Deryn Lake: Death at the Wedding Feast

‘Father, I think you might be in danger,’ she said directly.

He stared at her, quite shocked despite his casual expression. ‘Why is that?’

‘It’s hard to say, really. But I keep getting this impression of you being attacked. Do you have to go to Devon without me?’

‘My darling, you may come if you wish. But I really think it is better if you do not. Mrs Elizabeth is about to give birth to a baby brother or sister for you and there won’t be a great deal of time to devote to you. Besides, I have a woman moving in in a few days’ time. She is to run my new business for me. I would be grateful if you could be here to look after her.’

Rose was silent for a while and then she said, ‘All right, I’ll stay if it would please you. But Papa, be careful. In my head I see danger coming.’

‘From whom?’

‘A horrible old woman in a brown dress and bonnet. Oh, she’s such an evil old creature.’

And quite unexpectedly the great eyes filled with tears and she turned her head into the Apothecary’s shoulder and wept bitterly.

John cuddled her close to him, but his brain could not help but take in what Rose had just said. He knew the child was psychic, had known it ever since their eyes had first met and she had smiled at him. And now he took her warning seriously, thinking as he did so that an old woman in a brown ensemble with a bonnet to match was going to stick out like a mason’s maund to an apothecary. He muttered into her ear, ‘I swear I’ll look out for the old beast and give her a culp if I should see her.’

Rose smiled through her tears. ‘Promise?’

‘Yes, I promise.’

‘And can I visit the new baby quickly please?’

‘I will arrange for Sir Gabriel to bring you down as soon as possible.’

She slid off his lap and looked at him, reminding him of a flower that had just been caught in a shower of rain.

‘Come here,’ he said very gently. She did so and he wiped the tears from her face with his handkerchief. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘Papa is used to taking care of himself. I promise not to let that old woman hurt me.’

Rose’s eyes became motionless and staring. ‘When you see her, lie flat,’ she said quietly.

John could not help but grin at the thought of prostrating himself at the feet of every woman wearing brown that he was in future to meet.

His daughter reacted in a totally childish manner. ‘You’re laughing at me. I shall never tell you anything that I see again.’ And with a loud stamp of her foot she ran from the room and pounded up the stairs.

John stared after her, shaking his head. He would obviously have to be more careful in future when his daughter warned him psychically of something.

Two days later Jacquetta Fortune, sitting with the carter who brought her few sad pieces of furniture, arrived at Two, Nassau Street. John, receiving her, was only glad that Sir Gabriel now lived in Kensington and was therefore unable to see the fragments of a married home carried in. On the ground floor he had cleared out Emilia’s parlour, leaving in the harpsichord as it occurred to him that Jacquetta might care to play. Upstairs he had, in company with Rose’s maid, revitalized one of the guest bedrooms, tactfully removing the bed as he felt quite sure that Mrs Fortune would be bringing her marriage bed with her.

He was not mistaken. The very first thing carried in by a sweating carter and a small-sized boy who looked as if he hadn’t eaten for a week was the bed. They lugged it upstairs, Jacquetta following behind like a moth. But she exclaimed in delight when she saw the room and the pretty curtains that the maid had rescued from somewhere in the depths of the house.

‘Oh, Mr Rawlings,’ she said. ‘How delightfully you have prepared it for me.’

‘I merely ran an eye over the proceedings. You have Emily to thank for this.’

‘Emily?’

‘Rose’s maid.’ He changed the subject, thinking how wan she looked. ‘Would you like a little something to eat? A pre-dinner entree perhaps?’

‘Thank you. I am rather famished.’

‘Then come downstairs, do. I’ll get the servants to prepare something. Besides you have to meet Rose.’

He offered her his arm, but his enquiry as to the whereabouts of his daughter was met with a servant’s crisp reply that she was playing in the garden and was not coming in until five. John’s banging on the French doors elicited no reply, and he was just about to step outside to fetch the naughty child in when Mrs Fortune stopped him.

‘Oh, Mr Rawlings, leave her in peace, I beg you. Can’t you remember how down in the dumps you felt when interrupted in a game? She is surely wrapped up warmly and is no doubt enjoying herself enormously.’

He looked at Jacquetta closely, once more taking in her thinness and general pale manner. ‘Very well, as you suggest,’ he answered, and gave her a little half-bow.

But he knew that Rose’s curiosity would be aroused and, sure enough, after five minutes or so a little face appeared at the window, peering in. Playing the game, John ignored it, at the same time whispering to Mrs Fortune, ‘My daughter has arrived and is studying you. Be so good as not to notice.’

She smiled that sudden-sunlight smile of hers, and John wished for the briefest of brief seconds that he was not involved with Elizabeth di Lorenzi, had never met her in fact, and that he could spend the rest of his days bringing Jacquetta Fortune back to the woman that she must once have been.

At that moment there came two simultaneous knocks, one on the outside of the French doors, the other on the entrance to the study. John admitted the study visitor first and discovered Gideon Purle, hat in hand and looking terribly smart, standing there.

The young man had grown even taller and these days stood well over six feet. His face had changed too, losing that boyish chubbiness and now dominated by a pair of lively eyes that darted hither and thither so brightly that one was left with the impression of flashes of colour shooting round the room. He was twenty years old and would be leaving his apprenticeship in the next couple of years. John sighed, suddenly feeling that he was getting on in years. He had had two apprentices in his career. But what men they had both grown into: the hulking, attractive young creature who had just entered the room, and the pale, limping but alive with character Nicholas Dawkins. John felt a huge burst of pride.

There came another knock at the French doors and Mrs Fortune, at a nod from John, went to let her in. The little girl, slightly nervous for once, stood eyeing them all without saying a word. Eventually, though, she approached the Apothecary and slipped her hand into one of his.

‘Mrs Fortune,’ he said gravely, ‘may I introduce my daughter, Rose Rawlings?’

Jacquetta stared at her a moment before dropping a deep curtsey. ‘The pleasure is entirely mine, Miss Rawlings.’

Remembering her manners, Rose did her best curtsey back and said, ‘No, no, Madam. It is mine, I assure you.’

Mrs Fortune had finally removed her hat and John could see at breakfast the next morning that her hair was very much as he had imagined it would be, the colour of shining silver-gilt. The meal done, she and Gideon immediately got to work and spent the rest of the time in conference, ordering bottles and ledgers and the million other sundries that apparently were needed to start a business. Young Mr Purle was obviously very taken by the fact that his master had, once again, done the unusual and appointed a woman for the task. And the Apothecary could not help but smile to himself at the obvious enjoyment his apprentice got from Jacquetta’s company. He, meanwhile, had returned to the quiet of Shug Lane, removing himself from all the hurly-burly and excitement.