There was silence during which everybody thought, then John continued, ‘Supposing we have two bottles; one stone and one glass. The stone being sold slightly cheaper.’
‘But what about style, Sir?’
Jacquetta spoke. ‘Why not have a square bottle with a slender neck rising from it, and the words “J. Rawlings, Nassau Street” etched on the front?’
‘And it should be green to match your eyes,’ said Gideon, then blushed so violently that he resembled nothing so much as a tomato.
John smiled and caught Jacquetta’s glance, which remained blank, though a slight twitch of her eyebrow told him that she was highly amused. ‘That, my dear Gideon, is a splendid idea,’ he answered, partly to save his apprentice’s discomfort. ‘Green bottles it is. Now what do you think of having stone bottles as well?’
‘A very good plan,’ said Jacquetta. ‘That means that the waters can be drunk by those not so well placed in society as others.’
‘Which includes the majority of the population,’ answered John, and so saying rose and poured three glasses of port from the decanter on a side table.
‘Here’s to the success of our enterprise,’ he said, then turned to Jacquetta. ‘And I would like to toast you, Mrs Fortune, for organizing the launch of the business so well. You truly are a woman of amazing skills.’
‘Hear, hear,’ muttered Gideon besottedly.
And this time Jacquetta smiled.
A week later and he was off, catching the same flying coach from the Gloucester Coffee House. But he, that most gregarious of people, spent most of the journey in moody silence, realizing that he must make some plan for the future. The arrival of the twins had sealed his fate, he could see that clearly. Somehow or other he must impress on Elizabeth the importance of making a firm decision about what lay ahead.
Thirteen
Dressed in his lilac-bloom taffeta with a double breasted waistcoat in subtle rose-pink and silver, with breeches tight enough to take your breath away, John felt ready to take on the world as he carefully climbed into the carriage which was taking them to Sidmouth House for the grand rout to celebrate the betrothal of Miranda Tremayne to the Earl of St Austell. Beside him sat the Marchesa di Lorenzi, looking every inch the part, dressed in midnight blue, her hair swept high, a cascade of ribbons descending down one side of her face, accentuating the scar yet at the same time adding to her look of finely chiselled hauteur.
Yet despite her loveliness and despite his love for her, John could not help feeling that they were now both in a hopeless situation. Since the birth of the twins he had wanted nothing more than to live as a family unit. But this would mean giving up his shop in Shug Lane and moving to Exeter, against a formidable group of rivals — apothecaries who had spent many years building up their reputations and businesses and who would not welcome a newcomer on the scene. As for begging Elizabeth to move to London, he had given up on that score. She would point to her great house, her enormous estate, and say, with truth, that this was the place to bring up children; this was the place to let them breathe the fresh air of the Devon countryside; this was the place to teach them to ride and to swim. Mentally John shook his head. Elizabeth and he had reached a situation out of which there was no foreseeable way.
It was late April, and one of those exquisite evenings that the month could so breathtakingly produce. Everywhere, as the carriage moved forward, John could see the triumph of spring — that fresh, bright greenness of leaf and bud bursting through the dead wood of winter. Colour was coming back, crocuses were thrusting their way through one of the great lawns, while below them the sea was gentle and full of song. Just as they alighted from their coach the evening sun caught the edifice of Sidmouth House and bathed it in a luminescence like the inside of a seashell.
The receiving line that met them in the grand hall was headed by Lady Sidmouth herself, hideously gowned in puce, her small facial features swamped by a large feathered headdress. Next to her stood Miranda, clothed in pale blue with white lutestring decoration, a perfect example of blushing, maidenly modesty. With her eyes cast to the floor, she glanced up at each new arrival and lisped, ‘Oh thank you,’ as they announced their good wishes. And next to her stood the man himself — the Earl of St Austell, with his cruel raven’s face and his long white hair, tied back in a scarlet ribbon, and his large imposing stature. John did not know exactly what he had been expecting but nothing on the lines of this. Sir Clovelly had given him some idea, had painted a word portrait, but this man exceeded everything that had been said about him. He was the picture of an absolute brute that age had in no way diminished. For one minute John felt a tremendous compassion for Miranda, before that was replaced by the thought that she had willingly chosen the man.
He caught Elizabeth’s eye as they passed into the big saloon. ‘What do you think?’ he murmured.
‘He’s rotten to the core and doesn’t give a damn who knows it.’
‘But how old is he, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Seventy-two — and all set for another ten years at least.’
‘Poor Miranda.’
‘Poor Miranda indeed,’ Elizabeth whispered back.
The saloon was filling up with people, several of whom John recognized. The first person on whom he set his gaze was Lettice James, the gossipy woman he had met on the stagecoach who had tried to pump him for information about Lady Elizabeth. Her eyes widened to twice their size when she saw them enter the room together. She came over, swift as a bird, literally trembling with excitement.
‘My dear Lady Elizabeth, how are you? I have been so concerned. I was saying to this gentleman I met on the stagecoach — that was where it was, was it not, Sir? Anyway, I was saying to him that I had not seen you at all these past few months and was hoping you were not poorly.’
‘Actually,’ the Marchesa answered with a smile, ‘I was pregnant.’
Lettice looked as though someone had hit her in the solar plexus. ‘Oh, oh! I had not realized you had married again. Forgive me.’
‘That’s perfectly all right, my dear, because you see I haven’t. You say you have already met John?’
A tiny nod came from the other woman.
‘Well, he is the father. We had twin boys by the way.’
There was the sound of a strangulated gurgle and Lettice James became very pale.
‘And now if you’ll forgive me,’ said Elizabeth sweetly, ‘I see someone else that I know. Good day to you.’
And she swept on, John following behind like a little lap dog. Glancing over his shoulder he could see that the poor creature had been forced to sit down and that Felicity was leaning over her administering salts.
‘Elizabeth, how can you be so forthright?’ he reprimanded. ‘The woman is in shock.’
She gave him a smile. ‘Serves her right,’ she said. ‘She’s the biggest gossip ever born and always knows everybody’s business before they have even thought of it themselves.’
‘Now, now,’ he said. ‘The quality of mercy is not strained.’
The Marchesa gave a humourless laugh. ‘Indeed not. But it can come under a great deal of pressure.’
And John, remembering how her first child had died in the horrors of an opium den and how she had exacted punishment on those responsible, suddenly felt sorry for her and for a moment came near to understanding her overwhelming love for the twins and how she insisted on bringing them up single-handedly.
He felt Felicity at his elbow as the Marchesa wandered off.
‘Good evening, Mr Rawlings. Is this not an elegant ensemble?’
‘Very. But I know so few people. Perhaps you could tell me who one or two of them are.’
‘Gladly.’ Her eyes swivelled round the room. ‘Well, there’s Lord St Austell’s younger grandson, George Beauvoir. Isn’t he handsome? Mind you, they say he is a reckless blade. But he has a certain charm, would you not agree?’