‘They leave from The Borough, Sir. From The White Swan.’
John recalled with a mixture of mirth and misery his memories of the place at which he had stayed when he had been on his way to the Romney Marsh.
‘Thank you very much. You are quite sure Mrs… er… Rawlings has paid the bill?’
‘Positive, Sir,’ answered the man, and gave John a lewd wink.
Not feeling in the least like walking, John hired a hackney coach and proceeded in this conveyance to the busy part of London known as The Borough, crossing the Thames by means of a slow progress over London Bridge. When he eventually arrived he found that a stagecoach was leaving for Brighthelmstone at eight o’clock and felt a great sense of relief that he only had to wait ten minutes before it departed. Hurrying, he managed to secure a place on the roof in a rather precarious seat at the very back. As he scaled the coach’s side he realized that he was probably on a fool’s errand.
‘First stop is Croydon,’ called the guard and with a turn of wheels and a crack of the whip, John set off on this extremely nebulous adventure.
They reached Lewes approximately nine and a half hours later having stopped at Croydon, Godstone, East Grinstead and Uckfield before they reached their destination. Dropping John and another woman, large and grumpy and wearing eyebrow wigs made of mouse fur, at an establishment named The White Hart, the Apothecary decided to book himself a room for the night and afterwards go into the taproom to pick up any local gossip.
But first he must dine, feeling very empty and decidedly in need of a good glass of claret. He made his way to the dining parlour which was totally devoid of people and addressed an ancient waiter.
‘Good evening. I have just arrived off the stagecoach. Am I too late to get a bite of supper?’
‘Provided you take what the cook has to offer, Sir, no, you are not.’
‘Then fetch me some pottage and pie and I’ll be happy.’
‘And what would you like to drink?’
‘Some wine, if you please.’
‘Certainly, Sir.’
The waiter left the room and John was just starting to read a newspaper when the woman with the eyebrow wigs, which John regarded as quite the most monstrous fashion, came in and sat down at a table adjacent to his.
‘Where’s the serving man?’ she enquired abruptly.
‘He’s just gone out to put in my order,’ John answered, lowering the paper.
‘Well I hope he hurries back. I’m starving to death after that journey.’
As she looked as far from her demise as was humanly possible the Apothecary merely smiled and started to read once more.
‘Well, how did you fare whilst travelling, Sir?’
‘I have been on the road for some days,’ John answered pleasantly. ‘I have come from Exeter.’
‘Goodness me. That’s a fair way to travel. What brings you to this part of the world?’
‘Business. Just business.’
At that point the waiter came in and after grumbling that there was nothing decent left to eat the woman ordered an immense amount of food and a bottle of wine. John’s claret had arrived by this time and he politely offered the woman a glass as she was still waiting.
‘Very kind of you, Mr…’
‘Rawlings, Ma’am.’
‘I’ll accept.’
He poured it out and saw her get the look in her eye of someone who was longing to talk.
With a mental sigh he relinquished the newspaper.
‘I’ve come to visit my daughter,’ she started. ‘She lives close by but, alas, has too many children to warrant my staying with her, every bedroom being taken if you follow my meaning.’
John nodded.
‘Of course, I am a native of these parts. I was actually born in Lewes but shortly after my arrival my father got employment on the Vinehurst estate — he was assistant gamekeeper, don’t you know, and rose to become the head man. Anyway, my mother and I — there were just the three of us in the family at that time — moved to a tied cottage. When I was old enough I became a maid in the big house but I was courted by a very pleasant gentleman — he was the son of the jewellers, you know, Ludden’s of Lewes they are called to this day.’
John’s pottage arrived and he started to eat it but the woman continued regardless.
‘Of course that marriage gave me the start in life I had always wanted. Deep inside me I had always had the craving to be something else, a woman of importance, a creature of note.’
John supped his soup and nodded, hoping her food would arrive soon and there would be a merciful silence.
‘Well, I achieved my ambition. I went to London and was accepted for small parts at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’
The Apothecary wondered whether to mention Coralie Clive but realized he wouldn’t get a word in anyway.
‘I had to leave my husband behind me, alas. But when I was rising up the ladder…’
John grinned wildly at the thought.
‘… he was taken ill, poor soul, and so I left my career and returned to nurse him. I had two daughters by him, you know, and then I lost him.’
John longed to ask where, but forbore.
‘Oh, that was a sad day. But I gave him a splendid funeral. We had the most magnificent lying in state, I can tell you. The whole of Lewes came to pay their respects. Anyway as I had no son the jewellery company passed to his younger brother, which was most unfortunate. Still, he left me well provided for and…’
At that moment the woman’s meal arrived and she dug in with relish. There was total silence and John gave a sigh of relief as he ate his pie in comparative comfort. But no sooner had she consumed her pottage than she started once more.
‘Of course, I am a lady of leisure these days.’ She looked at John from under her mouse fur brows and he felt a sinking of his heart.
‘My congratulations,’ he murmured.
‘But I do find it lonely, being on my own. It is so difficult to meet any gentleman with whom one has anything in common. I may have been born in humble circumstances but I played with the Bassett children as a young girl, I’ll have you know. And now I am a woman of means. So I am looking for a husband,’ she concluded archly. ‘Do you know anyone, Sir?’
‘Unfortunately not off-hand, Madam. Why don’t you place an advertisment in a newspaper?’
‘Now that,’ she said, digging into her chicken with gusto, ‘is a very good idea.’
John had been too tired to visit the taproom and so had gone straight to bed. But during the night he had awoken from a dream and sat bolt upright. Something the woman had said earlier had come back to him while he slept, and now he turned it over in his brain. She had mentioned the name Bassett and the Apothecary began to puzzle where he had heard it before.
And then he remembered. He had been sharing a room with Cuthbert Simms and had heard a disembodied voice say, ‘Take care, Fulke Bassett. Take great care.’
As he put his head back on the pillow, John Rawlings determined to ask the woman exactly to whom she had been referring — at the risk of being considered an interested suitor.
Twelve
There was no sign of the talkative woman at breakfast the following morning and John gave a crooked smile at the thought that both the females with whom he had recently spent the evening had vanished by daylight. However, the same old waiter was serving and John called him over to the table.
‘Good morning, my friend. Has the lady been down to breakfast yet?’
‘No, Sir. I expect she be still abed. Shall I tell her you were asking for her?’
‘No, I’d rather you didn’t,’ John answered hastily. He helped himself to beef and bread. ‘Tell me, does the name Bassett mean anything to you?’