Free Death at the Devil's Tavern by Deryn Lake Page B

blows that life had delivered him.
    â€˜Well now …’ he began, but Nicholas interrupted him with one of his rehearsed speeches.
    â€˜If you decide to employ me, I promise to be an industrious and honest assistant, Sir. You will not find me lacking when it comes to the call of duty. I am deeply grateful for the trust that you have put in me in giving me this opportunity. Thank you.’
    John’s eyes twinkled. ‘Noble sentiments, nobly expressed. Have you had breakfast?’
    Nicholas’s dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Some bread and cheese, Sir. That is all.’
    â€˜Then sit down and have some more. You have a long day’s work ahead of you and a lot of learning to do. I want you nourished and strong for such an enterprise.’
    So saying, he tucked in heartily himself, motioning Nicholas to sit opposite him and ordering that another cover be laid for Sir Gabriel. Somewhat hesitantly, indeed as if he thought that the chair might break beneath him, Nicholas sat down and took a small piece of bread which he spread thinly with marmalade. He was just about to bite into this when the door opened and John’s father appeared, a black velvet turban upon his head, a quilted nightrail flowing from his shoulders in a cascade which rippled about his ankles. It was an awe inspiring sight and Nicholas promptly leapt to his feet and stood at attention, just as he must have done before the captain of his ship.
    Sir Gabriel looked at him, an expression of much amusement on his face, then addressed himself to the Apothecary. ‘And whom do we have here?’
    â€˜Nicholas Dawkins, Father, a protégé of Mr Fielding. It is the plan that, if you approve of him, he will help out in my shop while I go in pursuit of Sir William Hartfield’s slayer.’
    Sir Gabriel’s attention temporarily shifted from the newcomer and he stared at John with interest. ‘I presume from that remark that the Beak has now tracked down the missing body?’
    â€˜He has, Sir. It is in the mortuary and the Coroner is satisfied that the dead man is indeed Sir William. So it is my duty, this very day, to go to St James’s Square and inform the family of the tragedy.’
    â€˜He lived at number thirty-two,’ put in John’s father, ‘I looked him up last night in Pigot’s street directory.’ He turned back to Nicholas. ‘And so this young fellow might be in charge of your shop. Tell me, lad, how old are you?’
    â€˜Eighteen this year, Sir.’
    â€˜And where do you hail from?’
    â€˜From Muscovy, Sir.’
    â€˜Muscovy!’ exclaimed Sir Gabriel in astonished tones.
    â€˜Via Deptford,’ the Apothecary added quickly. ‘It’s a long and interesting story. I’ll tell it to you later.’
    Sir Gabriel took a seat at table, his robe swirling as he moved. ‘Well then, John, I should take the lad on if I were you. It is not every day that one is offered a Muscovite as an assistant.’
    His topaz eyes were sparkling but his expression was severe. John, catching his mood, looked equally stern. ‘Umm. Do you really think so?’ But he could continue the teasing no longer as Nicholas’s mouth, delicately moulded in his pallid face, began to tremble with anxiety. ‘Be of stout heart, Nick,’ the Apothecary added quickly, ‘the appointment is yours if you would like to have it.’
    The waxen features transformed into a smile, like spring in frost. ‘You won’t regret it, Mr Rawlings, nor you Sir. I’m a quick learner, so the captain used to say, and I swear to do my best.’
    â€˜Then that’s settled,’ said John, winked his eye at his father, and continued with his breakfast.
    An hour later he and Nicholas had opened the shop in Shug Lane and the boy had started to write a list of what potions, pills and physicks were suitable for which particular complaints. He had also made a tour