‘On that point, Mr Rawlings, may I enquire whether you have returned to us for good? Or is your intention to take your leave again? I merely ask because I want to know where I stand.’
John answered without hesitation, somewhat irritated by the man’s attitude but determined to remain civil. ‘I am back to stay, Sir.’
‘Does that mean you will no longer be requiring my services?’
‘Mr de Prycke you are more than welcome to work out the rest of the time that we contracted. In fact it would help me very much if you did. I intend to remain at my daughter’s bedside until she is fully recovered so I will not be able to devote my time to the shop.’
‘In that case, Sir, I shall work next week and then I will take my leave of you. Quite frankly I find your apprentice a wretched little beast and I shall be glad to see the back of him.’
‘I am sure the feeling is mutual,’ John answered pleasantly and turned his attention to the pan of cooling liquid.
He arrived at Nassau Street to find Sir Gabriel reeling with fatigue, so much so that he had to be helped by a footman down the stairs. John, meanwhile, carefully measured out ten drops of the Sundew fluid into a small amount of water and raised the cup to Rose’s mouth.
‘Here, drink this, sweetheart. It will make you better I promise you.’
The poor child did not open her eyes but gulped down the medicine and immediately had a violent fit of coughing. John listened intently and recognized the familiar sound of the whoop. His heart sank, knowing that many a child had died of this illness, exhausted and fighting for breath.
He began to talk to Rose in a soothing voice. ‘Papa is home now, darling. And he will stay at home until you are well and able to play games with him again. And then we’ll all go off to Devon for Christmas and you can ride your pony. Would you like that?’
After a while he noticed that Rose’s breathing had become a little deeper and realized that she had dropped off to sleep. He took a seat in the chair in which Sir Gabriel had sat and stared at her beautiful little face. She meant everything to him and he wondered how he could have left her for so long without the father she loved.
Suddenly he found himself questioning his relationship with Elizabeth. Was he a fool to have offered his love to her? Was he heartless for abandoning his family in order to pursue her? Yet she was soon to be the mother of his child as a result. Feeling ill at ease with himself the Apothecary rose and slowly began to pace the room.
The nursery maid arrived and said, ‘I’ll watch Rose now, Mr Rawlings. Sir Gabriel is waiting for you in the library.’
‘Very well. Just for half an hour. But if she should wake you are to send for me immediately, is that clear?’
‘Very good, Sir.’ And the girl bobbed a curtsy.
Downstairs the library offered its usual warmth and comfort. A fire of coal and wood gleamed in the grate and the curtains were drawn against the night. In one of the two wing chairs set close to the blaze sat Sir Gabriel, his eyes closed, his breathing deep. John looked at him with enormous tenderness and tiptoed past him to pour himself a sherry.
‘John?’ said a sleepy voice.
The Apothecary turned. ‘I’m sorry. Did I disturb you?’
‘I was only dozing, my son. How is Rose?’
‘She has fallen into a natural sleep. I have given her ten drops of the compound and will administer another ten in three hours’ time.’
‘And what is your prognosis?’
John sat down in the chair opposite and, putting his glass on a small table, leaned across the space and took Sir Gabriel’s long and fine fingers between his own. ‘Father, believe me, I am as worried as you but I have given her the finest medicine there is. I can only pray that her natural strength will pull her through.’
‘I see. Pour me a sherry if you would.’
John did so and handed a schooner to the great old man who sat before him.
‘I give you a toast,’ said Sir Gabriel Kent. ‘To my granddaughter’s total recovery — and to her father’s permanent return to London.’
It was on the tip of John’s tongue to ask about his duties to his unborn child but something told him to remain silent. He looked at his adopted father with enormous love.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said.
Twenty-Two
Throughout that night John administered the drops of Sundew to his daughter. He had not admitted to Sir Gabriel how terrified he was for the last thing he wanted was to add to his father’s fears. But secretly he was in torment, his spirits never lower, as he contemplated a future without the shining presence of Rose. John had never felt closer to her than he did now, longing for that terrible cough to stop, longing for her to have enough strength to fight the illness away.
At about five o’clock in the morning he heard her speak and opened his eyes from where he sat dozing in a chair by the bed.
‘Papa?’
It was said as a question and John immediately came to full consciousness and knelt down beside her, taking her hand.
‘I’m here sweetheart.’
‘I have seen Mother. She was here in the room with me.’
Despite himself John peered into the shadowy depths of the chamber, but nothing moved.
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing. She just stood by the bed and smiled.’
‘I’m glad she came to see you, darling. Now go back to sleep.’
‘Will you stay with me, Papa?’
‘I shall not leave your side until you are better.’
She turned to look at him, her eyes the colour of gentians. ‘You promise it?’
‘I promise.’
She slept a little after that but an hour later was woken by a violent fit of coughing. John, trying desperately to act as an apothecary rather than as a father, listened intently and thought that the whooping noise was diminishing. As soon as Rose had settled down once more he gave her some further drops of Sundew and at last saw the cold finger of dawn lay itself across the room.
The physician had sent round an infusion of Willowherb which, though effective in the cases of coughs, was nothing like as powerful as that which John had prescribed. The Apothecary decided that to mix them would not be advisable and therefore when the doctor called the next morning he saw his bottle of physic untouched.
‘What’s this, Sir. Have you not treated the child?’
‘I most certainly have, Dr Wilde. I have given her Sundew and I compounded it myself.’
‘I take it you are an apothecary?’
‘Yes, Sir. I own a shop in Shug Lane, Piccadilly.’
‘Then I see that the girl is in good hands. I’ll examine her now, if you please.’
John stood aside while the physician bent over his daughter and thought how strange the world was. He had come back to London because Elizabeth had dismissed him and now he knew that he would never, could never, leave Rose again. Any future visits to Devon — or anywhere else for that matter — would be in the company of his daughter or not at all.
The doctor straightened up. ‘There is a definite improvement, Mr Rawlings. If the child lives through today then she will survive. I shall call again this evening. Good day to you.’
He had spoken bluntly, as one professional to another, but John felt cold at the very words. Tired beyond belief he nonetheless sat beside Rose until she slept once more before sending for the nursery maid.
‘I must go and change my clothes and get a bite to eat. You promise to call me if the child wakes.’
‘Immediately, Mr Rawlings. You can rest assured.’
Sir Gabriel, looking rested but still drawn with worry, was sitting at the breakfast table, delicately peeling a grape. He looked up as John entered.
‘How is Rose, my boy? Is there any change?’
‘Father, there is. The doctor said there was a marked recovery.’
‘And that is all?’