John smiled. The word-picture had completely conjured up the man. He wondered vaguely if Felicity ought to write.
‘Well,’ Miranda said, somewhat defensively, ‘the grandson may be handsome but the grandfather is by far the most debonair.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ stated John, his voice free of expression.
‘Well, you shall,’ said Miranda, smiling sweetly. ‘We are giving an assembly a few nights before the wedding. You must come — and the Lady Elizabeth, if she is sufficiently recovered.’
‘I am quite sure she will be,’ John answered. ‘And I thank you.’
Lady Sidmouth spoke up. ‘You must both come to the wedding — and dear old Sir Clovelly Lovell. He is quite one of my favourite people.’
‘And mine too,’ said the Apothecary.
‘Well, I shall be sending out the invitations shortly. And you are all three added to my list.’
‘Excellent,’ said John, and paid serious attention to his breakfast.
Dr Hunter proclaiming himself well pleased with the healing process of Elizabeth’s scar, she and John left the glorious house on the cliff-tops exactly five days later. There was much to-do about their leaving. First Elizabeth was handed into her coach, then one baby followed, howling his head off and not enjoying this change in his routine. He was put into the arms of a nurserymaid who immediately calmed him by rocking him, somewhat wildly, from side to side. Another coach was pulled up behind the first and John got into this, was briefly handed the baby, before a second nurserymaid followed. This second child — was it Jasper or James, John wondered? — slept peacefully through the whole ordeal and did not wake until they reached Elizabeth’s home, when he opened his eyes and gave a great yawn.
‘Which child is this?’ John asked Elizabeth anxiously.
She peered into his face. ‘Why, this is James. He has less hair than Jasper. Besides Jasper is the noisier of the two. If anyone is going to cry it will be Jasper.’
‘May I hold them a minute?’
‘Of course you can.’
With a bundle in each arm, John sat down in the Blue Salon and stared at both his sons’ faces intently. He could never have imagined in a thousand years that Elizabeth would give birth to twins. And then he remembered Rose, his first-born child, recently giggling and saying words to the effect of wait and see. She had known, the pretty minx, with her wonderful ability to envisage future events, exactly what was going to happen.
His thoughts switched from his two sons, who were awake but thankfully quiet, to his daughter. Would she love them, he wondered, or might she be jealous of these two rivals for her father’s affection? But then he knew that with her generous, warm heart she would love them as much as he was starting to, would play with them and teach them all the wonderments of the world so that they would grow up as fine a person as she was going to be. He suddenly glowed with happiness, looking down at the little scraps who were looking back at him, and feeling a tremendous sense of well-being and affection. A true family man.
He heard a noise behind him and looked over his shoulder. The two maids, presumably hastily appointed by Elizabeth after she had given birth, were bearing down on him.
‘I’ll take Master Justin, if you please, Sir.’
‘And I’ll take Master James.’
Somewhat reluctantly he handed the twins over and watched them being swept up the grand staircase to their apartments on the first floor. Before following them he sat a moment and imagined Sir Gabriel’s and Rose’s faces when his letter arrived. He had written it the day after he had shown up at Lady Sidmouth’s and knew that it must have been delivered to Kensington by now. No doubt Sir Gabriel would send for champagne and allow Rose a thimbleful. Then they would clink their drinking vessels and toast the newborn. How sad that neither of them would be able to see the boys for some while.
He went up the stairs rather slowly, thinking of this, and made his way to Elizabeth’s room where he knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
She had changed from her travelling dress and was sitting deshabille at her dressing table, brushing her long black hair.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘how timely. You may do this for me.’
‘A pleasure, Milady.’
He looked at her reflection and saw that though the birth had weakened her she was now recovering and some of the old fire was returning to her. He thought of Dr Hunter’s description of her — red wine and spice — and realized yet again what a rare creature she was.
‘Do you remember the first time we met?’ he asked.
‘Very clearly. I can recall fighting you in the fog.’
‘I was thinking more of when we came back to this house.’
In the mirror he saw her smile up at him and then turn to look at him. ‘I can remember that. I said I longed to kiss you. And that is what I want now. If it is no trouble, Mr Rawlings.’
‘Never a difficulty as far as you are concerned, Madam.’
And he bent his head to her upturned face and kissed her full on the lips while one hand reached down inside the open robe she was wearing to caress her lovely neck and shoulders.
They went to bed but did not make love, for John knew how bad for her this would be. But for all that they gently played and embraced until Elizabeth finally fell asleep. Then the Apothecary rose quietly and tiptoed along the corridor until he reached his own room. His trunk had arrived long since and some clothes had been sent up to him at Lady Sidmouth’s so that he had been able to abandon the ghastly green and was now soberly attired in Venetian blue. Looking in the clothes press he determined to go to Exeter on the morrow and see a tailor. And also to renew his acquaintance with Sir Clovelly Lovell and try to glean some more information on that soon-to-be- married fellow, the elderly Earl of St Austell.
Eight
‘The trouble with old St Austell,’ said Sir Clovelly Lovell, thoughtfully nibbling with sharp little teeth upon a sweetmeat, ‘is that he won’t act his age. Still thinks he’s a helluva fellow. Can’t — or will not — accept the fact that he’s seventy-two.’
‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed John, who was sitting opposite him, toying with a glass of sherry. ‘I hadn’t realized that he was quite that old.’
‘In his younger days he was the very devil of a rake. And with respect to Mr Hogarth, St Austell’s progress was from woman to woman. Just couldn’t get enough of ’em. Different one every night — that is, when he wasn’t on the ran-tan.’
‘He was a heavy drinker?’ asked John.
‘He was everything you can imagine,’ said Sir Clovelly with weight, and allowed his words to sink in.
The Apothecary was frankly bemused. His mental picture of Lord St Austell had been one of an old man in love with a girl a quarter of his age, probably a frail old being whose last declining years were going to be spent happily while she ran around him. But a different portrait was emerging, that of a raging-bull young man — large limbed and ready with his fists — who would grow into something quite cruel in his declining years.
‘What does he look like?’
‘A giant of a fellow, though somewhat stooped these days I fear. He had a shock of long hair, now white, on the top of which he would slap a wig which never sat right on his head. His eyes are a brilliant blue. The sort of eyes which one could imagine as belonging to the Devil — or am I being fanciful? He has strong features, with a great roman nose in the middle of his face, and a large mouth full of gnashing white teeth. These are now false, alas, and somewhat more subdued than once they were. I remember him biting some young man in a tavern brawl and the poor chap was scarred for life.’
‘He sounds a thoroughly nasty piece of work.’
‘He has mellowed as we all do with the onset of age. Uses a stick to support himself and has grown
