Death on the Rocks (2 page)

The chairmen trotted along, keeping well away from the dark narrow alleys which were used by various members of the public for all kinds of nefarious purposes, sticking instead to the broader streets, the gutters of which stank with the detritus dumped in them daily. Having left Gerard Street they hurried up Princes Street, then turned down Knaves Acre and Brewers Street, then up into Warwick Street, along Beak Street, and then thankfully into Great Swallow Street, where the lights from the houses of Hanover Square lit the cobbles. John got out and paid the perspiring men generously and then sauntered along the square to number 12.

As usual a footman answered the door and John gazed around him, thinking of the time – many years ago now – when he had first stood there. It must be nearly twenty years, the Apothecary thought, and rejoiced that he had been able to make and keep such friends as the Comte and Comtesse de Vignolles.

‘My dear,’ called a voice from the staircase, and looking up John saw that Serafina was descending to meet him.

She was as elegant as ever, though now the sides of her hair gleamed pewter in the light of the many candles that lit their gracious home. But she still had that slight racehorse delicacy about her, the full mouth that curved so easily into a smile, the lovely bones of her cheeks reflected in the blaze of the chandelier which illuminated the steps.

‘Serafina,’ he said, and ran up the stairs to bow before her and kiss her hand.

In response, she took him into her arms, holding him away from her slightly so that she could look into his face.

‘You have an extra line or two,’ she said in the husky tones that he had always thought thrilling.

‘My dear, I shall be forty next year,’ he answered, giving her a crooked grin.

She threw her hands in the air. ‘Don’t speak to me of it. I try to remember your father’s words that age is merely a number.’

The Apothecary smiled wryly. ‘I say them to myself daily.’

His eye was caught by further movement on the stairs and he looked up to see a young lady approaching. A young lady so like her mother that the Apothecary drew a breath before giving a formal bow.

‘Italia?’ he asked.

The girl curtseyed. ‘Indeed, Sir.’

‘You have grown up,’ he said. And it was true. John had not seen Serafina’s daughter for at least two years and the miracle had taken place. She was now fourteen years old and had turned into a young woman in the intervening months.

‘Do you think we are alike?’ asked Serafina with a smile.

‘As two pod peas, my dear.’

‘Would you like to be her age again, John?’

The Apothecary smiled. ‘Sometimes yes, but mostly no. Like a good wine, I am maturing in the cask.’

Serafina smiled back and looked up the stairs. ‘I believe that men improve with age. Do you not think that Louis is a prime example?’

And the Comte de Vignolles certainly looked at his best, with his leonine head rapidly sporting a deal of white among the dark hair and his tall figure carrying itself with all the assurance of an older man.

‘My dear John, how good to see you again.’

‘And you, Sir.’

‘Here is your godson, Jacques. Grown somewhat since last you met.’

Louis stepped to one side to reveal a handsome lad of about eleven with a mass of dark curling hair tied back with a scarlet bow. Jacques put his hand on his heart and gave a deep bow.

‘Godfather, I am so pleased to see you again.’

‘And I you, Jacques,’ John answered, and gave a formal bow in return.

He had delivered the child, brought him into the world, when during a social call on Serafina she had gone into premature labour. But all had been well. Thanks to the services of John and a quick-witted maid, the tiny little boy had lived and thrived. And now here he was, grown into a regular fine fellow.

Serafina looked at him and winked an elegant eye. ‘You approve of my brood?’

John winked back. ‘Not nearly as much as I approve of you, Madam.’

Later that evening, when the supper had been taken and the candles burned low and the young people had yawned their way to their bedrooms, the three friends sat at the table while the port bottle was passed round. Serafina did not participate in the tradition of ladies leaving the men alone – except when in elegant company – and sat while John and Louis lit pipes and watched the blue smoke curl towards the beautiful ceiling.

‘Are you happy, my dear?’ she asked John, looking at him over the rim of her glass.

He sighed. ‘I am content,’ he answered, ‘if that is what you mean.’

‘No, it is not what I meant. I repeat, are you happy?’

The Apothecary glanced at her and saw that she knew the answer even before he had spoken.

‘To be honest with you, I crave adventure and I miss my sons. And I still miss Elizabeth, though the pain of that has vanished with the passing of the years.’

