the path towards the grave.
John fell into step with the Black Pyramid, Nat walking a pace behind.
‘I didn’t realize that you were so friendly with Miss Schmitt,’ he said conversationally.
The black man turned on him an uninterpretable look. ‘Neither did I realize about you, Mr Rawlings.’
It suddenly seemed to the Apothecary that the conversation could proceed no further. That every remark he made would be met with the same steely resistance. Yet he knew that there was something deeper in all this mystery. That the whole thing was an enormous puzzle. He also knew that he would not stop until he had solved it completely and totally.
Suddenly, on his way home from the funeral, the Apothecary’s mind was full of his daughter. Every day he had thought of her and missed her but now he felt a vital urge to take her in his arms and cuddle her. So much so that he felt determined to accompany Joe Jago back to London, provided that this did not upset Elizabeth. Thinking over his situation the Apothecary realized with a kind of helplessness that he was in a very difficult position. When the baby was born next February he would have one child living in Nassau Street, another just outside Exeter. Clearly something would have to be done about it though at the moment he could think of no practical solution.
He and the Marchesa dined together quite informally, having a table set in one of the smaller dining-rooms, and when the meal was done they withdrew to a drawing-room, rather than the grand salon. They sat in front of the fire and Elizabeth picked up a letter she had received.
‘John,’ she said without preamble, ‘I have received a communication from an elderly cousin of mine in Shropshire. He is not very well and I fear he may not be long for this world. I have therefore decided to go and see him.’
‘Are you up to the journey?’ the Apothecary enquired professionally.
She gave him a slightly cynical look. ‘Of course I am. I shall travel in comfort all the way, so you need not worry on that score. But you, my dear, ought you not to return to London soon?’
Guiltily feeling that she must have been reading his mind, John replied nonchalantly, ‘Now that you suggest it I feel I should. Rose must be missing me and, truth told, I am longing to see her again. As for Sir Gabriel, he is now a great age and I honestly ought to spend more time with him.’
‘Then you must do so,’ she replied. She leant towards him. ‘Do you not think you spend too much of yourself on solving mysteries?’
‘I have been telling myself that since I started working for Sir John Fielding,’ he replied wretchedly. ‘I felt it took me away from my wife, my father, my child. And yet I am obsessed with the whole idea. If a villain gets away undetected I feel that I have been personally beaten.’
She smiled, just a fraction sadly. ‘I can understand that. I once felt similarly about the Society of Angels who brought about the ruin of my son. I could not rest until the last little verminous beast had been put down. But once they were gone all the anger went out of me and I have become a sober citizen.’
John laughed aloud. ‘If you are a sober citizen then I am a Greek god.’
‘Well?’ she answered.
And they laughed together, in total harmony once more.
Later that night John went by coach to Exeter and booked in at The Half Moon. The stagecoach was departing so early in the morning that he preferred to get a good night’s sleep to leaving Elizabeth at the crack of dawn. Yet as he said farewell to her and turned to watch her wave him goodbye he had the strangest feeling that it would be some time before he saw her again.
Twenty-One
It was when he reached Brentford that the Apothecary was struck by the feeling that all was not well at home. Into his mind came a picture of Rose, thin and pale and coughing, and he passed the rest of the journey in a fever of impatience to get back. Paying off the hackney which had transported him from the Gloucester Coffee House to Nassau Street, John ran up the steps and was just about to ring the bell when the front door opened to reveal the figure of what could only be a physician.
‘Oh,’ said the man, clearly astonished to find someone standing in the doorway. ‘Forgive me, Sir, I was just making my way out.’
‘You’ve been to call on a member of the household?’ John asked, though he knew the answer even before the man spoke.
‘Sir Gabriel’s granddaughter, I’m afraid.’
The Apothecary gave him a stricken glance, said ‘Excuse me,’ and fled past the physician into the hall and up the stairs. Without pausing for a second he flung open the door of Rose’s bedroom, then stopped as he took in the scene before him.
Sir Gabriel Kent, arrayed in negligent style, sporting an elegant cap upon his head, his shirt unbuttoned, the collar loosely turned down to reveal a ribbon band fastening, a great long gown over the whole ensemble, was sitting quietly on Rose’s bed, gently stroking her hand. The child herself lay amongst the white bedclothes, her face an almost identical shade, racked by a most unpleasant cough that had a deep sound within it as if the child were fighting for breath. John’s adopted father turned his head at the noise of the intrusion.
‘My boy, I was on the point of writing to you to beg your return. Rose is stricken down as you see.’
‘How long has she been ill?’
‘Three days. Dr Wilde says it is a chin cough.’
‘He’s probably right. What has he prescribed?’
‘I don’t know. He’s gone round to the apothecary now.’
‘Then I’ll save him the trouble. Rose must have Sundew. It is the finest form of treatment for such an illness.’
Sir Gabriel sat up straight and looked at John with such a deep expression that his son caught his breath.
‘I am pleased you have taken control of the situation.’
‘It is not all that common a herb but I have some in my shop. Father, let us send a footman round there posthaste. I’ll write a personal note to Mr de Prycke to ask him to compound.’
‘Of course. It shall be done at once. And may I say, my very dear child, how good it is to have you at home. Promise me that you will stay with us for a while.’
John put his arm round the old man’s shoulders. ‘Father, I would never go away again if I had freedom of choice but I cannot desert Elizabeth. Not…’ he added in a somewhat cynical voice, ‘… that she needs any protection from me.’
‘But your duty lies here as well, John. I quite understand about the Marchesa di Lorenzi but meanwhile your other child is in dire need of you.’
‘Well, I am returned,’ John answered, and throwing off his cloak went to sit beside Rose and take the pale little hand that lay so still upon the counterpane.
‘Papa,’ she whispered, though her eyes did not open and other than for that whisper she seemed to be utterly lifeless.
‘I am home, my darling, and I will not go away again,’ he answered.
The fingers tightened round his but she made no further response.
John fought hard to control himself. The guilt which he had felt recently was redoubled in strength and his thoughts ran down a million alleyways as he contemplated the future. But with a tremendous effort he brought his emotions under control. Rising from the bed he crossed to where Sir Gabriel had taken a chair.
‘Father, call the nursery maid. She must sit with Rose while I write to Mr de Prycke.’
Sir Gabriel replied with much dignity, ‘I prefer to keep the vigil, John. I would not like my granddaughter to feel that she has been totally deserted.’
Wounded to the heart but determined to keep himself in check, John hastened downstairs to the library where he called a footman and simultaneously wrote a prescription for his shop. But at the last minute he hesitated. He did not like Mr de Prycke and Gideon was still too inexperienced to be trusted with such a vital matter.
