Death at the Wedding Feast

Four

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.

John had decided that on his next extended trip to Devon he would leave Gideon in sole charge of the shop, and considering this made him think of getting a new and young apprentice, someone that the older one could order about. He had accordingly written to several schoolmasters asking them to recommend any leavers who might be interested in becoming an apothecary and one answer in particular had caught his attention.

Master Robin Hazell might be just to Your Suiting, Sir. He has a Carefree Disposition but Studies Assiduously Everything to do with the Nature of Herbs etc. He is leaving School on the twenty-third day of February — Easter being so Early — and I can Send Him Direct to You should You so Desire it.

The Apothecary had replied by return post that he did so desire and awaited the arrival of Master Hazell at two o’clock on the 25th. Unfortunately this was the time when the shop suddenly became thronged with customers, all wanting attention and wanting it quickly, and John worked so hard that he noticed nobody enter, and finally, feeling flat as a flounder, collapsed on to a chair behind the counter when the rush was over.

‘Please, Sir, but would you be Mr Rawlings?’ asked a small voice from the corner.

John jumped up, smoothing down his long apron, and peered in the direction of the sound. Wondering whether he needed spectacles, John narrowed his eyes but could see no one there. Then he felt a tug on his apron strings and wheeled round to behold a very small boy who was standing behind him.

‘And who might you be?’ he said rather crossly.

‘I’m Robin Hazell, Sir. We ’ad an appointment — or so I fawt.’

‘But you can’t be sixteen,’ John answered, staring down at him.

‘I am, Sir, honest. It’s just that I’m small, like me mother was.’ The boy, who reached just above John’s waist, looked suddenly folorn. ‘Am I too short, then?’

‘For what?’ answered the Apothecary, slightly irritated.

‘To become your apprentice, Sir.’ The boy’s lower lip trembled and his eyes looked large with tears, though none as yet had trickled down his cheeks.

John suddenly felt profoundly sorry for the little chap. ‘Shall we go into the compounding room and there have a cup of tea?’ he asked in a much gentler tone.

‘I would like that very much, Sir.’ And a small hand crept into the Apothecary’s as they walked together to the back of the shop.

There was absolutely no way that this boy could be much more than twelve, John thought, and wondered what particular kind of trick was being played upon him.

‘Now, sit down,’ he said kindly, ‘and tell me all about yourself.’

Robin — if Robin it actually was — started on some long tale about finishing at school and being recommended by his headmaster to which John listened, not believing a word he was hearing. Finally, the child stopped talking and looked at the Apothecary with boot-button eyes.

‘Well, Sir?’ he asked.

John’s mouth twitched. ‘You’re a good actor, I’ll grant you that.’

‘What do you mean, Sir?’

‘I mean that I don’t believe a thing you’ve just said to me. In other words, you’re not telling the truth, my boy.’

The child opened his mouth to reply but at that moment the door of the shop shot open and another boy whirled in, panting and gasping for breath.

‘Mr Rawlings?’ he managed.

‘Yes,’ said John, going to meet him.

The newcomer held out his hand. ‘I’m Robin Hazell, Sir. And I apologize for the lateness of my arrival but I’ve just been robbed in the street.’

Behind him the Apothecary heard a subdued squeal and, turning round, saw the little chap preparing to run. Gently but firmly John put his hand on the child’s shoulder, thus pinioning him where he was. He turned back to the true Robin Hazell, thinking how well the name suited him, for the boy looked like autumn personified. His hair gleamed in an amber aureole, while his eyes, shining and honest-looking, were like glasses of light sherry. At the moment his freckled skin was bright red with a mixture of annoyance and exertion, but when it resumed its natural hue it was obvious that this young man was the handsomest of creatures. Inwardly the Apothecary sighed, thinking how all his apprentices were interesting and attractive people. Once again he felt slightly old.

‘And there,’ said Robin, catching a glimpse of the urchin standing at John’s heel, ‘is the little jackanapes who did it.’

The Apothecary decided to teach the young miscreant a lesson. ‘You devilish dog, Sir. How dare you come in here with your fancy tales, wasting my time and putting Master Hazell into a fine how-dee-do? Explain yourself immediately.’

He sat down, standing the scrap in front of him and putting a hand on each shoulder. But instead of speaking the little boy wept, loudly and noisily, until John was obliged to produce a handkerchief and dry his face. He glanced up at Robin and saw that he, too, was quite moved by the sight.

‘Don’t be too hard on him, Sir,’ Robin whispered into John’s ear — and at that moment the Apothecary knew for sure that he was going to take young Master Hazell as his apprentice.

The urchin continued to howl until the Apothecary boomed, ‘Be silent! Enough of this caterwauling. Now just tell me your story and I will sit here and listen — and so will Master Hazell.’

He motioned the older boy to take a seat and eventually the little chap said in a voice, punctuated by sobs, ‘I don’t know who me parents are, honest, Sir. I was abandoned at the door of Coram’s when I was a babe. But me mother left a bracelet in me box, so she must have been someone special.’

John’s heart bled for him. The great man Thomas Coram had founded the home for abandoned and deserted children — who had quite literally littered the streets of London — in 1745. Hogarth and Handel had both become governors and Handel had allowed performances of ‘Messiah’ to take place in aid of the institution. The trouble was that there had been more children than there had been room for, so that a balloting system had come into being. Knowing this, mothers had left their babies in bundles and boxes near the gates of the orphanage and, often, they had put a keepsake in with the child. John had seen a few of them and it had moved him to tears. A button, a brooch, a lock of hair; how wretched the girls must have been to give up their children in this sad and melancholy situation.

He looked at the unhappy, skinny, snotty, tiny boy standing before him and said very seriously, ‘Yes, she must.’

