Death at St. James's Palace (9 page)

“Oh, Master, thank heavens you are here.”

“Why, what is wrong?”

“It’s Mrs. Fielding. She has been taken ill and the Magistrate has requested that you go directly to Bow Street. Apparently she has pronounced that she has no faith in physicians since old Dr. Drake retired and she will see no one but yourself.”

“What are her symptoms?” asked John, rushing into the shop to collect his medical bag.

“Nausea, vomiting, laxes. Apparently she is in a pitiable state and too weak to leave her bed.”

“Call me a chair, Nicholas. I’d best get there straight away.”

“They are all hoping you can work a miracle, Sir, for tomorrow is the day of the investiture.”

The Apothecary groaned. “Oh dear God, I hate this sort of thing. A bad purging will not cure itself fast, as you well know, Nick. Whatever has caused it must pass from the system and though physick can ease the suffering it is not guaranteed to do so at once.”

His apprentice, nicknamed the Muscovite because of an exotic ancestry linking him with the court of Tsar Peter the Great, nodded.

“What you say is completely true. I wish you luck, Sir. Anyway, let me find you some chairmen.”

“Thanks,” answered John, and began to pack his bag methodically, uneasily aware that a great deal depended on him.

Elizabeth Fielding looked terrible, pale as a cloud, her skin drawn so tightly over the bones of her face that she had an almost skeletal air.

“How long has she been like this?” John asked over his shoulder.

Mary Ann who, to give the silly flap her due, looked genuinely anxious and upset, said, “Since yesterday afternoon, Mr. Rawlings.”

“Did she eat anything that upset her?”

“No, Sir, just what we all had.”

“Then it is an evil disposition of the body caught from another. Infections tend to breed and fester in the warm weather. Mary Ann, you must hold your adopted mother up while I spoon some physick into her.”

“Will she be better by tomorrow, Mr. Rawlings?”

“Realistically, no. Not unless there’s a miracle.”

“But my uncle is to receive his knighthood. It would break her heart to miss it.”

“It would break her heart even more to be caught short before the King.”

“Oh God’s life!” said Mary Ann, and giggled despite the awfulness of the occasion.

John administered three different concoctions; the outer bark of black alder to bind the laxes, stalks of bumet in claret to staunch the castings, and the seeds of quince tree in boiling water. This mixture produced a soft mucilaginous substance similar to white of egg which he painstakingly fed to the patient on a spoon.

“What does that do?” Mary Ann whispered.

“There is nothing finer for soothing the intestines. Now, my girl, these doses are to be repeated every four hours without fail. I will call again this evening to see how the patient progresses and during the day I will send my apprentice, Nicholas, whom I am sure you remember well.”

He looked at her beadily, recalling the time when she had driven the young man to his wits’ end with love for her.

The girl had the good grace to blush, but then said slyly, “Don’t worry that incident is closed. Besides, I have been replaced in his affections I believe.”

John stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Mary Ann made much of sponging her aunt’s fevered brow, looking at John over the top of Elizabeth Fielding’s head. Then she whispered pointedly, “Nicholas has a new sweetheart. I have seen him walking out with her.”

John, despite the fact he had long ago waived the strict rules regarding apprentices in view of the Muscovite’s age, was interested. “Really? Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before. But very pretty though.”

A warning bell went off in the Apothecary’s mind. “Small, bright headed, with eyes the colour of wisteria?”

“Yes, that’s her. Who is she?”

“A new servant. Nicholas was probably showing her the way to a shop. She does not know this area.”

Mary Ann’s face went from sly to foxy. “Oh no doubt he was, but strange that they should be handfast as they walked.”

Inwardly, John groaned as he wondered just what bundle of trouble he had let into his house. However, he put on his sweetest smile for the benefit of the inquisitive imp regarding him.

“She may well have felt nervous when she walked. I’m sure that Nicholas was doing no more than guide her along.”

“Oh for certain,” Mary Ann answered, and gave him the sort of pert grin that made him want to slap her.

John turned back to his patient. “Keep your aunt like this, utterly quiet and still, and do not attempt to give her any food. She can have sips of water and no more. Tell your uncle that I will see him tonight.”

“Yes, Mr. Rawlings.”

“And can you also tell him the facts. Namely, that Mrs. Fielding will most likely not be able to attend tomorrow’s ceremony.”

“He will be very upset.”

“He probably will, but it is better that he should get used to the idea now.”

“I’m sure he will refuse to go himself if she cannot be there.”

“I do hope that he won’t even consider anything so foolish.”

It was a busy day in the shop, particularly with Nicholas out for an hour, and John was pleased when they finally closed for the night and he was able once more to take a chair to Bow Street. The court, which had been sitting that day, was no longer in session and as John turned into the tall thin house in which Mr. Fielding and his family lived, he passed Joe Jago, the Magistrate’s clerk, making his way outwards, a determined expression on his craggy face.

“Joe,” said John, delighted to see his old friend again, “where are you off to?”

“I’ve an appointment with my tailor, Mr. Rawlings.”

“A new suit for tomorrow?”

“Indeed, Sir. I thought a rich dark blue with silver trimming might be dee rigour.”

Joe had never got the hang of pronouncing
de rigueur
and the Apothecary grinned, though not mockingly.

“What time do you have to be at the palace?”

“The levee begins at eleven, so carriages will be arriving from an hour beforehand. Anyway, Sir, I must be off. The tailor has to make a final fitting then will be working through the night if all’s not perfect.”

“Good luck tomorrow,” said John and went within.

