by Deryn Lake
A great surge of emotion filled him as he looked down at the woman who had so courageously undergone the mighty experience of giving birth. Then he bent and gently kissed her on the cheek before snuggling in beside her and — oh so gently — taking her in his arms and falling asleep.
Seven
As dawn came creeping over the River Exe John kissed Elizabeth, who still slept deeply, and then went back to his own room where he enjoyed a couple of hours of perfect, dreamless sleep before the smell of distant cooking woke him up. Ringing for hot water, he washed, shaved and dressed in his terrible lime green suit then went down to the breakfast room. It was empty except for Lady Sidmouth who, as usual, was doing her busy bee act.
‘Ah John,’ she said, raising her quizzer to her heavily-lidded dark brown eye the better to observe him. ‘You look well and rested — but the colour of that suit is enough to put one off one’s food. Would you kindly remove the jacket?’
John did so and, helping himself to a substantial amount from the servers placed on the sideboard, sat down in his violet waistcoat and prepared to tuck in. But the fork was only halfway to his mouth when the door opened and Miranda Tremayne, eyes downcast and looking excessively prim, entered and sat down.
Lady Sidmouth said, ‘There have been some interesting changes since you were last here, John.’
‘Oh really? And what might they be?’
Miranda spoke up, eyes still not raised. ‘I have become betrothed, Mr Rawlings, and indeed am due to be married in June.’
‘How very delightful. And who is the lucky bridegroom?’
Lady Sidmouth interrupted. ‘Miranda has done very well for herself. She is to marry the Earl of St Austell and will go to live in his grand house in Cornwall.’
‘What a good match,’ John murmured politely.
Miranda looked up and straight at the Apothecary and he noticed that her eyes were shuttered, all her secret thoughts hidden from the world. ‘The Earl is a very gracious man and I care for him greatly,’ she said, just a fraction defiantly.
‘What Miranda is trying to say,’ Lady Sidmouth put in, ‘is that she doesn’t give a toss for the fact that he is fifty-two years her senior; in fact she snaps her fingers at it. She says she loves the man and there’s an end to it.’
‘I am so pleased to hear it,’ John answered politely. ‘Tell me, where did you meet him?’
‘He is one of society’s doyens in Cornwall. It was at a hunting assembly at Lord Austell’s home that I was presented by my cousin Robin. They ride to stag on Exmoor, you know.’
‘Yes, I did know,’ John muttered.
‘Well, he was so handsome and debonair — as only an older man can be — that I fell in love with him at first sight.’
‘How nice!’
‘And of course his wife had died just a few months previously after many years of being an invalid. Poor darling, I don’t know how he coped with all those weeks when he tended her lovingly.’
‘He had a nurse to help him,’ put in Lady Sidmouth with a touch of acerbity.
Miranda’s eyes dropped once more. ‘Yes, of course.’
John thought most unkindly about the enormous wealth to be gained and the huge estate and all that went with it — fawning servants, splendid food, great occasions at which the beautiful Miranda would be belle-of-the-ball — and wondered that anyone could be taken in by her duplicity. He caught the canny eye of Lady Sidmouth and just for a moment read the same sentiments there.
The door opened and Milady’s youngest daughter, Felicity, walked in. Though not exactly good looking she had improved during the few months that John had not seen her and was nowadays carrying herself with more dignity and poise. Having obtained her breakfast and seated herself at the large table, she turned to John.
‘The twins are really sweet. I popped in and looked at them before I came down. How much longer are they staying?’ She turned to her mother.
‘That rather depends on Dr Hunter. He will call and examine the Lady Elizabeth today. It will be on his pronouncement that we will await.’
‘I am sure that the Marchesa will be anxious to return home and get into a routine with Jasper and James as soon as possible. Notwithstanding the generosity of your hospitality, Lady Sidmouth.’
‘Nonsense, I’d have done the same for any of my friends. Not that my other friends are as likely to get into the identical sort of mischief as Lady Elizabeth, I might add.’
