was the Blind Beak himself.
‘He’s still in court, Sir,’ said Joe. ‘Finishing off a difficult case. He shouldn’t be too long.’
John hovered. ‘May I sit down?’
‘Of course you can. Goodness me. You’re almost one of the family.’
‘And where are Lady Fielding and Mary Anne?’
‘They are out visiting friends. May I offer you some refreshment, Sir?’
John had dined only an hour before, taking the meal early in order to eat with Rose, who had a very long face about her as it was her father’s last night in London.
‘I promise I will be back in two weeks’ time, sweetheart,’ the Apothecary had said in order to reassure her.
‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Papa.’
‘I must say goodbye to Mrs Elizabeth, darling.’
‘I see.’
Sir Gabriel had interrupted. ‘Would you rather be driven by Irish Tom, John? I am sure that Rose and I can manage without him for a fortnight or so.’
‘No, Sir. I know you use him daily. Besides I will try and get a flying coach this time. It should be quicker.’
‘As you wish, my boy.’
Now the Apothecary looked up at Joe. ‘I dined recently so a small port would be very welcome.’
Jago poured out two glasses and sat down opposite John, noticeably leaving the Blind Beak’s chair vacant.
‘So how are things going with you, Sir?’
John peered into the depths of his glass. ‘I am to be a father again, Joe.’
‘Ah,’ came the slightly nonplussed reply.
John looked up. ‘The mother is Lady Elizabeth, the Marchesa di Lorenzi. I have repeatedly asked her to marry me but she refuses point blank.’
‘Oh dear! I don’t quite know what to say, Mr Rawlings. I am rather inexperienced in these matters.’
The Apothecary gave him a look of much fondness, thinking to himself that as far as he knew Joe Jago had never been married and had not had a great deal of contact with the opposite sex.
‘It is an unusual situation I admit. But then Elizabeth is a highly unusual woman, Joe.’
‘I agree with you there, Sir. But on the odd occasions I have met her I always found her pleasant enough. I’ll never forget how kind she was to you at the time of Mrs Rawlings’s death.’
‘She was more than kind, Joe. I think she saved my life. That is, that you and she saved it between you.’
The clerk flushed beneath his red hair, ill concealed by an old and tired wig. ‘I did what I could, Mr Rawlings. That is all.’
The Apothecary could have wept for the goodness of people around him but fortunately at that moment they heard a familiar heavy tread on the stairs and both men stood up. Joe went to the door and as it was thrown open, called out, ‘Mr Rawlings is here to see you, Sir,’ and the Blind Beak came into the room.
The man was now forty-six years old and stood well over six feet tall. As well as being of great height he was also well built so that his physical presence, to say nothing of his persona, filled the room. He wore a long and somewhat old-fashioned wig of curling white hair which hung to his shoulders, accentuating his nose and his full and passionate mouth. He had pushed up the black ribbon he always wore over his eyes so that they were exposed, closed as usual, beneath a pair of jet black, rather heavy, brows. But his hands — this evening carrying a cane to help him find his way — were beautiful, long and slender, almost feminine in their shape and delicacy. On his little finger the Magistrate wore a gold ring with an amethyst which glistened in the light.
As always John bowed. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Sir.’
‘My dear Mr Rawlings, how nice to hear your voice. Take a seat do.’
Because he knew the room so well, the blind man made his way without difficulty to the great chair which stood beside the fireplace. Lowering his frame into it, he turned his head to Joe.
‘Jago, fetch me a drink, there’s a good chap. I feel wretchedly depressed.’
‘Why, Sir, if I may ask?’ said John.
‘Because I have news from my contact in Paris that that devil Wilkes is thinking of returning to England. He’ll make trouble, mark my words.’
Into John’s pictorial memory came a list of the members of the Hell-Fire Club with Wilkes’s name prominent among them. That is until the man had fallen out with Sir Francis Dashwood, the founder, and had been barred from attending. Now he was in voluntary exile in France having been expelled from the House of Commons and convicted in the Court of King’s Bench for printing and publishing issue Number 43 of the North Briton — in which he had libelled George III — together with Wilkes’s pornographic ‘Essay on Woman’. He had four years previously come face-to-face with Sir John Fielding and demanded that the Magistrate issue a warrant against the Secretaries of State for theft of papers from his house. The Blind Beak had denied the request, knowing full well that the papers had been officially seized.
‘You refuse me, Sir,’ Wilkes had shouted, ‘then you too shall hear from me!’
It had been an empty threat but the news that the man was thinking of returning from France quite clearly made Sir John ill at ease.
‘But let us not waste good conversation on that universal hound,’ said the Magistrate now. ‘A health to you, Mr Rawlings. Tell me, how is the world using you?’
‘Sir, I have become involved in a murderous situation,’ answered John.
‘Tell me of it.’ And Sir John Fielding sat back in his chair, put his head against the cushioned mat and listened
