Death and the Black Pyramid

Twenty-Three

The next two weeks passed with the Apothecary feeling exactly as if he were living an orderly life. He rose early each morning, ate his breakfast, played with Rose for about twenty minutes, then walked to Shug Lane — the shop already opened by Gideon — and looked through calls booked for that day. Then, if there were none too urgent, he would go into the compounding room and prepare his herbs amongst the joyful smell of well-remembered things. That done he would set out at about noon to visit his patients and take with him the medicinal properties either prescribed by himself or by a physician. He would return home in time to dine and would then spend the evening chatting to Sir Gabriel or — now that Rose was getting so much better — venture forth to the theatre. He had also taken to visiting his friends again, seeing something of the now decidedly wealthy Samuel Swann, the de Vignolles, flitting between London and their Surrey home, and the great man himself, Sir John Fielding.

But none of these people quite compensated for the sight John had one day of King George, riding along and looking extremely cheerful in an open carriage, waving his gloved hand in a most amicable manner. The Apothecary waved back and bowed and by the time he had straightened up again the royal party had passed by.

The King had clearly been on his way to St James’s Palace and had been heading down Piccadilly towards St James’s Street. John had been standing on the corner of Swallow Street, bound to see a shopkeeper suffering horribly with trapped wind, when he had encountered the monarch. Having returned the royal salute, the Apothecary continued to make his way up the street when his eye was caught by a vividly painted and decidedly garish sign. It depicted a crudely painted representation of a woman’s foot with pointing toe and a legend reading ‘At Number twenty-four, Little Vine Street, Dancing Lessons are give daily at the hour of ten onwards for the sons and daughters of Gentlefolk. 1/6d per hour paid in advance. Persons of More Mature Years by Special Arrangement.’

What led John to walk past the place he could not have said but as he drew nearer he became more and more convinced that it had something to do with Cuthbert Simms. And sure enough as he drew within earshot he heard the sounds of a tune being scraped out on a fiddle and a familiar voice calling out, ‘No, not like that. Like this,’ followed by the sounds of scampering feet. Drawn as if by a magnet, John entered the premises and walked into the large room in which the dancing lessons were taking place.

It being during school hours, Cuthbert’s class consisted of a half dozen or so middle-aged women — shopkeepers’ wives John presumed — who were bored and had nothing else to do but gossip with their friends. Also present was a very elderly man.

They turned in a body at the sound of the Apothecary’s entrance and he was fixed by a dozen pairs of eyes, ogling for all they were worth.

‘Have you come to join us, Sir?’ asked one, bolder than the rest.

‘Well, I might try a step or two,’ John answered, putting down his parcel of physic.

‘Join in as best you can,’ said Cuthbert snappily, not looking up from a sheaf of music which he had lying on the floor in front of him.

‘Certainly, Mr Simms,’ John answered, and had the pleasure of seeing the little man look up in some surprise.

‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Rawlings. Why, bless me! So you have returned from Devon, Sir.’

‘As have you, Mr Simms. Alas, all good things must come to an end.’

‘Indeed yes. But I must not neglect my work. Have you come for a lesson, Sir?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have time. But I’ll dance a quick measure now that I am here.’

‘That will please the ladies greatly. Now form up. Several of you will have to take the man’s part. Mr Ponsonby…’

There was no reply from the old fellow who stood, stumpy legs spread out, dusting snuff off his well-worn damson breeches, clearly not hearing a word.

‘Mr Ponsonby,’ Cuthbert yelled, ‘we’re just about to dance Haste to the Wedding.’

The old chap cupped his ear, gave a grin which revealed one or two rotting teeth and shuffled onto the end of the line. John, finding himself standing next to the old dodderer, gave him a broad smile. Mr Ponsonby replied by displaying his teeth and pushing up his wig which looked decidedly in need of care and attention. With a great show of bravado, Cuthbert Simms struck up.

The Apothecary, who reckoned himself a reasonable dancer, knew the steps and whirled through the set piece with great elan. Several of the ladies, however, grew out of breath and Mr Ponsonby surprised one and all by jigging about at great speed though not one whit in time to the music. In fact he seemed to be doing a dance that he had invented himself and gave an appreciative cackle if any lady should be so fortunate as to meet with him during its course. John decided that Cuthbert Simms truly earned his money and was pleased to produce a shilling and a sixpence which he pressed into the dancing master’s hand as he made his way out.

‘A break if you will, ladies and gentleman,’ said the little man, perspiring copiously and somewhat red in the face. ‘I really do not require this money, Mr Rawlings. Thank you all the same.’

‘Nonsense. I enjoyed the dance and would have stayed longer but am on my way to see a patient. But I would appreciate it if we could have a chat some time. Do you live nearby?’

‘My humble abode is in Great Wild Street, not far from the Seven Dials. It is very small and somewhat dingy.’

‘But why did you choose this place to teach? Surely you could have found somewhere nearer?’

‘Cost, Mr Rawlings. Cost.’ And Cuthbert tapped the side of his nose. ‘Besides the better class of person would prefer a dancing master to have rooms in a more prestigious part of London.’

‘I suppose you’re right. So could we not meet in a tavern?’

‘Very well. The Royal Saracen, if that would be convenient to you. When did you have in mind, Sir?’

‘Tonight. When you finish teaching. What time would suit you?’