John laughed while the two girls tittered into their teacups.
‘Well, we owe you a million thanks, none the less. But you will soon need to clear the place of guests if you are preparing a big wedding. I take it it’s going to be celebrated here?’
‘Indeed it is,’ Lady Sidmouth answered cheerfully. ‘The ceremony will be conducted in St Swithin’s Church nearby and the breakfast will be held at the bride’s home, which is this house.’
‘I cannot think of a more beautiful setting,’ said John, meaning it. ‘Are you having many guests?’
‘The world and his wife,’ said Lady Sidmouth before Miranda interrupted, ‘Beg pardon, Cousin.’
The older woman inclined her head and Miranda went on, ‘Montague’s family is quite large. He has an unmarried granddaughter who is dying to find a husband. Then he has two grandsons, Viscount Falmouth and Lord George. They are the children of Montague’s son, who died when they were all quite young. They all hate me because they think I might present Montague with another baby and they wouldn’t like that at all.’
‘Why?’ asked John. ‘The oldest boy is bound to inherit everything, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, unless he dies of course.’
The Apothecary’s mobile eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Surely he is not sickly?’
‘Not he,’ chimed in Felicity, ‘he’s as fit as a pudding for a friar’s mouth. And he’s a clever devil too, always striding round with a book in his hand. All in all I think he’s a crimping fellow.’
‘There’s no need to be rude,’ Miranda retorted. ‘I know he’s not handsome but he’s — clever and kind.’
‘Kind be blowed. If he would just remove his beastly spectacles it might improve his looks.’
‘Well, he’s going to be my step-grandson so I won’t hear another word.’ Miranda giggled. ‘Though secretly I rather agree with you.’
Lady Sidmouth opened her mouth to protest but John forestalled her. ‘And what about the younger brother? What’s he like?’
Again Felicity spoke before Miranda had a chance to answer. ‘He’s a handsome thing. As unlike his brother as chalk is to cheese. He’s tall, dark, never wears a wig and his hair reaches his collar. He’s a regular dashing blade and doesn’t he just know it.’
John smiled. The word-picture had completely conjured up the man. He wondered vaguely if Felicity ought to write.
‘Well,’ Miranda said, somewhat defensively, ‘the grandson may be handsome but the grandfather is by far the most debonair.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ stated John, his voice free of expression.
‘Well, you shall,’ said Miranda, smiling sweetly. ‘We are giving an assembly a few nights before the wedding. You must come — and the Lady Elizabeth, if she is sufficiently recovered.’
‘I am quite sure she will be,’ John answered. ‘And I thank you.’
Lady Sidmouth spoke up. ‘You must both come to the wedding — and dear old Sir Clovelly Lovell. He is quite one of my favourite people.’
‘And mine too,’ said the Apothecary.
‘Well, I shall be sending out the invitations shortly. And you are all three added to my list.’
‘Excellent,’ said John, and paid serious attention to his breakfast.
Dr Hunter proclaiming himself well pleased with the healing process of Elizabeth’s scar, she and John left the glorious house on the cliff-tops exactly five days later. There was much to-do about their leaving. First Elizabeth was handed into her coach, then one baby followed, howling his head off and not enjoying t
his change in his routine. He was put into the arms of a nurserymaid who immediately calmed him by rocking him, somewhat wildly, from side to side. Another coach was pulled up behind the first and John got into this, was briefly handed the baby, before a second nurserymaid followed. This second child — was it Jasper or James, John wondered? — slept peacefully through the whole ordeal and did not wake until they reached Elizabeth’s home, when he opened his eyes and gave a great yawn.
‘Which child is this?’ John asked Elizabeth anxiously.
She peered into his face. ‘Why, this is James. He has less hair than Jasper. Besides Jasper is the noisier of the two. If anyone is going to cry it will be Jasper.’
‘May I hold them a minute?’
