John found himself sitting next to the man with scant eyebrows who turned out to be a pleasant fellow, a country solicitor with a practice in Exeter, returning home from a visit to an elderly sister who dwelt in London. Having exchanged courtesies and names — his was Martin Meadows — they chatted nonsense to one another until eventually the solicitor said, ‘Tell me, do you treat many patients with delusions?’
John stared at him. ‘Of what kind do you mean, Sir?’
‘Well, those who think people are plotting against them. That type of thing.’
The Apothecary regarded him seriously. ‘No, Sir. To be honest I can’t say that I have. Why?’
Meadows looked non-committal. ‘Oh, no reason really. I just wondered.’
They relapsed into silence but John, staring out at the tints of autumn, the first hints of which were just starting to emblazon the trees, wondered what was behind the question. He shot a sideways look at Martin Meadows and saw that his face was giving away nothing as he too gazed out at the ever-changing landscape.
John had always loved the county of Wiltshire, found it mystic, a dark and brooding landscape containing some of the country’s most ancient and mysterious artifacts. The riddle of what Silbury Hill actually was; the looming question of the purpose of Stonehenge; the standing stones at Avebury. All these things intrigued him and he had often, when working alone in his compounding room, puzzled over them.
And now in the early morning light he breathed in the freshness of the air, looked around him at the magnificent rolling countryside, and fell quietly asleep.
Two
John was awoken by the sound of shouting and looking down saw that hostlers were running to give assistance as the coach pulled into the yard of The Castle and Ball in Marlborough. Looking round him he noticed that the Black Pyramid and Nathaniel Broome were standing up in preparation for descending and that Mr Meadows was clambering to his feet. Hastily adjusting his hat which had slipped down over one eye, John also rose.
The inn, which was extremely old, was comfortable inside and having made use of its facilities the Apothecary settled himself in a quiet corner and indulged in his favourite hobby of observing. Needless to say the German woman was complaining bitterly about something or other — John did not strain his ears sufficiently to discover what — and was being soothed down by Lucinda Silverwood. Paulina Gower, by contrast, was laughing merrily with the dark young lady, Jemima Lovell. He noticed that once again the man with the hawk’s face had vanished and that Martin Meadows was also absent. Following a whim, the Apothecary made his way to the back of the inn where the private snugs were situated.
‘… I tell you, Sir, that one or two faces are familiar to me,’ a harsh voice was saying quite loudly.
John could not help but listen, standing quietly outside the door.
‘Are you certain, Sir? Surely it could be a trick of your imagination.’
‘It’s the black man. There could not be two like him around.’
Martin Meadows answered, clearly trying to soothe the speaker down. ‘Oh come. He is a type. A bare-knuckle fighter. I have seen several people like him in my time.’
‘Have you indeed? And all black?’
‘Well, no,’ came the reply. ‘Not all of them.’
There was silence and John decided that this was his moment to make an entrance. Grinning cheerfully, he gave a rat-tat on the door and walked into the room.
Meadows and the hawkish man were sitting round a table in deep discussion. They looked up as the Apothecary went in, the solicitor giving a smile of relief, the other glaring fiercely. John ignored him.
‘Well, gentlemen, I hope I’m not interrupting. Can’t find a seat in the other bar so I thought I would try in here.’
‘Come in, come in, Mr Rawlings, take a chair, do,’ said Meadows. ‘May I present Mr Gorringe to you? Mr Gorringe, this is Mr Rawlings.’
John gave an effusive bow. ‘A pleasure, Sir,’ he said in an affected voice. ‘Truly a great pleasure.’
Gorringe half rose, still looking furious, and gave the curtest of salutes back. ‘Actually Meadows and I were having a private conversation.’
‘But we have finished that,’ said the solicitor hastily. ‘Indeed we were looking for some young company.’
‘Then come into the taproom,’ John answered, laughing merrily over nothing. ‘There’s a goodly crowd in there. That is if you don’t mind standing.’
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Gorringe, and getting to his feet he left them abruptly, swirling his dark cloak as he went.
John looked at Martin Meadows. ‘What a strange character.’
The solicitor motioned him to sit down. ‘Indeed, indeed,’ he sighed. ‘He is under the strong conviction that he has met the black man before somewhere.’
‘And what of it?’ said the Apothecary, pretending carelessness.
‘God knows, my dear friend. He is the type of man who sees a plot in everything. It is my belief that he suffers from some kind of mania.’
John would have replied but was prevented from so doing by a call of, ‘All aboard the Exeter coach, Ladies and Gentlemen.’ He and the solicitor made their way out to discover that Gorringe was already sitting on the roof and had produced a book which he was studying assiduously. He merely grunted as John and Martin took their places above. Below them, however, a scene was going on.
‘My luggage. Zere is vun piece missing,’ the German lady was screaming.
‘I can assure you, Madam…’ the guard was answering her patiently.
Behind her the Black Pyramid loomed suddenly and unexpectedly.
‘Be silent, my good woman. I suggest that you spend the next few hours checking and rechecking everything you own.’
And with that he leant over into the basket and removed all her bags and an unwieldy-looking box and dumped them on the ground at her feet.
‘But…’ she protested.
‘No buts, Madam. No buts, merely baggage.’ And he climbed into the coach.
‘Sir,’ the driver called down urgently, ‘we are due to leave immediately.’
The black man stuck his head out of the window. ‘Then do so,’ he instructed.
‘But the lady…’
‘I shall have ze law on you if you go vizout me!’ she shouted, shaking her fist.
‘My card,’ said the Black Pyramid nonchalantly, and with the enormous reach of his arms handed her one as the coachman cracked his whip and the new team of horses led them outwards.
That evening they spent the night at Bath, clattering into the courtyard of The Katherine Wheel some hours later. Accommodation was limited and they were all forced to share their rooms with at least one other person. John found himself in company with Cuthbert Simms, while Mrs Silverwood doubled up with young Jemima and Paulina Gower. Lucinda and Jemima were informed that they would have to share a bed but they took this news cheerfully enough. The Black Pyramid — pleased as punch that he had got rid of the German woman, whose name turned out to be Fraulein Schmitt — took a bottle of brandy to the room he was allocated with Nathaniel Broome. That left the peculiar Mr Gorringe who, yet again, seemed to be paired with Martin Meadows.
John, remembering his previous visits to Bath and the many adventures he had had in that city, went to bed late. It seemed to him, sitting alone in a snug with a bottle of wine before he retired, that the ghosts of the past came back to haunt him. He saw Coralie as she once had been — young and fresh, vigorous and full of life, longing to taste it all, eager to build her reputation on the stage. How bitterly it all had treated her, he thought. And thinking of Coralie brought back memories of himself as a young man, relishing everything and treating the world as a huge plaything. Yet, he considered, there was no point in looking back. The secret of a successful life must surely be the ability to go forward. Then he thought of that great beau, Orlando, a doyen of Bath, who had sacrificed so much in order that others may move on and live in peace.
John sighed and taking a candle went up to his room and crept inside, careful not to wake Cuthbert who slept like a little child, his breathing light and fast, his small frame barely making a bulge in the bedclothes. Thankful that
