Death in Hellfire (5 page)

His former apprentice looked quite shocked. “Oh no, sir. It would be difficult for me to do that. You were my master for many years and that is something that cannot be forgotten.”

“No indeed. But nonetheless I would like it if we ceased to be so formal.”

“I will try to accede to your wishes, sir.”

John gave a quizzical smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” He looked round. “Where is Gideon?”

“I have sent him out to administer a clyster of Good Henry.”

“Really? Is he ready for that?”

“More than ready, sir. As you know I have a dislike of giving clysters - always have had, I fear - so I made sure that Gideon was fully trained in that discipline. He does most of the bowel work nowadays.”

“Don’t tell me he enjoys it.”

“He seems to have a rough and ready approach which most of the patients find commendable. All except the young females which I do myself.”

“I’m sure that makes it as pleasant as possible for them,” said John drily.

“I like to think so, sir,” answered Nick seriously. He changed the subject. “When will you be off in pursuit of your quarry?”

“In a day or two. I am going to see Sir John tomorrow evening and will get my final orders from him.”

“Very good.”

The Apothecary suddenly felt a wave of compassion. “Look, Nick, why don’t you come round and dine this evening. As I am going away I would relish the chance to talk to you. And you look as if you could do with a good meal.”

His former apprentice grinned, transforming his features into those of a most becoming young man. “Oh, I eat well enough, sir. It’s just that I was born to be thin. But I would very much like to accept your invitation. At what time shall I call?”

“I’m afraid we dine late because of the shop. Shall we say six o’clock?”

“That will give me time to race home and change.”

“Indeed it will,” John answered.

Before he left the house he had scribbled a quick note to Miss da Costa asking her if she could call on him that afternoon. And while he was away at his shop a reply had arrived at Nassau Street saying that she would attend at four o’clock and apologising for the lateness of her arrival. John guessed at once that she had applied for another post and was being interviewed. Remembering the freshness of her and the general jollity of her manner he prayed that Rose would choose as he had.

He returned home at three and called his daughter in from the garden where she had been playing with Sir Gabriel. Sending her upstairs for the nursery maid to clean her up, his father too retired to the upper regions.

“I just thought I would sit in on the interview and see the young woman for myself,” he had remarked casually, his lower foot on the bottom stair.

“I will value your opinion greatly, sir,” answered John, well aware that his adopted father was bursting with curiosity.

“Then I will go and prepare myself,” Sir Gabriel had answered, pulling his old-fashioned three-storey wig firmly down upon his head.

Punctually at four o’clock the bell rang and Miss da Costa, today wearing a sky blue hat with matching open robe and cream petticoat, was ushered into the library to be greeted by three pairs of eyes, all regarding her with different expressions. The old man, dressed to the hilt in black and white, was eyeing her as if he could see into her soul, which he probably could, she thought. Mr Rawlings, on the other hand, was smiling at her. But it was to the child, whose dark blue eyes seemed as large as an opened flower, that she was drawn. Miss da Costa saw ancient mystery in those eyes, knew at once that the child was gifted, to the point where she exclaimed, “Oh, you little beauty, we shall have such chats, you and I.”

Rose got up and came towards her, putting up her arms and drawing Octavia’s face down to be level with hers. Then she kissed her on the cheek and turning to her father said, “If I have to have a governess, then I want this one please.”

The two grown men laughed, both having got to their feet when Miss da Costa entered the room, and now John bowed to her.

“Well, Miss da Costa, that would appear to be that. I promised my daughter that she should choose and it would appear that she has done so.”

She made a deep curtsey. “I think I will be very happy here, sir.” Rose, who had not let go of her hand, said, “May I show her the garden please?”

“Perhaps Miss da Costa would rather rest.”

“No, sir, if it is all the same to you I would like to see the garden very much.”

“Then inspect it you shall,” answered John, and bowed once more as the two females passed him on their way out. He turned to his father. “Well?”

“Well indeed. A very comely young woman if I may say so.” John smiled. “I am dining with Sir John tomorrow evening.”

“Excellent. Then you will be leaving us shortly I take it.”

“Yes. I shall be off very soon afterwards.”

“Tell me, will you have to impersonate another character? Adopt a guise of some kind?”

“I think,” John answered carefully, “that I will have to pose as a member of the minor nobility.”

“To gain entry to wherever it is you want to go?”

“Precisely.”

Sir Gabriel rested his chin on a long, thin, elegant hand. “Perhaps try the Irish aristocracy. They are so much more difficult to check.”

“You have a very valuable point. But wouldn’t that mean I’d have to adopt a phoney Irish accent? I don’t think I could keep that up.”

“Nonsense. A great many of them send their sons to England for their education. You could just say the odd word here and there with a strange intonation.”

John burst out laughing. “Father, you truly are an inspiration - and a master of all that is ridiculous. However, I do take your suggestion seriously.”

Sir Gabriel rose and helped himself to a small sherry. “Now, let me think. Who could you be? Perhaps some relation of the Earl of Cavan - one of the smaller counties, don’t you know.”

“No, I don’t, to be perfectly honest. Is there such a man as the Earl?”

Sir Gabriel sipped his sherry thoughtfully. “I have no idea, my son. That is why I suggested that particular place.”

“I see.” John looked pensive. “I could pretend to be one of his sons perhaps.”

“Why not? I doubt that your quarry, however well informed, would be able to check that fact.”

“Father, you’re right. I’ll put it to Sir John tomorrow night.” Sir Gabriel finished his glass. “And will you be mentioning Samuel, my son?”

“No, I think not, don’t you?”