‘Of course you can.’
With a bundle in each arm, John sat down in the Blue Salon and stared at both his sons’ faces intently. He could never have imagined in a thousand years that Elizabeth would give birth to twins. And then he remembered Rose, his first-born child, recently giggling and saying words to the effect of wait and see. She had known, the pretty minx, with her wonderful ability to envisage future events, exactly what was going to happen.
His thoughts switched from his two sons, who were awake but thankfully quiet, to his daughter. Would she love them, he wondered, or might she be jealous of these two rivals for her father’s affection? But then he knew that with her generous, warm heart she would love them as much as he was starting to, would play with them and teach them all the wonderments of the world so that they would grow up as fine a person as she was going to be. He suddenly glowed with happiness, looking down at the little scraps who were looking back at him, and feeling a tremendous sense of well-being and affection. A true family man.
He heard a noise behind him and looked over his shoulder. The two maids, presumably hastily appointed by Elizabeth after she had given birth, were bearing down on him.
‘I’ll take Master Justin, if you please, Sir.’
‘And I’ll take Master James.’
Somewhat reluctantly he handed the twins over and watched them being swept up the grand staircase to their apartments on the first floor. Before following them he sat a moment and imagined Sir Gabriel’s and Rose’s faces when his letter arrived. He had written it the day after he had shown up at Lady Sidmouth’s and knew that it must have been delivered to Kensington by now. No doubt Sir Gabriel would send for champagne and allow Rose a thimbleful. Then they would clink their drinking vessels and toast the newborn. How sad that neither of them would be able to see the boys for some while.
He went up the stairs rather slowly, thinking of this, and made his way to Elizabeth’s room where he knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
She had changed from her travelling dress and was sitting deshabille at her dressing table, brushing her long black hair.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘how timely. You may do this for me.’
‘A pleasure, Milady.’
He looked at her reflection and saw that though the birth had weakened her she was now recovering and some of the old fire was returning to her. He thought of Dr Hunter’s description of her — red wine and spice — and realized yet again what a rare creature she was.
‘Do you remember the first time we met?’ he asked.
‘Very clearly. I can recall fighting you in the fog.’
‘I was thinking more of when we came back to this house.’
In the mirror he saw her smile up at him and then turn to look at him. ‘I can remember that. I said I longed to kiss you. And that is what I want now. If it is no trouble, Mr Rawlings.’
‘Never a difficulty as far as you are concerned, Madam.’
And he bent his head to her upturned face and kissed her full on the lips while one hand reached down inside the open robe she was wearing to caress her lovely neck and shoulders.
They went to bed but did not make love, for John knew how bad for her this would be. But for all that they gently played and embraced until Elizabeth finally fell asleep. Then the Apothecary rose quietly and tiptoed along the corridor until he reached his own room. His trunk had arrived long since and some clothes had been sent up to him at Lady Sidmouth’s so that he had been able to abandon the ghastly green and was now soberly attired in Venetian blue. Looking in the clothes press he determined to go to Exeter on the morrow and see a tailor. And also to renew his acquaintance with Sir Clovelly Lovell and try to glean some more information on that soon-to-be-married fellow, the elderly Earl of St Austell.
Eight
‘The trouble with old St Austell,’ said Sir Clovelly Lovell, thoughtfully nibbling with sharp little teeth upon a sweetmeat, ‘is that he won’t act his age. Still thinks he’s a helluva fellow. Can’t — or will not — accept the fact that he’s seventy-two.’
‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed John, who was sitting opposite him, toying with a glass of sherry. ‘I hadn’t realized that he was quite that old.’
‘In his younger days he was the very devil of a rake. And with respect to Mr Hogarth, St Austell’s progress was from woman to woman. Just couldn’t get enough of ’em. Different one every night — that is, when he wasn’t on the ran-tan.’
‘He was a heavy drinker?’ asked John.
‘He was everything you can imagine,’ said Sir Clovelly with weight, and allowed his words to sink in.
