chin high and exude a confidence that perhaps inside one does not feel, then you will be treated with respect and as someone whose views are worth listening to. Now, child, let me lead you to your headmistress.’
Still within the carriage confines, John smiled. ‘Go on, Rose,’ he said. ‘I will follow behind.’
So his daughter was led down a kind of ceremonial walk, with the parents and children falling back to allow Sir Gabriel — using his great stick to a nicety — to pass through. Thus they arrived at the feet of Madame de Cygne.
‘Bonjour, Madame. Votre ecole est magnifique, je crois.’ And he bowed low before her, then kissed her hand.
She was quite overcome, answered him in French and made much of Rose, whom Sir Gabriel introduced as his granddaughter and eventual heir. Then John joined them, having walked slowly behind them, and the bowing and curtseying began all over again. Finally it was time for Rose to go inside.
She turned in the doorway and reached up to John for a last kiss. ‘Be very careful in Devon,’ she whispered.
‘I will, I promise,’ he whispered back.
Then he set her on her feet and she turned away and walked through the front door and into her new life.
Having spent the night with Sir Gabriel, John returned to town the next morning early and did a full day’s work in his shop. After which, feeling in the mood for some fresh air, he went for a walk in St James’s Park. Despite the evening being not yet truly warm there were a great many people about, those simply out to take the air, and those whose sole purpose in life was prostitution and picking pockets. A dismal child of about twelve approached him and offered him a short time in a back alley for two pennies. John gave her the money then ordered her away and told her to go to an apothecary’s as the poor girl was covered with a most suspicious rash. She ran off and John continued his walk in peace.
A beau minced past in unfashionably high heels, somewhat worn down. On looking at him further one could see that he was genteelly shabby, a sad figure if he had not been such a ridiculous posturer. He turned his head as John approached, and raised his eye glasses which hung around his neck to peer. The Apothecary saw a face that must once have been handsome but was now raddled with dissolute living. There were cracks in the enamelled make-up and the huge eyes, heavily outlined with kohl, were heavy with bags beneath. John could see that the seam of his coat had split under the arm.
The man let out a little scream. ‘Oh good gracious me! Zoonters, but I thought you were a pickpocket, Sir.’ He stared at John closely, the eyeglasses reflecting the light. ‘You are not one, are you?’
John smiled and made a small bow. ‘No, Sir, I am not. But if you are so frightened of them why do you walk here?’
The beau’s carmined lips parted in a smile. ‘I am not afraid, Sir. No indeed I am not. And if a man cannot saunter along minding his business and enjoying his own company, then we are in a sorry plight indeed.’
Certain that if he agreed with him he would receive a lecture on the state of the nation, John smiled non- committally and would have passed him had it not been for the beau’s arm blocking his way.
‘Oh do chat a minute, Sir. It is so very pleasant to exchange news and views.’
John’s heart sank slightly but out of common politeness he allowed himself to walk beside the beau who rattled off a load of nonsense in a high-pitched voice.
‘… and as I was saying to Sir Rollo Golightly t’other day, one hardly dare leave one’s home for fear of highwaymen. I mean, what indeed are we come to, that…’
John switched off his brain and allowed his thoughts to drift away, but was suddenly called back to reality by the mention of a familiar name.
‘… of course, as I said to Lady Bournemouth-’
‘Excuse me, but do you know her?’
The beau sounded slightly waspish. ‘Of course I do. I am often invited to her place to play cards. Met a delightful girl while I was there, a Miss Cordelia Clarke. She invited me to stay at her home…’
‘In Devon?’
‘Precisely. But I wouldn’t travel on the public stage or by post-chaise, come to that. One never knows what might be lurking behind the bushes, don’t you know.’
This last remark struck John as funny and he felt his mouth starting to twitch into a grin.
‘I am serious, my dear Sir. One takes one’s life into one’s hands when one steps abroad. I mean to say, anyone could be a pickpocket or a cutpurse, don’t you know.’
‘Then why are you walking along with me?’ asked John mildly.
The beau shrieked with laughter, bending double and clutching his sides. John had a glimpse of his eyes, which he could now see were the colour of ginger spice, watering madly as he giggled away. ‘Oh, my dear Sir, you’re a regular rogue, so you are! Why, I haven’t laughed so much since I last clipped the King’s English!’
John decided that the man was very slightly mad and concluded that a rapid exit would be the order of the day. Pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket, he said, ‘Dearie me, is that the time? I promised to meet someone in ten minutes. I really must hurry along.’
The beau wiped his face with a lace handkerchief that had seen better days. ‘It has been a great pleasure to talk to you, Sir. I do hope my lack of decorum did not frighten you away. Alas I am given to such outbursts when something takes my fancy. Before we part, please remember me to Lady Bournemouth and Miss Cordelia Clarke if you should happen to see them.’ At the mention of the last name the beau let out a deep sigh, clutched his heart and rolled a ginger eye.
John presumed from this that the fellow had a penchant for the young lady, thinking simultaneously that he was somewhat too old for her, and far too seedy. He nodded. ‘Be sure that I will. What is your name, by the way?’
‘Pendleton, Sir. Benedict Pendleton. And yours?’
‘John Rawlings.’
And with this the two men bowed to one another and parted company.
Thinking that it was time he rewarded Jacquetta for the undoubted amount of hard work that she had put into launching the Rawlings brand of sparkling water, John invited her to accompany him to the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, to see a revival of The Parson’s Wedding, a play that in its heyday had made Samuel Pepys blush. Now she too, though laughing, had colour in her cheeks and John could not help but think it sailed a little close to the wind for a delicate female. However it had the desired effect of engaging the often rowdy audience who, instead of talking or throwing rotten fruit into the stalls below, guffawed heartily throughout.
Coming out into the chilly April night John decided it was too early to return home and instead took Mrs Fortune to a quiet tavern near Covent Garden and ordered a late supper. Having seated themselves and placed their order, she turned to him, looking at him with her clear eyes.
‘Mr Rawlings, I would like to thank you for all you have done for me. I believe that you have quite literally saved my life.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank Octavia Dawkins. She is the person who recommended you, after all.’
‘I am obviously aware of that. But you have been a very kind employer. Moreover you had sufficient faith in me to allow me to pursue my own way.’
‘As a matter of fact I would like to be more involved in the business in future. You see, I have been interested in the properties of water ever since I can remember. Not,’ John added hastily, ‘that I infer any criticism of your splendid organization.’
‘You are welcome to join Gideon and myself at any time, Sir. You know that.’
Feeling that the conversation was drifting towards his commitments in Devon and the difficulties that these were already presenting him with, John changed the subject. ‘I’m glad that he has been of help to you. I must say he has developed really well. He used to be so clumsy, you know. I hardly dared to let him loose in the shop.’
‘He has certainly changed,’ answered Jacquetta, and lowered her eyes.
A pang ran through John, though of what kind he had no idea himself. ‘You are fond of him?’ he found himself saying.
Mrs Fortune looked up again and directly at her employer. There was no denying it. Her gentle green eyes held a look of great tenderness. ‘Yes, I am. Very.’
Why this should irritate John, Heaven alone knew — but irritated he was. It was on the tip of his tongue to
