‘You’re a good lad even if you have no head for alcohol.’
‘Thank you, Sir. Though I am afraid that Master de Prycke would not agree with you.’
‘I think,’ the Apothecary answered with a smile, ‘that Mr de Prycke likes no-one but himself.’
Three days later and John was walking down Greek Street when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He was on his way back to Nassau Street from Shug Lane but had taken the long way round in order to buy some olives. In his pocket he had another bottle of physic for Rose, who by this time was sitting up in bed and reading, quite restored to her former self, her hair having regained its bounce and curling splendour, her skin its lovely creamy shade. The Apothecary, erring on the side of caution, had just prepared another tincture of Sundew for her — Gideon having located the dry herb somewhere in the city — and was making his way home having made his purchase, when his attention was drawn by a shop. It was a hat shop and in the window, just removing a creation of bows and ribbons from a stand, was someone he knew.
John stared and as he did so had the most curious sensation. It was as if he had seen the face he was looking at — a face that he knew reasonably well — before somewhere. But not exactly that. It was more as if the face reminded him of someone else. Just for a second the Apothecary nearly grasped who it was and then the whole thing slipped away and was gone.
The owner of the face was as surprised as he was and acknowledged his presence with a small bow of her head before she retrieved the hat and disappeared back into the shop. Unable to help himself, John went inside. A tall woman with a face that had once been pretty but was now beginning to show the signs of ageing, bore down on him.
‘Can I help you, Sir?’
She made a coy mouth as she spoke and smiled at him by pulling both her lips upwards without any accompanying warmth.
‘Yes, I want to buy a hat,’ John answered.
In the corner he could see Jemima Lovell serving a short plump woman, who had removed her wig the better to try on headgear, and made her a bow.
‘You know Miss Lovell?’ asked the proprietoress.
‘We have met,’ John answered, and concentrated on the matter in hand.
‘Is the hat for your wife, Sir?’
‘No, actually it’s for my daughter. She is only five. Do you have anything in a small size?’
The owner rearranged her lips to look motherly. ‘Yes, we do. Miss Lovell perhaps you would like to serve the gentleman. I shall take over your client.’
Children’s headgear clearly did not interest her and Jemima, having given the plump lady a polite curtsy, made her way to John.
‘Mr Rawlings, what brings you here?’ she asked in an undertone.
‘Seeing you in the window,’ he muttered back. Loudly he said, ‘Please can you show me a selection of hats for little girls.’
‘We do not have many. They are usually made by individual milliners.’
‘Well if you would be so kind as to bring out what you have got.’
‘Certainly, Sir.’ And giving him a little bob she made her way into the back.
John prevaricated and procrastinated over his choice and during that time managed to have a sotto voce conversation with the girl.
‘So your stay in Devon is over?’
‘You knew that, Sir. Madam Sophie released me to Lady Sidmouth but then I came straight back.’
John, recalling the moment he had seen her in Lewes with Lucinda Silverwood, walking and talking so closely together, almost felt like contradicting her but held his tongue.
‘Tell me, Miss Lovell, where do you live?’
She smiled. ‘Very close by. In Thrift Street.’
‘Then I wonder if you would do me the honour of coming to dine with me at my family home tonight. My father will be present. We eat at five, by the way.’
‘That is when the shop closes. I could be there by half past.’
‘Then I shall give orders for the meal to be served thirty minutes later.’
Eventually John bought two hats for Rose and made his way outwards carrying a couple of boxes. He had surreptitiously given Miss Lovell his card before leaving and she had whispered to him that it would be a pleasure to come. Feeling quite pleased with himself, John made his way home.
His father was sitting in the library dressed deshabille, a habit he was beginning to adopt more and more, John noticed.
‘Father, I have invited a young woman to come and dine with us. I do hope you don’t mind.’
Sir Gabriel sat up straight. ‘Not at all, my boy. Tell me of her.’
‘Her name is Jemima Lovell and she is the one person I believe is innocent of the crime that was committed in Devon recently. That is I am fairly positive it had nothing to do with her. Yet I believe that somehow she is connected…’
The Apothecary broke off and stared into space.
‘What exactly do you mean, my dear?’
‘I’m not sure,’ John answered, coming back to earth with a thoughtful look on his face.
‘Well, I must go and dress,’ said his father, heaving himself out of his chair. ‘I look forward to meeting this young woman greatly.’
‘I shall change too, but first I must go and see Rose.’
‘You will find her improved since this morning.’
John gave him a broad smile and rushed up the stairs with the two hat boxes. Not wanting to leave her as she turned her sweetest grin on him and put the hats, one after the other, on her head, the Apothecary found himself with precious little time to change. Despite this he put on evening clothes of dove grey with a pink waistcoat, and a fine shirt into which he pinned a brooch set with amethysts which glittered brilliantly when he moved. Coming downstairs he saw that his father was — as was ever his habit — dressed in sombre black with a white adornment here and there, the starkness of the ensemble relieved by a brilliant zircon, which shimmered a sparkling blue whenever Sir Gabriel made the slightest gesture. No sooner were the men assembled when there was a ring at the front door and John went into the hall to greet the new arrival.
‘My dear Miss Lovell, how very nice to see you. I am afraid that the only other female present is my daughter and she is a little young to entertain you. So you will be the only woman sitting down to dine. I hope that is acceptable to you.’
Jemima gave a small curtsy. ‘Perfectly, Mr Rawlings.’
‘Excellent. Do come and meet my father.’
Sir Gabriel may have reached a great age but he had not lost one whit of his charm. John watched, very slightly amused, as Miss Lovell melted beneath the shower of care and attention that his father poured on her. And when they went in to dine Sir Gabriel stood tall and straight and courteously offered the dark-haired beauty his arm in order to support her. John was left to walk behind and notice how fine the pair looked as they made their way into the dining-room.
The meal was a great success, the cook having surpassed himself, and Miss Lovell declaring that each course was delicious. John, looking at her in the light of the many candles which lit the room, once again had the fleeting impression that she reminded him of someone but yet again was unable to recall who that person was.
‘You do know of course that poor Fraulein Schmitt died very suddenly in an accident,’ he said quietly, watching her reaction as he poured her a port.
She looked horrified. ‘No, I had no idea. How awful. What sort of accident was it, pray?’
‘She fell off a cliff.’
‘Oh no! Where was this?’
‘In Cornwall. She and her sister had gone to Padstow for a holiday but went for a trip to visit the cliffs near Polzeath. Miss Schmitt went off on a walk by herself and plummeted to her death.’
There could be no doubt that Jemima was genuinely upset, in fact she seemed more distressed than John would have expected in view of the couple’s somewhat strained relationship.
‘Please don’t upset yourself,’ he added. ‘It was a terrible death indeed but I am sure she felt no pain.’ He did