The Apothecary was frankly bemused. His mental picture of Lord St Austell had been one of an old man in love with a girl a quarter of his age, probably a frail old being whose last declining years were going to be spent happily while she ran around him. But a different portrait was emerging, that of a raging-bull young man — large limbed and ready with his fists — who would grow into something quite cruel in his declining years.
‘What does he look like?’
‘A giant of a fellow, though somewhat stooped these days I fear. He had a shock of long hair, now white, on the top of which he would slap a wig which never sat right on his head. His eyes are a brilliant blue. The sort of eyes which one could imagine as belonging to the Devil — or am I being fanciful? He has strong features, with a great roman nose in the middle of his face, and a large mouth full of gnashing white teeth. These are now false, alas, and somewhat more subdued than once they were. I remember him biting some young man in a tavern brawl and the poor chap was scarred for life.’
‘He sounds a thoroughly nasty piece of work.’
‘He has mellowed as we all do with the onset of age. Uses a stick to support himself and has grown somewhat hard of hearing. But he’s still got a violent temper so I hope his poor bride does not step out of line.’
If ever there was a young woman more likely to misbehave than Miranda Tremayne, John would like to see her. A cold shudder clutched his spine and he shivered involuntarily.
It was noon and a raw March day, with a chill wind blowing from the river and echoing down the streets of Exeter. Against its cold Sir Clovelly had had fires lit in every room, so within his house in The Close it was warm and welcoming. John, who had taken Elizabeth’s small carriage into town, had called upon the tailor who had made his scarlet suit and had then gone on to visit Sir Clovelly, that sweet little man whose passion was eating. He had put on weight even since John had last seen him and now resembled a tub, in fact he was almost as broad as he was long. But his jolly face with its many chins and his merry little eyes all a-twinkle welcomed his guest, so that John was pleased to sit down with one of his dear friends and partake of a midday repast, at which John picked. Sir Clovelly, on the other hand, dug in with much enjoyment and smacking of the lips.
‘So old Montague’s getting married again,’ he said between mouthfuls.
‘Yes. Do you know the bride-to-be?’
‘A cousin of Lady Sidmouth did you say?’
‘Child of a cousin I would imagine.’ John leant forward. ‘She’s a bit of a handful in my opinion. Rather a rude little madam.’
‘Old St Austell will soon cure her of that. He won’
t stand for any nonsense.’
‘But surely at his age…’
‘Don’t you believe it. He’ll take his cane to her if necessary.’
John sat nonplussed. ‘Well, the situation is not as I read it at all. I thought she would be marrying some compliant old fool who would sit in the corner chumbling his gums while she went out and about as she pleased — and with whom she pleased.’
Sir Clovelly shook his head. ‘Well, unless St Austell has plunged downhill in the last few weeks I would suggest, my dear John, that you have got that entirely wrong. Montague will guard her like a lion and no doubt about it.’
That said, Sir Clovelly dived on to a plate of red blancmanges made with port and began to attack them earnestly.
On his way home John called in at the apothecary’s shop to cancel his order for Feverfew and replace it with Marsh Mallow. He asked to be sold some roots and seeds which he intended to boil in wine to help Elizabeth’s supply of milk and to ensure that her breasts did not become lumpy or swollen. He had just been handed the packet by the apothecary who, by now, he knew quite well, when the door of the shop opened in a hurry and a young and flustered woman came in. Seeing John, she backed to the other end of the counter and pretended to study what was on display. The apothecary approached her.
‘Can I be of assistance, Madam?’
She shot a look at John and muttered something in an undertone.
‘I’m sorry, Madam, I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘I wish to have something to bring on my courses,’ she whispered.
John immediately guessed the situation. The woman’s monthly moon flow was late and she feared she might be pregnant. He had one or two remedies for such an occurrence in his own shop but this was Exeter and he wondered what the other apothecary was going to do.
