Free Death at the Beggar's Opera by Deryn Lake Page B

dangerously near the December meeting and he had no idea when he would be finished with this particular investigation.
    ‘I’ll never get there,’ John muttered to himself as he walked out of Rupert Street, named after Charles I’s heroic nephew, then into Coventry Street and right into Shug Lane. ‘I shall spend the rest of my days as the only apothecary in London not to be a Yeoman of the Society.’
    But he wasn’t serious and whistled as he sought the shop key in his pocket. It was just as he located it and headed for his front door, that a sedan chair coming from the direction of Marybone Street came into his line of vision, and John stared in amazement as the chairmen set it down before his entrance. Hurrying forward, he was just in time to see Miss Coralie Clive set her foot upon the cobbles and search in her reticule for the fare.
    ‘Miss Clive,’ he said, and bowed so low that his springing cinnamon hair briefly swept the ground.
    ‘You’re not wearing a wig,’ she answered, obviously faintly astonished.
    ‘I don’t when I’m in the shop, though I carry one with me in case I am called out.’
    ‘Your hair suits you, though. It’s such a wonderful colour.’
    If I go pink, John thought grimly, I shall never speak to myself again. And in order to make such a terrible occurrence appear as if it were caused by natural exertion he whirled round and opened the door with a flourish.
    ‘And to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ he asked, still with his back turned.
    ‘To the terrible events at Drury Lane, alas,’ the actress answered quietly.
    ‘You want to continue our conversation of the other night, I take it.’
    ‘Yes, yes, I do.’
    ‘Then come in. I have quite a comfortable room at the back where I do my compounding. I also have a kettle and some very good tea in there. Would you like some?’
    ‘I would like it more than anything.’
    ‘Then please take a seat while I get the shop ready for the day. I’ll only be a few minutes and then we can talk.’
    ‘Can I help in any way?’
    ‘You can take the covers off those shelves if you like. But mind not to spill anything. Some of the physics could stain your dress.’
    ‘I’ll be careful,’ she said, and smiled.
    John’s heart gave an exuberant bound and he was vividly reminded of how he used to feel in the company of the Masked Lady, as Serafina had once been known. He coughed a little. ‘You can borrow one of my aprons if you wish,’ he said, hoping that he didn’t sound utterly pompous.
    Coralie smiled again. ‘I have an even better idea. Why don’t you organise the shop while I brew the tea? In that way I can keep clean and the work will be done in half the time.’
    ‘A good idea,’ answered John and put on one of the long coveralls that he always wore for preparing his potions.
    As he worked swiftly round the place, removing the covers from the shelves and dusting the various bottles and jars beneath, it occurred to him that Miss Clive seemed in comparatively good spirits, and he wondered just how saddened by Jasper’s death she had been. Her words came back to him ‘I wished him dead, Mr Rawlings,’ and again the icy hand of fear clutched at his heart as the Apothecary reiterated to himself what he had said to his father about her being guilty.
    Quite spontaneously and without stopping to think about what he was doing, he called out, ‘Did you hate your lover enough to kill him?’
    Equally spontaneously and with a speed that was to convince John that she was entirely free of blame, Coralie called back, ‘Oh yes, but I didn’t do it. However much I detested him, however badly he had treated me, I could never have struck him down. It is not in my capability.’
    John appeared in the doorway of his compounding room, watching her where she bent over the kettle and teapot, the water heating on a little oil stove that he used in his experiments. ‘Are you going to tell me everything?’
    ‘I am