‘I shall close my classes early. Shall we say seven o’clock?’

‘That would be most convenient. I shall just have time to see my daughter into bed.’

‘Then seven it is, Sir.’

Having left the dancing class in full swing John hurried up Swallow Street to where a barber waited in a back room, groaning loudly, while his assistant was rushed off his feet with a queue of customers growing impatient.

‘Heavens, Sir,’ said John, opening his bottle of physic and pouring out a spoonful, ‘I had not thought to find you in extremis.’

‘I had a bite midday,’ grunted the barber, whose name was Fields, ‘and the pain has come on again. You are sure it is wind?’

‘Positive. The physician has been to see you has he not and confirmed the diagnosis?’

‘Indeed. But the pain is so intense.’

‘Swallow this,’ said John, and proffered the spoon.

The barber did so but still sat doubled up, his face pinched and pointed with pain. John decided on an old-fashioned solution. Taking his cane he laid it across Fields’s stomach at the same time telling him to lean forward. Then he pressed as hard as he could and was rewarded by the barber letting loose a rouser, followed by another and finally a third.

‘That’s better,’ Fields announced, standing up straight.

‘Take the physic as prescribed,’ John said, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and raising it to his nostrils. ‘That will be two shillings, Sir.’

‘Worth every penny,’ answered Fields, and going to a small cupboard unlocked it and counted out the money.

‘Back to work for both of us,’ John said cheerfully, and giving the man a brief bow made his way out to Swallow Street and from there to Shug Lane where he and Gideon spent a pleasant afternoon compounding simples.

The Royal Saracen was in Newport Street, close to St Martin’s Lane, and from the outside looked a reasonably well-run establishment. Stepping inside John was pleased to see that it was moderately clean and that booths had been set up in which people were sitting round tables. Spotting Cuthbert, who was looking somewhat exhausted to say the least of it, John made his way to join the dancing master.

‘You seem weary, my friend.’

‘Alas, I am. I feel I am getting somewhat ancient for this work. Believe me I was ready to lie down and die by three o’clock.’

‘Oh, surely not. You don’t look old,’ John lied gallantly.

‘I have been teaching the Terpsichorean art for forty years, my friend. I began as a bright young spark of twenty-odd and now you find me at sixty plus still nobly doing my best.’

John had a sudden rush of tremendous pity as he did for all old and benighted people who struggled to make ends meet and toiled themselves into the grave as a result. He turned to Cuthbert Simms with a look of great affection.

‘It is working that is keeping you young at heart, Mr Simms. ‘Zounds but if you were some retired old ninny with naught to do all day but sip chocolate and read the newspapers you would soon feel the pinch of the years. Why I shall continue to work in my shop until the day they carry me off, I swear it.’

‘Well said, my boy. The only trouble is that my body is beginning to let me down, don’t you know. I cannot caper as once I used.’

‘You will have to get a young assistant.’

‘But where to find the fellow at the price I can afford to pay him? That is the question.’

John looked sad and sipped his wine. ‘Never mind. The right person may turn up. You never know.’

Cuthbert was growing somewhat red in the face and was imbibing quite freely and John, watching him, wondered whether it was going to loosen the man’s tongue. He asked a discreet question.

‘I’ll warrant you were one of the finest dancers of your day, Mr Simms.’

‘Oh, I was, my friend. Why I once led out the Princess Augusta.’

‘The King’s mother?’

‘The royal lady herself.’

‘And where was this?’

Cuthbert emptied his glass and held it out for a refill. John obliged.

‘It was at a private party at which we were honoured with her presence. I did tell you, did I not, that I was once attached to a great household as dancing master to the young people?’

‘Yes, you did. Did you live in or have lodgings nearby?’

‘I lived in. The master of the house was very keen on his children having daily lessons, d’you see. Which suited me perfectly as an unmarried man.’

John hid a smile. The thought of a woman in his bed would undoubtedly have given poor old Cuthbert a fit of violent trembling. Small wonder he had remained a bachelor all his life. With a bit of an effort the Apothecary dragged his attention back to the conversation, praying that Mr Simms was going to fulfill his hopes and reveal more about his past.

‘It sounds like a wonderful house. Where did you say it was situated?’

‘I didn’t — and I don’t believe I will. You see a great tragedy took place there. Something which I feel I ought not to discuss. All I can say was that my life was completely shattered. I had to give up my place and was lucky to get another at Lady Sidmouth’s. But alas, as you know, her children grew up and I was out on the road again.’

‘Poor Mr Simms,’ said John softly, ‘I wonder if it is true what they say about Vinehurst Place?’

‘What do they say about it?’ asked Cuthbert in a hoarse whisper.

‘That the place is accursed,’ John answered, lying through his teeth. ‘That ill fortune attends all who live there.’

The dancing master rallied. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense. Where did you learn a story like that?’

John paused a moment before he spoke, realizing that Cuthbert had not contradicted him regarding the name of the house. Then he grinned. ‘My dear Mr Simms, you are looking at an ape. I heard that legend an age ago about a place in Surrey and got totally muddled. Of course it wasn’t Vinehurst Place. It was Vinecroft Manor. How utterly stupid of me.’

Mr Simms looked faintly relieved. ‘Oh, that’s as well.’ He changed the subject. ‘You told me you had a daughter who had been poorly. How is she now?’

‘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.