somewhat hard of hearing. But he’s still got a violent temper so I hope his poor bride does not step out of line.’
If ever there was a young woman more likely to misbehave than Miranda Tremayne, John would like to see her. A cold shudder clutched his spine and he shivered involuntarily.
It was noon and a raw March day, with a chill wind blowing from the river and echoing down the streets of Exeter. Against its cold Sir Clovelly had had fires lit in every room, so within his house in The Close it was warm and welcoming. John, who had taken Elizabeth’s small carriage into town, had called upon the tailor who had made his scarlet suit and had then gone on to visit Sir Clovelly, that sweet little man whose passion was eating. He had put on weight even since John had last seen him and now resembled a tub, in fact he was almost as broad as he was long. But his jolly face with its many chins and his merry little eyes all a-twinkle welcomed his guest, so that John was pleased to sit down with one of his dear friends and partake of a midday repast, at which John picked. Sir Clovelly, on the other hand, dug in with much enjoyment and smacking of the lips.
‘So old Montague’s getting married again,’ he said between mouthfuls.
‘Yes. Do you know the bride-to-be?’
‘A cousin of Lady Sidmouth did you say?’
‘Child of a cousin I would imagine.’ John leant forward. ‘She’s a bit of a handful in my opinion. Rather a rude little madam.’
‘Old St Austell will soon cure her of that. He won’t stand for any nonsense.’
‘But surely at his age…’
‘Don’t you believe it. He’ll take his cane to her if necessary.’
John sat nonplussed. ‘Well, the situation is not as I read it at all. I thought she would be marrying some compliant old fool who would sit in the corner chumbling his gums while she went out and about as she pleased — and with whom she pleased.’
Sir Clovelly shook his head. ‘Well, unless St Austell has plunged downhill in the last few weeks I would suggest, my dear John, that you have got that entirely wrong. Montague will guard her like a lion and no doubt about it.’
That said, Sir Clovelly dived on to a plate of red blancmanges made with port and began to attack them earnestly.
On his way home John called in at the apothecary’s shop to cancel his order for Feverfew and replace it with Marsh Mallow. He asked to be sold some roots and seeds which he intended to boil in wine to help Elizabeth’s supply of milk and to ensure that her breasts did not become lumpy or swollen. He had just been handed the packet by the apothecary who, by now, he knew quite well, when the door of the shop opened in a hurry and a young and flustered woman came in. Seeing John, she backed to the other end of the counter and pretended to study what was on display. The apothecary approached her.
‘Can I be of assistance, Madam?’
She shot a look at John and muttered something in an undertone.
‘I’m sorry, Madam, I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘I wish to have something to bring on my courses,’ she whispered.
John immediately guessed the situation. The woman’s monthly moon flow was late and she feared she might be pregnant. He had one or two remedies for such an occurrence in his own shop but this was Exeter and he wondered what the other apothecary was going to do.
His answer came at once. ‘If you would like to step through into my compounding room we can discuss the matter in private.’
‘Certainly,’ she replied, but at that moment her reticule came undone and the contents spilled over the floor of the shop.
‘Allow me,’ said John, and helped her to retrieve the contents.
It was only as he was leaving the shop that he found a card case with some newly printed cards inside it. ‘Lady Imogen Beauvoir’, he read, before hastily placing the cards back in their holder. He retraced his steps and looked round but Lady Imogen was still ensconced in the compounding room. John left the card case on the counter in a place where she was bound to see it and went on his way.
He had always loved Exeter, loved its back streets and alleyways and now he found his feet heading towards the river, bustling with life and activity. But as he went towards the West Gate he saw the tavern The Blackamore’s Head and felt that he had to go in there and have a jug of ale for old time’s sake.
He sat at a table, feet stuck out in front of him, listening to the voices with their soft Devon burr speaking all around him. And then one voice rose above all the others, strident and compelling, a voice that had his full attention, though his negligent position at the table altered not at all.
‘I demand that you repeat that,’ it said.
The other person gave a laugh and answered, ‘Indeed I won’t, Sir. I insist that you forget and forgive.’
There was the sudden sound of a chair scraping back and the louder voice shouted, ‘Damn you, Sir, you said something I cannot forgive. You insulted my sister and you’ll take it back or pay for it.’
This was followed by the noise of a hearty punch and then a groan, then the sound of someone else rising and a fist crunching. John rose to get a better view.
Two handsome young bucks were going at each other hell-for-leather. The taller of the pair was dressed in the very latest fashion with a short, high waistcoat and tight trousers which left very little to the imagination. His coat he had cast to one side. The other fighter was smaller and more genial-looking. He was not so fashionably dressed, wearing a longer waistcoat which had seen better days and a somewhat tired coat which was hampering his return blows.
A circle of men had formed round them shouting encouragement and remarks like ‘Hit him, George’ and ‘That’s the spirit, Freddy’. They were clearly known to one and all and the Apothecary stood by fascinated, watching them punching the lights out of one another. And then the landlord stepped in. He had changed since John had last visited the tavern and this new licensee was a massive chap, built like a bull and with a neck that emphasized the point. He came round majestically from his side of the bar and stepped in-between the two scrappers, seizing each by the collar and raising them off their feet.
‘Enough!’ he roared. He even sounded like a bull. He shook them both violently and then banged their heads together. ‘You’ll have to continue this in the street. I’ll have no more fisticuffs in this establishment.’
And with that he threw the couple out, single-handedly, and so hard that they both landed on their backs on the cobbles. John, convinced that they were going to need his services, followed them. The jollier fellow was scrambling to his feet, bleeding profusely from his eye and lip.
‘Please allow me,’ said John, ‘but I think you will need a stitch or two in that. Let me escort you to the apothecary’s shop.’
‘Thank you but no,’ replied the other, giving a small bow. ‘My father is a physician and I live only a step from here. I’ll make my own way — but thanks for your kindness.’
‘No, you won’t,’ growled the taller man, getting to his feet. ‘We’ll finish this here and now, Freddy Warwick.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ the Apothecary interceded. ‘Brawling in a public street is highly frowned upon these days.’
‘I wouldn’t agree with you at all about that,’ drawled the other man, ‘Exeter on a Saturday night is no place for those of a delicate constitution.’
‘None the less,’ John answered, ‘I think you two should stop. You are both wounded badly, and in my opinion as an apothecary both of you require medical attention. Urgently.’
The taller man looked belligerent, despite the fact that his nose was pouring blood. ‘Apologize, you cur,’ he said to Freddy.
‘I apologize for everything,’ the young man replied with a certain cold dignity, and turning on his heel walked quickly away, applying a handkerchief to his bloody eye.
‘Well, you have your apology,’ John remarked, ‘and now I think it would be best if you sought some help.’
‘That man is an absolute dandiprat,’ growled the other, staring at Freddy’s departing back. ‘But you can escort me to an apothecary’s if you wish. By the way, my name is George Beauvoir.’
Suddenly everything made sense. He had to be the brother of Lady Imogen who had been so upset in the very
