Free Death at St. James's Palace by Deryn Lake

looked at his watch. “I do believe that is the ladies returning. My dear sir, I have outstayed my welcome.”
    Mr. Fielding shook his head. “You could never do that, my friend. Remain to greet them and have another glass of port.”
    “In your company, Sir,” answered the Apothecary, “I am always weak willed. I shall be only too happy to do so.”

    He had walked to Bow Street and now hailed a chair for the return journey. A link man was also summoned to light the way and the little party set off at a steady pace towards Nassau Street. The ways were empty and full of shadows and John, looking around him, thought that the beau monde were all at play and honest citizens were all abed, it was so unusually quiet.
    It was as he was approaching his home that he caught his first sight of anyone tangible, though gloomy figures had been lurking in the denser patches of shade throughout the journey. Slipping along Gerard Street, coming from the direction of Nassau Street, was a cloaked figure, the hood pulled well forward to mask the face. It was a small, slight person, whoever it was, and they held a paper in their hand. John surmised that even at this late hour someone was on their way to the post. He peered more closely, raising his quizzing glass to his eye. And then the hood slipped back very slightly and he saw who it was braving the darkness of this chilly September night. His new servant Lucinda had not only left the house but had written to someone, no doubt to inform them precisely where she was now residing.

Chapter 5

    H e had said nothing, though the incident had given him food for thought. For it seemed to John, the more he considered the matter, that Lucinda was still in her mother’s thrall and might quite possibly write to that most undeserving of women to inform her of her whereabouts. Yet that didn’t quite make sense. The girl had declared most emphatically that she would fight fire with fire rather than return to boarding school, and her mother was the one person with the legal right to make her do so. Eventually he concluded that the letter must have been intended for someone entirely different and decided in view of Lucinda’s exemplary behaviour to let the matter drop.
    Emilia returned home with her two maids and there was the usual rather cool reception of the new girl by the established servants, particularly as she was so very pretty and so very young and capable. Fortunately, Emilia took to her, even more sympathetically when Lucinda related the story of her ordeal at the Brompton Park Boarding School. So, the Apothecary thought, as the month of September drew to its close and his wife complained that her stays were getting too tight, that all was well with his little domestic world. And he sighed to himself that his adventuring days were over and the strange premonition he had experienced in Kensington had turned out to be false after all.
    The weather remained fine and fair; leaves fell in the parks and squares, making a carpet of red and gold. With his feet crunching over them, the Apothecary made his way to Shug Lane on the morning of the penultimate day of the month, basking in the sunshine, thinking that Nicholas would be preparing tea at this very moment and that he would enjoy a cup before he started work for the day. But when he arrived in the lane it was to see his apprentice in a state of some agitation, anxiously peering down the street to discover if he was on his way and running to greet him as soon as he came into view.
    “Oh, Master, thank heavens you are here.”
    “Why, what is wrong?”
    “It’s Mrs. Fielding. She has been taken ill and the Magistrate has requested that you go directly to Bow Street. Apparently she has pronounced that she has no faith in physicians since old Dr. Drake retired and she will see no one but yourself.”
    “What are her symptoms?” asked John, rushing into the shop to collect his medical bag.
    “Nausea, vomiting, laxes. Apparently she is in a