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

certain,” Mary Ann answered, and gave him the sort of pert grin that made him want to slap her.
    John turned back to his patient. “Keep your aunt like this, utterly quiet and still, and do not attempt to give her any food. She can have sips of water and no more. Tell your uncle that I will see him tonight.”
    “Yes, Mr. Rawlings.”
    “And can you also tell him the facts. Namely, that Mrs. Fielding will most likely not be able to attend tomorrow’s ceremony.”
    “He will be very upset.”
    “He probably will, but it is better that he should get used to the idea now.”
    “I’m sure he will refuse to go himself if she cannot be there.”
    “I do hope that he won’t even consider anything so foolish.”

    It was a busy day in the shop, particularly with Nicholas out for an hour, and John was pleased when they finally closed for the night and he was able once more to take a chair to Bow Street. The court, which had been sitting that day, was no longer in session and as John turned into the tall thin house in which Mr. Fielding and his family lived, he passed Joe Jago, the Magistrate’s clerk, making his way outwards, a determined expression on his craggy face.
    “Joe,” said John, delighted to see his old friend again, “where are you off to?”
    “I’ve an appointment with my tailor, Mr. Rawlings.”
    “A new suit for tomorrow?”
    “Indeed, Sir. I thought a rich dark blue with silver trimming might be dee rigour.”
    Joe had never got the hang of pronouncing de rigueur and the Apothecary grinned, though not mockingly.
    “What time do you have to be at the palace?”
    “The levee begins at eleven, so carriages will be arriving from an hour beforehand. Anyway, Sir, I must be off. The tailor has to make a final fitting then will be working through the night if all’s not perfect.”
    “Good luck tomorrow,” said John and went within.
    He found Mr. Fielding sitting beside his wife, gently holding her hand. It looked to John, as he went quietly through the door, as if both of them were fast asleep, the Magistrate absolutely still, Elizabeth not moving, pale against her pillows. The Apothecary hardly liked to disturb them but even as he silently approached, John Fielding raised his head.
    “Mr. Rawlings?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you for what you’ve done. My wife has ceased to vomit and purge and is now sleeping quietly. I owe this to your rapid response to our call for help.”
    John felt his patient’s brow. “Sir, I know that Mrs. Fielding has greatly improved but I do not think it would be prudent to disturb her tomorrow. It is my honest opinion that she should be allowed to rest for several days more. She is still very weak, believe me.”
    The Magistrate nodded. “Nothing would induce me to jeopardise her recovery. No, Mr. Rawlings, if you are agreeable it is you who will act as my second guide at the palace tomorrow.”
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you Sir. I must take another person - I should die of shame were I to trip on my way to the throne - and I can think of no one I would prefer to accompany me. John, will you say yes?”
    The Apothecary reeled, partly at being called by his first name, something that the Magistrate had done only once before in their entire acquaintanceship, and partly at the thought of attending an investiture at St James’s Palace.
    “Sir, I would be highly honoured,” he answered breathlessly.
    “Then, my friend, when you have tended your patient I suggest you make for home and bring forth your best clothes for your servants to sponge and press. I intend that we shall put on a goodly show, us representatives of the Public Office.”
    “And what are you wearing, Sir?”
    “A new suit, dark damson in shade. I refuse to have anything too showy. It is Mary Ann who will outshine us all.”
    Like the devil she will, thought John, and mentally started going through his wardrobe as he took his leave and headed home in a flurry of excitement.

    In the event he chose his green