But the answer never came for at that moment they were rejoined by Rose and Octavia da Costa both looking pink as the roses they had just been sniffing.

“Would you like a sherry, Miss da Costa?” the Apothecary asked.

“No, thank you. I must return to my lodgings and pack up my belongings. Would you mind showing me my room before I go?”

“Of course, how remiss of me not to do so before. Come this way?”

He led her upstairs to the first landing and opened the door of the best guest room, feeling that to put her upstairs with the servants would be to pay her insufficient respect. She went into it, clearly delighted.

“Why, it’s most pleasant, sir. I hadn’t expected anything like this.”

John laughed, glad that she was happy, and at that moment the front doorbell rang. Looking down the stairs into the hall below, the Apothecary observed the footman go to answer the summons and Nicholas Dawkins arrive, pale and intriguing as ever. Unaware that he was being observed, his former apprentice removed his caped coat and was ushered in the direction of the library.

“Who was that?” asked Octavia, then blushed a little at her forward manner. John, however, ignored it.

“My ex-apprentice. Name of Nicholas Dawkins.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I think the room is delightful. When would you like me to start?”

“In two days” time if that would be convenient. I have to go away and I will leave Sir Gabriel Kent, my father, in charge of the household. I’m not quite sure at this stage how long I will be.”

Miss da Costa nodded. “Oh, I see. Well, we must do our best without you.” She started to make her way downstairs, John close behind her, but four steps from the bottom she turned and placed her gloved hand in his.

“Do call me Octavia, sir. Miss da Costa is such a mouthful and I would far prefer to be addressed by my Christian name.”

“Very well, then, I will. But by that token I suppose you should call me John.”

But for the second time that day he met with difficulty. “Oh no, sir, that would never do. You will always be Mr Rawlings to me.”

*
 
*
 
*

Sir John Fielding was not in the best of spirits. Joe Jago, who came to the bottom of the stairs leading off by the Public Office, winked and said, “Be careful of the Governor, Mr Rawlings. He’s in high stirrup, I warn you.”

“Why?” John whispered back as they climbed.

“Had a lot of rum cases today, sir. Including a woman accused of murdering her children. It’s affected him badly.”

I shall try to be pleasant,” the Apothecary answered, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his guts.

The Blind Beak was sitting in the little room he used as an office, irritably calling out, “Jago. Jago. Where the devil are you, man?”

“Here, sir,” his clerk called back, “and I’ve got Mr Rawlings with me.”

“Have you now. Good, good.”

John as always made an elaborate bow, regardless of the fact that the Blind Beak could not see him. “Good evening, sir,” he said, then added, “I hope I find you in good spirits.”

“No you don’t,” Sir John retorted sharply. “I have had a terrible day in court. The standard of morals in this country has plunged to a new low, I tell you.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” John answered, knowing that he was learning nothing new.

“Whores, thieves and beggars, the lot of them. As for Francis Dashwood and his bunch of cronies - members of parliament, peers of the realm and God knows what else - they are setting no standards for the rest of the population. The sooner a halt is put to their activities the better it will be for mankind. Those who look to them for an example will have a sorry time of it.”

The Apothecary regarded the Magistrate carefully and thought that the signs of strain were distinctly visible. His face, usually so full and florid, was looking decidedly pinched and had a strange whiteness about it, while his nostrils and lips were both constricted.

“You don’t look well, sir,” he said tentatively.

Sir John made an impatient gesture. “There’s nothing that a few weeks in Kensington wouldn’t put right. It’s just that today filled me to the brim with despair.”

And the Blind Beak suddenly plunged his face into his hands, looking lost and bereft.

Joe Jago rose silently to his feet and poured out a large measure of gin which he guided into the Magistrate’s hand.

“Here, sir, drink this. It will make you feel better I promise you.”

“I have no wish to drown my sorrows,” Sir John said tersely. “May I have one, please?” John asked, not only because he needed a drink but in the hope that it might encourage the Blind Beak.

Sir John straightened up again. “I am forgetting my manners, Mr Rawlings. For a moment I thought you were a member of the family, which is a great compliment to you, sir. But you are a guest and should be treated as such. Certainly you can have a drink.”

Joe Jago winked and nodded at John, then poured the Apothecary a measure before helping himself to a glass. “Good health, sir. Same to you, Mr Rawlings.”

The Blind Beak drank his glass down then held it out for a refill. “I would like to propose a toast.”

“And what might that be, Sir John?” asked John politely. “That the scum of the earth might all be brought to book.”

The Apothecary sighed. “I don’t think that will happen in my or any other lifetime, sir.”

The Magistrate echoed his sigh. “I believe you are right, Mr Rawlings. Alas I do.”

Joe pulled his nose. “Perhaps some of them might make good if given a chance, sir.”

“Precisely. That is why I started my Seminary for Sailors and my Plan for Preserving Deserted Girls. To keep young thieves and villains and child prostitutes off the streets of London.”

“And very well they have worked too, sir,” put in John, somewhat over-heartily.

The Blind Beak brightened. “Is that the general consensus?”

“I should think it is!” the Apothecary replied with gusto. “Why it is the talk of the town.”

He caught Jago’s eye over the Magistrate’s head and watched as the Clerk gave a slow, blue wink.

“Well, well,” said Sir John. “Who would have thought it.” He slapped his thigh and it was the Apothecary’s turn to wink. The Magistrate’s mood was restored and they could now get on with enjoying the evening.

It was after an excellent dinner and two bottles of wine that Sir John addressed himself to the real reason why John had come.

“I’ve been hearing more about this infernal club. Seems there could be some form of Satanic worship going on.”