‘Anyway, when I was eight I had to leave and go to work and they got me a job as a kitchen boy in a big house. But the head footman beat me — and the cook — so I runs away and steals the papers from Master Hazell, wot was bulging out of ’is pocket, and I thought I would come here first, seeing that I’ve always been interested in herbs and the like. But it didn’t work, like nothing ever does and…’

The child collapsed into tears once more.

The Apothecary ignored them and asked, ‘Can you read and write?’

‘Oh yes, Sir,’ the boy snivelled. ‘They taught us all that at Coram’s. That’s how I knew about the headmaster and to come here and all.’

‘How old are you? And I want the truth this time.’

‘Nearly twelve, Sir.’

John turned to Robin, who had been watching all this with red cheeks and an extremely sad expression.

‘What shall I do with him, Master Hazell?’

‘You can’t turn him out on the streets, Sir. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘No.’

John looked thoughtful and the boy, sensing hope, gazed at him, suddenly bright-eyed.

‘Tell me,’ said the Apothecary, still not smiling. ‘Is it your custom to thieve?’

The boy looked startled, his weepy eyes opening wide. ‘No, Sir, honest, I never done it before. I was desperate.’

‘I believe him, Sir,’ interrupted Robin. ‘I mean to say you only have to look at him. He’s thoroughly wretched.’

‘I tend to agree,’ said John, still keeping up his act of extreme severity, though, head averted from the child, he winked one vivid eye at Master Hazell. He turned back to the boy. ‘What is your name?’

‘Frederick, Sir. After the King’s father.’

At last a grin spread over John’s features as he thought of this highly unlikely pair of people. Frederick, so anxious to please, grinned toothily in reply, but the anxiety showed through the smile and the Apothecary knew that he was going to make a fool of himself once again.

‘All right,’ he said sternly. ‘I am going to give you a chance, Fred. I may call you that, mayn’t I?’

Fred nodded, his expression hovering between hope and despair.

‘I am going to offer you the job of general factotum in this establishment. No, don’t say a word until I have explained. In the apartment upstairs live some law students who need someone to clean up and look after them. Also, I shall need someone to assist Master Hazell with the general keeping of good order in this establishment. Now, if so much as a leaf goes missing from one of the herbs, if the students complain that their money is short, then out you go and no two ways about it. Do you understand?’

‘Oh yes, Sir. Oh thank you, Sir. You’ve saved my life, Sir. Honest you have.’

John rearranged his features in an effort to look stern again but had to give up. Fred was staring at him with such an honest look that, once more, the Apothecary felt his heart melt.

However, he spoke seriously. ‘You will be answerable to my chief apprentice, Mr Purle. He will report your behaviour direct to me and I shall ask him for regular bulletins. Now, Fred, there is a very small bedroom in the attic, above the lawyers’ rooms. You may sleep there. As for food, you shall eat with the other apprentices and build yourself up.’

Fred opened his mouth to speak but John had already addressed himself to the red-headed youth who was now waiting anxiously.

‘Master Hazell,’ he said, ‘you can go home and tell your father to contact me. If you would still like the position I will be most delighted to have you as my new apprentice.’

Later that evening John sat in the library thinking that he must be losing his reason. About to go away, on the brink of fatherhood, he had taken three new people into his life, all of whom — with the exception of Factotum Fred — would hold positions that, with varying degrees of responsibility, could make or break what he now realized was going to be the biggest commercial venture of his life. Could skinny Jacquetta Fortune really take charge of a business empire? Could Gideon Purle, still not yet qualified, be trusted to run a shop and bottle more water in his spare time? Had he made the right decision about appointing Robin Hazell as his new apprentice?

The Apothecary gave a wry smile. The only one about whom he had no doubts was poor, wretched Fred. For if the little chap turned out to be a regular thief then John would have no hesitation in turning him out. If, however, Fred decided to be as honest a man as any, then he could stay and make good. Maybe even become a future apprentice.

John caught himself up. He would be thirty-seven on his next birthday; forty was staring him in the face. He wished, suddenly, that his father still lived with him. Or, indeed, that Elizabeth had agreed to marry him so that he might have someone with whom to share his worries. He poured himself another sherry and opened his book, but could not concentrate on reading.

Then the door opened and Rose, in night attire, stood there.

‘Good evening, Papa.’

‘Rose!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

‘I just felt that I wanted to hug you.’

‘Then come here, little bundle, and do so.’

She climbed on to his knee and he stroked her spirals of red hair.

‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘I woke up and felt you were sad.’

‘True, I was feeling a bit melancholy. I thought I was getting old.’

‘But we’re all doing that. Even your baby…’ She stopped speaking very suddenly and gazed into space. Then she let out a delightful giggle. ‘… is getting older every minute.’

‘What was the laughing about?’

‘Nothing.’ She clutched her hands together in childish glee.

‘Something amused you.’

She shook her head, her eyes twinkling. ‘It’s a secret.’

‘So you’re not going to tell me?’

‘No.’

John shook his head with a smile and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I suggest you go off to bed, young lady.’

‘Walk with me. It’s a trifle frightening on the stairs.’

‘Very well. Let’s both carry candles and then we’ll scare the hobgoblins away.’

Hand in hand they climbed the staircase and John tucked her into bed, and left one of the candles in her room as an extra night light. The house was quiet and he realized that Jacquetta Fortune had also retired for the night. While Gideon, no doubt, was sleeping the sleep of sheer exhaustion in the attic above.

Tomorrow, thought John, I must leave for Devon and whatever fate has in store for me next. Hoping that all would be well in his absence, the Apothecary retired to the library to try to read some more of his book.