‘But you genuinely loved her?’ asked Louis.

‘With all my heart. And I still do. But I am not one of those people who go on pining for something that I can no longer have. I have too practical a nature.’

‘You are a wise man,’ said Louis. ‘A lot of valuable time is wasted by those who hunger for what is lost.’

Serafina suddenly sparkled with mischief. ‘We must find an adventure for you, my friend.’

John’s eyes lit up. ‘As a matter of fact I had a mysterious letter today.’

‘From whom?’

‘From a stranger. A man in Bristol – well, just outside actually, a village called Clifton.’

‘And?’

‘Apparently someone has turned up claiming to be his stepson, but he maintains he’s never seen the fellow in his life before.’

Serafina and Louis exchanged a glance.

‘How odd,’ Louis said.

‘And what does he want you to do about it?’ asked the Comtesse.

‘He has apparently heard that I have in the past worked with Sir John Fielding and he wants me to visit him. At least I think that is what he wants.’

‘You must write to him this very night, John. Tell him that you will be delighted to accept the commission.’

‘Where did you say he lived?’ asked Louis.

‘In Clifton. It’s a village outside Bristol. Up on the edge of the Avon Gorge.’

‘I’ve seen it,’ Louis answered. ‘It’s quite small. I believe the rich of Bristol are building up there to get away from the stink of the town.’

‘You must go, John,’ said Serafina, her eyes suddenly glinting. ‘I have a feeling it might relieve your low spirits.’

‘Not exactly low, more unsettled.’

‘Whatever you say,’ she answered, ‘but promise me you will attend upon this mysterious gentleman.’

‘Yes,’ the Apothecary said, ‘I give you my promise.’

‘Then I’ll drink to that,’ replied Serafina, and with that she raised her glass.

Much later that night, when the Apothecary had climbed into his bed and snuggled down beneath the blankets, he looked once again at the letter. With a stomach full of wine and good food, let alone his promise to Serafina, he made the decision to visit Bristol soon.

He had been there once before as a boy of fourteen, taken by Sir Gabriel, visiting an old friend who dwelled in Queens Square. He had stared overawed at the mighty Avon Gorge, at the ferry boat crossing it, back and forth, at the young boy rowing it, scarcely older than himself. But most of all his eye had been drawn to the mighty ships riding at anchor, rowed up the narrow waterway of the channel by barges, it being too narrow and the wind too flighty to allow them to sail. Then his eyes had widened in horror as he had watched one ship unload its cargo. A hatchway had opened in the hold and out had come a string of strange people with black skins, naked but for a few tattered rags which they clutched about them. There had been men, women and children of all ages, staggering out of the blackness below and almost blinded by the light of day. There had been infants, some no older than two years. One, a terrified little girl, lost control of her bladder and stood, helpless, while urine cascaded down her legs and tears down her tragic black face.

John had turned to Sir Gabriel. ‘What are they, Sir? Are they people?’

His father had made a strange sound, almost a hollow laugh. ‘They are called negroes, John. And yes, they are people like ourselves.’

‘But why have they been brought here?’

‘To act as slaves – unpaid servants – to those who will buy them off the slave trader.’

‘Even the children?’

‘Yes, even them. The boys will go to some rich woman to be her little black servant. The girls will train to become maids-of-all-work. Poor little piccaninnies.’

‘You don’t approve of slaving, Father?’

‘“If they prick us do we not bleed?”’ quoted Sir Gabriel, and John understood completely.

But the horror was not over. The sailors produced a chain and passed it through the neck collars that each man, woman and child wore. Then in a line that shouted of despair and misery and enormous suffering, they shuffled off the ship and away to some unknown destination.

John stared after them, his mouth agape. Sir Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Do not upset yourself, my boy. I promise you that I shall never have a black slave running after me.’

‘But, Sir, that won’t stop the horrible trade.’

‘One day there will be a movement against it, mark my words. But meanwhile, let the ignorant and thoughtless people continue to buy them. But be very careful to whom you say these things. Such words could get you into trouble.’

And with that Sir Gabriel Kent had turned away from the port and had started to walk inland.