He found Mr. Fielding sitting beside his wife, gently holding her hand. It looked to John, as he went quietly through the door, as if both of them were fast asleep, the Magistrate absolutely still, Elizabeth not moving, pale against her pillows. The Apothecary hardly liked to disturb them but even as he silently approached, John Fielding raised his head.

“Mr. Rawlings?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for what you’ve done. My wife has ceased to vomit and purge and is now sleeping quietly. I owe this to your rapid response to our call for help.”

John felt his patient’s brow. “Sir, I know that Mrs. Fielding has greatly improved but I do not think it would be prudent to disturb her tomorrow. It is my honest opinion that she should be allowed to rest for several days more. She is still very weak, believe me.”

The Magistrate nodded. “Nothing would induce me to jeopardise her recovery. No, Mr. Rawlings, if you are agreeable it is you who will act as my second guide at the palace tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you Sir. I must take another person - I should die of shame were I to trip on my way to the throne - and I can think of no one I would prefer to accompany me. John, will you say yes?”

The Apothecary reeled, partly at being called by his first name, something that the Magistrate had done only once before in their entire acquaintanceship, and partly at the thought of attending an investiture at St James’s Palace.

“Sir, I would be highly honoured,” he answered breathlessly.

“Then, my friend, when you have tended your patient I suggest you make for home and bring forth your best clothes for your servants to sponge and press. I intend that we shall put on a goodly show, us representatives of the Public Office.”

“And what are you wearing, Sir?”

“A new suit, dark damson in shade. I refuse to have anything too showy. It is Mary Ann who will outshine us all.”

Like the devil she will, thought John, and mentally started going through his wardrobe as he took his leave and headed home in a flurry of excitement.

In the event he chose his green and gold wedding suit, the finest day-wear he had, and rose early to make sure that he was as clean and well-shaven as it was possible to be. The rest of the household rose with him, running about with alacrity and barely concealed enthusiasm for the fact that their master was to go to the palace that day.

“They are longing to stand outside St. James’s and wave you in,” said Emilia over their early breakfast.

“Indeed I shall let them,” John answered, then promptly felt middle-aged and pompous because of his words and tone of voice.

“What about Nicholas?”

“He’ll have to run the shop.”

“Oh how could you? He’s been your faithful creature all these years. How could you exclude him from the fun?”

“They’re not going to see much; just me entering the palace that’s all.”

“What about everybody else going in? What about the clothes and the coaches and the cheering? If you leave Nicholas out of all that, may it be on your conscience for ever more.”

Feeling more of a selfish wretch with every word his wife uttered, John swallowed noisily. “Oh very well. The shop will close today. But, sweetheart, somebody must stay and look after the house. I can’t give everyone the morning off.”

“Then let it be the two most recently joined, Lucinda and the lad. The rest can follow our carriage down.” Emilia caught breath. “Oh John, I’m so excited. To think you will see Mr. Fielding kneel before the King.”

“I wish you could come in.”

“I shall be quite happy watching from the coach. Then afterwards we can drink champagne and you can tell me all about it.”

The Apothecary got up from his place and going round the table, kissed her on the lips. “You are like a child, with that sweet ability to really enjoy an occasion. Promise me that you will never lose that.”

“I promise.”

“Now, let us go and put on finery. The greatest hat in your collection must be worn today, so that everyone staring in through the carriage windows can admire you.”

“I hardly think that anybody will be looking at me with so many important people making their way within.”

“A beautiful woman is always regarded,” John answered gallantly as they left the room, calling for the servants to help them dress.

The coach made its way to St. James’s Palace by turning out of Nassau Street, down Gerrard Street, then through Princes and Coventry Streets into Piccadilly. From there Irish Tom clipped the horses smartly to the junction with St. James’s Street where, somewhat to John’s astonishment, he saw that a crowd had begun to gather. It seemed that as this was the first investiture following the coronation there was still a certain amount of interest in the new young monarch and his recently acquired Queen.

The Apothecary had always thought that very old and very young sovereigns held a certain amount of popular appeal. It was merely the middle-aged who tended to bore, their very years making them stuffy and lacklustre. George II had been no exception. Short, strutting, charmless, Germanic, swaying of jowl and crimson of visage, the public at large had been thoroughly bored with him and were only too anxious for his grandson to ascend the throne. And now he had. Amiable, tall, good-looking, blue-eyed, and very proud of the fact that he had been bom in England, young George was high in popularity and at the moment was cheered wherever he went. If he had married the beautiful Sarah Lennox his star would have blazed in the firmament, but instead he had wed Charlotte, German as they come and with a face like a squashed fig. She was not the glamorous consort that the public craved but, still, they liked the lad and now they had turned out to see the carriages full of grand personages proceed to the palace through that area of London known as St. James’s.

Originally the Tudor building had stood in a rural setting, hunting and grazing grounds surrounding it on every side. Now urban development had caught up, but its earlier associations were reflected by the parks which adjoined it. Behind St. James’s Palace lay St. James’s Park, to its right as one faced the building. Green Park, while its own small but adequate gardens lay behind the state apartments.

As they entered St. James’s Street, the Apothecary saw that a line of coaches was ahead, moving at slow speed down the road towards the junction with Pall Mall.

“Is that the way in, Sir?” called Irish Tom from the box.

“Mr. Fielding said that the carriages were to drop us by the walkway leading to the German Church. The doors going into the palace open off there.”

Across the top of this walkway, which led from Pall Mall down to St. James’s Park, were a pair of stout gates to keep unwanted visitors out. But today these stood open, allowing those descending from their conveyances to pass down the path and inside the building without hindrance. Further, at intervals along the way, a dozen or so little pageboys were stationed to assist people in and help with the disposal of travelling garments.