Death at Apothecaries' Hall by Deryn Lake Read Free Book Online

claret reflected in the flames. ‘Do you believe that I am going to retire here?’
    â€˜No, Sir, I don’t,’ the Apothecary answered roundly. ‘I believe that you will regard a house in Kensington as I intend to do, a country retreat which will provide a little relaxation away from town.’
    His father smiled. ‘I may grow to like the place well.’
    Very wisely, John answered, ‘That, Sir, will be a matter entirely for your own choice.’
    â€˜So in the morning I suggest we ride through the entire locality to see which area takes our fancy most, casting an eye on Church Lane as you suggest. Then we can enquire about landlords and leases.’
    John nodded, drained his glass, then refilled it. ‘I might leave you in charge of negotiations, Father, once we have settled on somewhere.’
    â€˜You’re longing to return to town, aren’t you?’
    â€˜As I told you just now, I am most anxious to see the Beadle and the Butler and ask them a few questions.’
    Sir Gabriel, too, emptied his glass. ‘Will they be of any help, do you think?’
    â€˜That depends,’ answered the Apothecary thoughtfully, ‘on whether they have anything to hide.’
    They left The Dun Cow in the most abysmal weather, rain falling out of the sky in sheets. Thoroughly soaked in the short distance between the inn door and the carriage, Sir Gabriel brushed at his cloak with a long pale hand.
    â€˜It is said by those who know such things, that conditions like these are ideal ones in which to find a new residence.’
    â€˜How do they conclude that?’ asked John, wiping the mud from the back of his stockings.
    â€˜Very simply. If a house appeals in dismal light, dripping with wet, then it will seem like paradise on a beautiful day.’
    â€˜A logical thought indeed.’
    The carriage turned westwards out of the inn yard, passing some important looking residences on the left, though nothing so fine as the enormous gardens of Kensington Palace, the chimneys and spires of which could be glimpsed over the fields to the right hand side.
    It had been William III of Orange, husband of Queen Mary, who had retreated to rural Kensington. A chronic asthmatic, he had sought to escape the fogs of London and had set up his court there. Thin, weak, solemn and with a constant cough, the Dutchman had started a fashion for the place, which was now
de rigueur
. A street directory purchased by Sir Gabriel indicated that not only did the Bishop of Ely have a residence in the village but also His Grace the Duke of Rutland, together with the Countess of Yarmouth. Then, of course, there was Holland House, in which currently resided the politician Henry Fox and his wife, the former Lady Caroline Lennox, sister of the Duke of Richmond.
    The coach turned right off the High Street, proceeding past an imposing church, and went on up Church Lane. Two rows of houses, elegant and no more than twenty years old, faced one another across the cobbled street.
    â€˜A little too close for my liking,’ commented Sir Gabriel, gazing out of the rain streaked window. ‘If I’m going to live out of town then, damme, I want to feel as if I am.’
    The lane grew more rural as the King’s kitchen gardens appeared on the right, somewhat damp and miserable looking now but obviously bursting with delicious fruit and vegetables during the summer months. Adjacent to the gardens were one or two cottages, clearly belonging to the gardeners. Opposite these was a neat little row of fifteen houses or so, all with gardens behind and around them. At the end of the lane, before it turned left and became the way to the gravel pits, stood a large and imposing parsonage complete with gardens and fields.
    â€˜Rural enough?’ asked John.
    â€˜Perfectly so. Yet in easy access of all the great houses.’
    John hid his smile, well aware that his father was already planning what he would wear as he