John put the letter down on the chest which stood beside the bed, containing behind its closed door the ever-useful chamber pot. A few minutes later he fell asleep, dreaming of his late wife Emilia and reaching out for her in the hours after midnight.

He woke early the next morning, and passing Mrs Fortune’s door on the way downstairs heard little gasps as she was laced into her corset by her maid. John smiled and continued downwards where he sat alone at the table, ate heartily and read the newspaper. He found himself peering at the small print, and the horrid thought shot through his mind that he might soon need spectacles. Indeed he was still looking intensely at the newsprint when Jacquetta rustled into the room. John rose from his chair, gave a small polite bow and waited till she was seated before sitting down again.

‘Good morning, Mr Rawlings. I trust the day finds you well?’

‘Yes thank you. And how are you, Madam?’

‘Wonderful,’ she answered, and she looked it.

Today she was attired in a somewhat old-fashioned sack back gown with a square neckline, made in a lilac shade that became her enormously. John found her very attractive and wondered why he had not proposed to her long ago. But in his heart he already knew the answer. Though Jacquetta Fortune had turned into a beautiful woman, from the skinny, half-starved creature she had been when he first met her, she did not possess that inner fire which he found irresistibly tempting.

Thoughts of Elizabeth came unbidden. She was the woman he had always wanted, full of fire and ice, dark as a gypsy and with the same wonderful impetuousness that could always delight whoever was in her company, yet with the capability to freeze a man into the Arctic wastes if she so chose. He had risked loving her, she had become the mother of his twin sons, yet despite all this he had had the temerity to walk out on her in a quite unjustified fit of pique.

‘Anything interesting in the paper?’ asked Jacquetta, cutting herself a slice of ham.

John looked up. ‘Sir John and Lady Fielding have gone to the country to stay with the Duke of Kingston at Thoresby Hall. Apparently they left by coach last evening.’

‘I take it that the Duke’s wife will also be present?’

John smiled. ‘You refer to the former Miss Chudleigh? You can count upon it that having achieved her objective the lady will be clinging like a veritable crab.’

Mrs Fortune pursed her lips. ‘One hears strange rumours about that woman.’

But the Apothecary was no longer listening to her, his attention riveted by another item in the paper. ‘Good God,’ he said, then before Jacquetta could answer went on, ‘Listen to this. “Finest Hotwell Water available at the cost of six shillings per dozen bottles which will be sold to the discerning customer. This fine medicinal water is perfectly without smell, pleasing and grateful to the stomach, cooling and quenches thirst. It is quite beyond parallel for disorders of the digestive and urinary tracts and has miraculously cured cases of those with a diarrhoea and gravelish complaints, particularly those who void great quantities of fabulous matter. For purchase apply to Mister Callow Hill at the Hotwell upon the Avon Gorge near Bristol.”’ He put the paper down and gave Jacquetta a crooked smile. ‘What do you make of that?’

She made a wry face. ‘Well, it is nothing new. I believe that the Hotwell Water is exported all over the world.’

‘Good gracious! Why was I not aware of it?’

‘Because you are an apothecary, Mr Rawlings, who just happens to have the ability to carbonate water. It is not your task to seek out would-be competitors.’

The words were sharp, but they were accompanied by such a sweet smile that John could only respond with a sheepish grin and a return to the pages of the
London Advertiser.
For after all, every word Jacquetta had said was true. He had been vaguely aware of Hotwell Water but had never turned his mind on to what it actually was. But now his curiosity was piqued. The combination of the strange letter which had been delivered to the shop yesterday and this picturesquely worded advertisement had made up his mind for him. He would go to visit Bristol as soon as his other commitments permitted.

The trouble about leaving London even for a few days was the rather worrying age of Sir Gabriel Kent, John’s dearly loved adopted father. The grand old man had now reached the enormous sum of eighty-eight years, a fact he put down to his daily stroll past the palace of Kensington and back. But the reality of his continuing good health could not outplay the tricks of time. Nowadays Sir Gabriel moved slowly and often sat down with obvious relief, while his hearing had grown very poor. He had a sliding silver ear trumpet which, when collapsed, fitted into the pocket of his coat. This he was somewhat shy of using in the presence of ladies, but now, with his own son standing before him, he produced the thing from his pocket, extended it to its full length, and plugged it into his right ear.