impatient.
‘Heavens, Sir,’ said John, opening his bottle of physic and pouring out a spoonful, ‘I had not thought to find you in extremis.’
‘I had a bite midday,’ grunted the barber, whose name was Fields, ‘and the pain has come on again. You are sure it is wind?’
‘Positive. The physician has been to see you has he not and confirmed the diagnosis?’
‘Indeed. But the pain is so intense.’
‘Swallow this,’ said John, and proffered the spoon.
The barber did so but still sat doubled up, his face pinched and pointed with pain. John decided on an old- fashioned solution. Taking his cane he laid it across Fields’s stomach at the same time telling him to lean forward. Then he pressed as hard as he could and was rewarded by the barber letting loose a rouser, followed by another and finally a third.
‘That’s better,’ Fields announced, standing up straight.
‘Take the physic as prescribed,’ John said, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and raising it to his nostrils. ‘That will be two shillings, Sir.’
‘Worth every penny,’ answered Fields, and going to a small cupboard unlocked it and counted out the money.
‘Back to work for both of us,’ John said cheerfully, and giving the man a brief bow made his way out to Swallow Street and from there to Shug Lane where he and Gideon spent a pleasant afternoon compounding simples.
The Royal Saracen was in Newport Street, close to St Martin’s Lane, and from the outside looked a reasonably well-run establishment. Stepping inside John was pleased to see that it was moderately clean and that booths had been set up in which people were sitting round tables. Spotting Cuthbert, who was looking somewhat exhausted to say the least of it, John made his way to join the dancing master.
‘You seem weary, my friend.’
‘Alas, I am. I feel I am getting somewhat ancient for this work. Believe me I was ready to lie down and die by three o’clock.’
‘Oh, surely not. You don’t look old,’ John lied gallantly.
‘I have been teaching the Terpsichorean art for forty years, my friend. I began as a bright young spark of twenty-odd and now you find me at sixty plus still nobly doing my best.’
John had a sudden rush of tremendous pity as he did for all old and benighted people who struggled to make ends meet and toiled themselves into the grave as a result. He turned to Cuthbert Simms with a look of great affection.
‘It is working that is keeping you young at heart, Mr Simms. ‘Zounds but if you were some retired old ninny with naught to do all day but sip chocolate and read the newspapers you would soon feel the pinch of the years. Why I shall continue to work in my shop until the day they carry me off, I swear it.’
‘Well said, my boy. The only trouble is that my body is beginning to let me down, don’t you know. I cannot caper as once I used.’
‘You will have to get a young assistant.’
‘But where to find the fellow at the price I can afford to pay him? That is the question.’
John looked sad and sipped his wine. ‘Never mind. The right person may turn up. You never know.’
Cuthbert was growing somewhat red in the face and was imbibing quite freely and John, watching him, wondered whether it was going to loosen the man’s tongue. He asked a discreet question.
‘I’ll warrant you were one of the finest dancers of your day, Mr Simms.’
‘Oh, I was, my friend. Why I once led out the Princess Augusta.’
‘The King’s mother?’
‘The royal lady herself.’
‘And where was this?’
Cuthbert emptied his glass and held it out for a refill. John obliged.
‘It was at a private party at which we were honoured with her presence. I did tell you, did I not, that I was once attached to a great household as dancing master to the young people?’
‘Yes, you did. Did you live in or have lodgings nearby?’
‘I lived in. The master of the house was very keen on his children having daily lessons, d’you see. Which suited me perfectly as an unmarried man.’
John hid a smile. The thought of a woman in his bed would undoubtedly have given poor old Cuthbert a fit of violent trembling. Small wonder he had remained a bachelor all his life. With a bit of an effort the Apothecary dragged his attention back to the conversation, praying that Mr Simms was going to fulfill his hopes and reveal more about his past.
‘It sounds like a wonderful house. Where did you say it was situated?’
‘I didn’t — and I don’t believe I will. You see a great tragedy took place there. Something which I feel I ought not to discuss. All I can say was that my life was completely shattered. I had to give up my place and was lucky to get another at Lady Sidmouth’s. But alas, as you know, her children grew up and I was out on the road again.’
‘Poor Mr Simms,’ said John softly, ‘I wonder if it is true what they say about Vinehurst Place?’
‘What do they say about it?’ asked Cuthbert in a hoarse whisper.
‘That the place is accursed,’ John answered, lying through his teeth. ‘That ill fortune attends all who live there.’
The dancing master rallied. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense. Where did you learn a story like that?’
John paused a moment before he spoke, realizing that Cuthbert had not contradicted him regarding the name of the house. Then he grinned. ‘My dear Mr Simms, you are looking at an ape. I heard that legend an age ago about a place in Surrey and got totally muddled. Of course it wasn’t Vinehurst Place. It was Vinecroft Manor. How utterly stupid of me.’
Mr Simms looked faintly relieved. ‘Oh, that’s as well.’ He changed the subject. ‘You told me you had a daughter who had been poorly. How is she now?’
‘Much better, thank you.’ And John rattled on until he had run out of things to talk about and poor old Cuthbert Simms’s eyes were starting to close. At this the Apothecary rose, paid the bill, and escorting the old man into the street, called him a chair and a linkman and sent him happily on his way home.
An hour later John got into bed himself and lay awake for a long time. He had put his head round the door of Rose’s bedroom and seen her sleeping peacefully, and had listened outside Sir Gabriel’s door to hear his steady breathing. Up in the attic Gideon slept alongside the servants. The house was locked and shuttered and safe for the night. But sleep would not come to the Apothecary as his mind turned over the mystery of Vinehurst Place.
Had Cuthbert Simms been so overwhelmed that he had simply forgotten to say that the house in which he had once dwelled had not been called by that name? Or was his silence a kind of complicity? Had he lived in that beautiful place that John had seen standing so proud and so empty outside Lewes that day? Whatever the answer, the Apothecary knew that he must visit it again — and soon at that.
Twenty-Four
Rose was up early next morning and insisted on extending her playing time with her father, tickling him and making him laugh. She was in her sixth year and had all the beauty that childhood can bring with it. Her skin was finely textured, with a snowy quality relieved from being too stark by the poppies that glistened in her cheeks. Her eyes, a rich hyacinth blue, were wise yet had a distant quality about them. She was small for her age though neatly made, with delicate hands and feet and well-placed limbs. But her most attractive feature was her hair, a spiralling mass of red, rich and true in colour as a fox’s coat. Where this colour had come from was a mystery to John though he presumed it must be connected with his unknown father, a member of the great Rawlings family of Twickenham. All he knew of the man was that he had been of good stock, had fallen in love with and made enceinte one of the serving girls, and had arranged to meet her when she had run away to London. His non-appearance had meant that both John and his mother had been forced to beg on the streets until they had been rescued by Sir Gabriel
