‘Much better, thank you.’ And John rattled on until he had run out of things to talk about and poor old Cuthbert Simms’s eyes were starting to close. At this the Apothecary rose, paid the bill, and escorting the old man into the street, called him a chair and a linkman and sent him happily on his way home.
An hour later John got into bed himself and lay awake for a long time. He had put his head round the door of Rose’s bedroom and seen her sleeping peacefully, and had listened outside Sir Gabriel’s door to hear his steady breathing. Up in the attic Gideon slept alongside the servants. The house was locked and shuttered and safe for the night. But sleep would not come to the Apothecary as his mind turned over the mystery of Vinehurst Place.
Had Cuthbert Simms been so overwhelmed that he had simply forgotten to say that the house in which he had once dwelled had not been called by that name? Or was his silence a kind of complicity? Had he lived in that beautiful place that John had seen standing so proud and so empty outside Lewes that day? Whatever the answer, the Apothecary knew that he must visit it again — and soon at that.
Twenty-Four
Rose was up early next morning and insisted on extending her playing time with her father, tickling him and making him laugh. She was in her sixth year and had all the beauty that childhood can bring with it. Her skin was finely textured, with a snowy quality relieved from being too stark by the poppies that glistened in her cheeks. Her eyes, a rich hyacinth blue, were wise yet had a distant quality about them. She was small for her age though neatly made, with delicate hands and feet and well-placed limbs. But her most attractive feature was her hair, a spiralling mass of red, rich and true in colour as a fox’s coat. Where this colour had come from was a mystery to John though he presumed it must be connected with his unknown father, a member of the great Rawlings family of Twickenham. All he knew of the man was that he had been of good stock, had fallen in love with and made enceinte one of the serving girls, and had arranged to meet her when she had run away to London. His non-appearance had meant that both John and his mother had been forced to beg on the streets until they had been rescued by Sir Gabriel Kent.
The Apothecary always considered that his life had really started there. From dire poverty he had moved into comfort and cleanliness, a happy home indeed. Eventually Sir Gabriel had married Phyllida, John’s mother, after he had taught her about the finer aspects of living. But she had died in childbirth — the baby daughter as well — and so the young boy had become the only child, the object of all the grieving widower’s affection.
John often thought of how different everything would have been had Phyllida and the baby lived. He would have had a sister, maybe more than one; a brother too perhaps. He would have been able to watch his mother and his stepfather grow into old age together. There would have been peace and harmony and a great deal of love in the house. Yet he could not complain of lack of that. He had been frankly adored by Sir Gabriel but now John realized that that situation was drawing to its inevitable conclusion. His adopted father was over eighty and his time was running out. Soon John’s only living relatives would be his daughter and the child yet to be born.
He hugged Rose tightly and she said, ‘Why are you squeezing me?’
‘Because I love you, my wild rosebud.’
‘And I love you too, Papa. Do you still love Mama?’
‘Of course I do. I shall never stop doing so. But love is a strange thing. It flows along like a mighty river which, in turn, flows into tributaries.’
‘What are they?’
‘They are the little rivers that come off the big one.’
Rose tossed her foxy mane. ‘I don’t think I quite understand.’
John stood up and took her hand in his. ‘I think perhaps you will one day.’
‘I hope so.’ She looked out of the nursery window. ‘Are you going to the shop today?’
‘Yes, in a minute. When you give me permission to go.’
She smiled up at him. ‘I don’t mind it when you are in Shug Lane but Devon is a great way away, isn’t it?’
‘But you like it there. You like Mrs Elizabeth and your pony.’
Rose looked at him and said simply, ‘I like anywhere that you are, Pa.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you miss me when I am not here?’
‘Very much,’ she said, and pulled him down so that she could kiss his cheek.
He went to work shortly afterwards, his thought that he could never leave Rose again uppermost in his mind. One day he knew she would marry and live a great and successful life and part from him to go to her husband with much joy. But now she was young and soft and motherless, and needed a father to take care of her. She loved Sir Gabriel and he adored her but that was not enough. In future, the Apothecary decided, Rose would remain at his side until such time as she went to school. Indeed, when he returned to Devon — as the birth of the forthcoming child insisted he must — he would take his daughter with him and stay in an hostelry if Elizabeth refused to have her. But that situation was hard to imagine. The Marchesa was a wayward woman of strange and capricious temperament but she would never turn Rose away, indeed was fond of the child and spoiled her to a certain extent.
‘Ah, good morning, Sir,’ said Gideon, looking up from dusting the jars and alembics.
‘Good morning to you. Gideon…’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘I have decided to make a brief visit to Sussex and I wanted to discuss the details of running the shop with you.’
‘Oh Zounds, Sir. You are surely not going to ask Mr de Prycke to take over again!’
‘I don’t think I could bear to make you suffer it. But I must find someone.’
‘But why, Sir? You left Nicholas in charge once he had been with you a certain number of years. Why can’t you leave me to manage the shop? I can deal with many of the patients and those that I think are beyond me I can ask another apothecary to attend to. I can serve potions and physics as well as you can. I promise you, Sir, that I will be industrious and mindful of your affairs.’
John gave a crooked smile. ‘You certainly present a good case.’
‘Sir, I will even sleep in the shop if you should wish. Anything but Mr de Prycke, I beg you.’
‘I shall only be away for a few days, of course.’
Gideon did not answer but turned his large eyes on John and looked at him pleadingly. The Apothecary laughed.
‘Very well, you may run the place in my absence. But anything that is beyond you — and I mean anything, Gideon — you are to send down the road to Piccadilly. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, perfectly. Thank you, Sir, for putting your trust in me.’
‘Well now, let us get on with the business of the day.’
John put on his long apron and walked into the compounding room as the door of the shop rang and the first customer entered the premises.
John let Gideon serve the sick that day, partly to give him good practice and partly because the Apothecary wanted to be silent with his thoughts. He had no firm evidence to go on but the thought that Vinehurst Place was somehow connected with the murder of William Gorringe was growing into something like an obsession. John knew that he would not be happy until he stood once more on the grass, looking across the space to where that beautifully proportioned and elegant piece of architecture, which now, to him, had become the House of Secrets, towered before him.
His mind then turned to Rose. He most certainly would not leave her behind and yet there would be times when the presence of a five-year-old girl might make life difficult. John pondered this and then the answer came to him. He would take Sir Gabriel as well, treat him to a little sojourn in the country, indeed get his views on anything he might discover in Lewes. Feeling suddenly cheerful he whistled as he made some suppositories in a special little rolling machine and Gideon, alone in the shop at that moment, joined in in a melodious light baritone voice.