shop to which they were now making their way. And Freddy — whom John rather liked — had perhaps hinted that she was pregnant and got a damaged eye for his pains.
‘Lord George?’ asked the Apothecary.
‘The very same. And what’s your name, Sir?’
‘John Rawlings of Shug Lane, Piccadilly, London.’
‘Should I be impressed?’ asked George.
‘Very,’ John replied succinctly.
They made their way along towards High Street, but his lordship was bleeding so badly that John decided they should go to the first apothecary they came across. Sure enough, after they had proceeded just a very few yards, they saw a small shop with the familiar jars in the window and John hurried his patient inside.
The apothecary’s apprentice came out to see them and immediately called his master from the compounding room.
‘Now what have you been doing, Lord George?’ the elderly man asked him. ‘I shall have to tell your brother of you.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ said George, and his voice was semi-serious.
‘I was merely being jocular. I am hardly likely to see him,’ the apothecary answered with a hint of acerbity. ‘I do not move in such exalted circles. The new apothecary on High Street has taken most of my custom and I fear that nowadays I am called upon for little except mopping up after fights and handing out the pills which are in much demand.’
‘What would they be?’ asked John, interested.
‘Oh, the usual thing: tablets for gout — they are a favourite — a cure for the clap, my best seller. And, of course, boiled Pennyroyal for helping young women who…’
‘Quite, quite,’ interrupted John, ‘I am an apothecary myself. And, believe me, the demands for physics are exactly the same in London as they are here. Now, what’s to do with this poor fellow?’
‘Get him lying flat for a start. Then apply bruised leaves of Fluellein to that nose of his.’
Together they got George down to the floor and put the application on to his nostrils. Throughout this procedure his lordship kept complaining loudly and uttering vague threats but the two apothecaries ignored him and started a counter conversation about the use and effectiveness of various plants.
During all this John was able to whisper, ‘Who is this brother that you spoke of earlier?’
‘Viscount Falmouth. Their grandfather is the Earl of St Austell. He’s about to remarry — since when every young woman in the place has been throwing herself at the Viscount, the Earl being off the market, so to speak.’
‘With any success?’
‘None at all. He’s a bookish chap and seems in no hurry to tie himself down.’
‘Wise man.’
There was a squeal from the floor. ‘What are you two muttering about? I’ve been trying to tell you for the last five minutes that my nose has stopped bleeding.’
‘Remain where you are for another five. Then I will give you an infusion of Blueberries to take home and apply frequently. You’d best keep your nose under a bandage for the rest of this night.’
‘Dammit, man. I wanted to go out this evening.’
The older apothecary looked down at the figure on the floor. ‘It is entirely up to you, of course, but I would suggest a quiet few hours of complete rest. You have no wish to start the flow of blood once more.’
From his place on the floor George muttered evilly. ‘Curse that little wretch Freddy Warwick. I’ll have it out with him, I swear it.’
John spoke up. ‘I think it would be best, Lord George, if you gave up this unfortunate habit of having things out with Freddy. You may have thumped him but he thumped you equally hard in return. If you carry on you will lose your handsome features, you can be sure of it.’
George turned on him a malignant glance. ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion.’
‘No, but I gave it,’ John answered, and turning his head to one side winked at the elderly apothecary who gave him a toothy grin in return.
Nine
At dinner that afternoon John shouted down the length of the great table, ‘What do you know of the Earl of St Austell?’
‘Not a great deal. He was a contemporary of my father’s, a little younger perhaps. Why?’ came the answer from the Marchesa.
‘I discussed him with Sir Clovelly today. It seems he had a fierce reputation when he was younger.’
‘Why the sudden interest in the man?’
‘Sweetheart, have I forgotten to tell you? Miranda Tremayne — that nasty little girl — is going to marry him.’
‘What? But she’s young enough to be his granddaughter.’
‘Easily. Though that doesn’t deter our Miranda. She’s looking like a creamed cat and more than a little pleased with herself.’
‘For once I feel robbed of speech. But of course I can see the attraction. He has a huge estate in Cornwall and is as rich as Croesus, so they say.’
‘And will eventually die, leaving our Miranda a very wealthy widow indeed. Let it be hoped that his temper sweetens with age.’
Elizabeth looked thoughtful and took a sip of wine. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’
‘About what?’
‘St Austell growing more and more gentle. He was a vicious and rather cruel young man, I believe, and I think he will just get nastier and nastier as time passes.’
‘You and Sir Clovelly may be quite right. We shall just have to wait and see.’ John cleared his throat. ‘My dear, there is something I want to ask you.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I wish to return to London for a brief visit. First of all I want to see Sir Gabriel and Rose. Secondly I wish to discover how Mrs Fortune is proceeding with running my new business. And lastly I want to check on my new lads and see how they are getting on, particularly Fred the Factotum.’
The Marchesa pealed with laughter; a lovely, bubbly sound. ‘How long will you be gone for?’
‘About a month. Then I will return so that we can be in time to attend the wedding.’
‘Oh, so we are going to be invited, are we?’
‘That is what Lady Sidmouth told me. She is also inviting Sir Clovelly Lovell.’
‘It should be greatly piquant to see Miranda acting the innocent — and going like a lamb to the slaughter.’
For a moment the acoustics in the great dining room seemed to go out of kilter and the Marchesa’s voice was distorted, as if it were echoing down a tunnel. For no reason the Apothecary felt afraid.
‘John, what is the matter? You’ve suddenly gone very white.’
He drained his wine glass to get control of himself. ‘’Twas nothing. A moment’s lapse, that’s all.’
There was silence and then Elizabeth said, ‘Why don’t you bring Rose back with you? I am sure she would love to see the boys.’
John dropped his napkin, rose from his seat, and walked the length of the table. ‘Madam, I loved you,’ he answered, ‘but now I love you more than ever. May I accept the invitation on my daughter’s behalf?’
‘Very gladly, Sir,’ she answered, and regardless of the footmen who stood at the back of the room, kissed him on the lips.
Two days later John caught the flying coach and had a very jolly time of it indeed, his fellow passengers being three young bachelors going to London to celebrate the betrothal of one of them. When they heard of his recent triumph in the realms of fatherhood they cheered wildly and insisted on wetting the heads of the two babies in
