every stop they made. Consequently the Apothecary arrived at the Gloucester Hotel and Coffee House feeling much the worse for wear and caught a hackney to Nassau Street in something of a grumpy mood. This was not alleviated by his reception, which proved to be minimal, all of the upstairs staff being busy running errands for Mrs Jacquetta Fortune who seemed to have taken control of the entire place. On catching a glimpse of him coming through the front door she dropped him a brief curtsey.
‘Oh, Mr Rawlings, how very good to see you home. We were not expecting you, as you have probably noticed. My dear Sir, the business has taken off like a thing deranged. Orders are coming in daily for the carbonated water. The whole enterprise is going to be a great success, I can assure you.’
‘Well, I am delighted to hear it. I shall no doubt be needing extra cash as I am now the father of twin boys.’
Jacquetta’s eyes opened wide. ‘How wonderful, Sir. Please accept my heartiest congratulations. What are their names, may I ask?’
‘Jasper and James. They are the sweetest little devils and absolutely identical. One day you must meet them.’
‘Will they be coming to London?’
‘I don’t know,’ John answered, and suddenly felt inexplicably annoyed with Elizabeth for her aversion to the capital and her refusal to so much as visit it. To take his mind off these feelings he decided to make his way to his shop in Shug Lane. Once there he alighted from his coach and sent Irish Tom back home. Not knowing quite what to expect, he sauntered over the threshold.
Within the place gleamed; every wooden surface shone like a mirror; every jar glinted its vivid contents. Even as he stood surveying the scene John could see Fred’s back bent as he dusted a low-placed box of pills. He was suddenly reminded of the child’s namesake, Fred the mudlark, that ridiculously healthy child who had lived in an upturned boat on the banks of the River Thames. In many ways they were so alike, both undersized, both cheerful — and both with a habit of acquiring things that were not rightfully theirs.
‘Well, well,’ John said admiringly, ‘you’ve certainly made a good job of the shop. Is Master Purle pleased with you?’
Fred straightened up, somewhat startled. ‘Oh hello, Sir. We wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
Gideon appeared from the compounding room, looking every inch the apothecary in his long apron, his curling hair tied back in a neat bow. John cast his mind back to when he had first taken him on as an apprentice and marvelled at the change. The Apothecary had signed on someone totally lacking in flair; now Gideon had become a young man more than capable of running the shop in Shug Lane and entering that most noble of professions. And how handsome he had grown. A veritable sight for sore eyes.
‘Fred,’ said Gideon, ‘go into the compounding room and help Master Robin with chopping up the herbs. There’s a good lad.’
‘Right ho, Sir.’
The diminutive figure disappeared obediently, and John turned to Gideon. ‘How has he been behaving?’
‘Impeccably. I cannot fault him. And, strange to tell, he has formed a good friendship with Robin.’
‘And he? How is he turning out?’
‘Excellent, Sir. The boy is genuinely interested. He is far more alert and alive than I was at his age.’
‘You were a late developer, Gideon.’
The young man flushed, colouring from his neck up to his bright hair. ‘I suppose I was.’
John smiled at him to show there was no ill feeling and at that moment the door of the shop rang, then opened, accompanied by a young man who walked towards them, his nose buried deep in a book.
‘Good morning, Sir. How can we help you?’ said Gideon, just as John was opening his mouth to ask the same question.
‘Eh? What? Oh sorry.’ The young man closed the book with a snap and looked about him with a vague expression on his face. ‘Ah yes. Of course. Something for my grandpapa.’
John took over. ‘What did you have in mind, Sir?’
The young man looked at him. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure. Can’t think what it was he wanted.’
He opened the book again and read a few lines as if this would refresh his memory. John glanced at the pages sideways and saw that they were full of mathematical equations. He cleared his throat and the young man looked up and fixed him with a vague expression.
‘What?’
‘I did not speak, Sir,’ said John pointedly. ‘You were trying to remember what it is your relative required.’
‘Was I? Oh yes.’
This conversation was getting nowhere and Gideon intervened.
‘Would it be something for gout?’
The young man looked doubtful. ‘No, I don’t think so. Ah yes, it is coming back to me now.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said John.
‘It is for…’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘… potency. He is getting…’ He now began to speak so softly that the Apothecary was forced to cup his ear. ‘… married again. He wishes to perform his marital duties vigorously. You understand?’
He said these last words with such a great deal of embarrassment that John almost felt sorry for him. He became very professional.
‘How old is the gentleman concerned?’
‘Seventy-two.’
‘A good old trooper then,’ was out of John’s mouth before he could curb the words. ‘Now, Sir, I have some strengthening physick of my own composition which is considered invaluable by many elderly gentlemen. And in your grandfather’s case I would recommend rubbing oil of Jessamine into the appropriate part three times a day.’
The young man looked vague. ‘You mean…?’ He pointed downwards.
‘Yes,’ said John firmly, ‘that is exactly where I do mean. Now, is there anything further I can help you with?’
‘Yes… I mean no. Thank you kindly. How much do I owe you?’
‘Three shillings and six pence.’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’
The young man took the package that Gideon had wrapped up for him and paid the money. Then he raised his hat — and bumped straight into the door post on the way out.
Ten
The next morning John ordered the coach to be brought round at seven o’clock. Irish Tom eventually turned up at half past, swearing like an old sailor, saying that one of the horses had cast a shoe and that he had had to take him round to the farrier. The Apothecary, still recovering from his riotous journey to London and the rather odd day that followed, said nothing but climbed aboard and fell fast asleep.
They reached Kensington in record time, or so it seemed to him — the horse appearing to have a new sense of joie de vivre for having had its hoof attended to and inspiring its fellow — and interrupted Sir Gabriel sitting at the breakfast table reading a copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine while Rose perched quietly nearby, drawing a picture in a copy book. They looked up as John entered the room unannounced and both gave him a smile before his daughter rushed into his arms. How sweet she smelled and, as always, John was vividly reminded of his late wife, Emilia, whom Rose resembled in so many ways.
‘My dear child,’ said Sir Gabriel, who sat in a long gown and turban with jewelled slippers upon his feet. ‘We did not expect you quite so early.’
‘I am sorry, Papa. It was just that I was anxious to see you both.’
‘How are your sons?’ asked Rose and looked at him with eyes twinkling.
‘You little devil,’ John answered, chucking her under the chin, ‘you knew very well that they were going to be
