Death and the Black Pyramid by Deryn Lake Page B

time for a little light luncheon beforehand.’
    â€˜Then I take it you will come?’
    â€˜I shall be glad of an outing, my dear John. And I thank you for inviting me.’
    â€˜It is entirely my pleasure.’
    Sir Clovelly’s idea of a light meal was what other people would regard as a small banquet. John, who had breakfasted well, found himself refusing several courses leading to the inevitable questions as to why he was off his food.
    â€˜I am not, Sir, I can assure you. It is just that I am not used to eating at this hour of the day. I prefer to dine at night.’
    â€˜Oh, I do that as well, don’t you know. Of course the damn doctors tell me to cut down but I find food such a great consolation, eating such an enjoyable pastime.’
    Once again the Apothecary was struck by the pathos of the man and he determined at that moment to ask Sir Clovelly if he would stand as godparent to the unborn child. But how to broach the subject? John cleared his throat.
    â€˜Sir, I wonder if I might ask you a favour?’
    Sir Clovelly paused, a wing of fowl halfway to his mouth.
    â€˜Certainly, my boy. Ask away.’
    John hedged. ‘Have you seen the Marchesa recently?’
    â€˜No, can’t say that I have. I really must call. How is the dear girl?’
    â€˜Actually that is what I want to talk to you about.’
    â€˜Why? She ain’t ill, is she?’
    John actually blushed, a deep uncomfortable red. ‘No, she’s perfectly alright. The fact of the matter is that she is with child.’
    Sir Clovelly put down the piece of chicken and gazed at John with small twinkling eyes.
    â€˜And I’ll wager she still won’t marry you.’
    There was a momentary silence, during which the two men stared at one another, Sir Clovelly brimming with bonhomie. It was too much for the Apothecary who felt the start of a smile twitch at his lips. The next second he was grinning like a schoolboy caught committing a prank.
    â€˜You’re quite correct,’ he said. ‘She won’t. Society will surely close its doors to her as a result.’
    â€˜Now there you are wrong,’ Sir Clovelly answered, resuming his consumption of food. ‘Elizabeth is too powerful in her own right to merit such treatment. She is rich and she is charming. Maybe one or two of the more stuffy families will cut her but the rest of her friends will remain loyal, you mark my words.’
    â€˜I hope you are right.’
    â€˜Of course I am right.’ Sir Clovelly finished his piece of chicken and wiped his hands. ‘And, my dear boy, can you imagine Elizabeth in London? Can you imagine her as the wife of – forgive me – an apothecary? She is too free a spirit, too wild a soul, to be so constrained. The best thing you can do is to accept the fact of your forthcoming fatherhood with joy and see your child as often as is possible.’
    John nodded. ‘It’s a bitter pill to swallow but I agree with you. I know that she would never settle down in the capital. But yet I had a glimmer of hope . . .’
    â€˜Best forgotten,’ interrupted Sir Clovelly. He looked at his watch, fishing for it in a lower pocket of his coat which strained at bursting point over his extremely ample stomach. ‘What time did you say this bout was?’
    â€˜At two o’clock, Sir.’
    â€˜Then we’d best depart.’ And with a great deal of effort Sir Clovelly struggled to his feet.
    The fight was scheduled to take place in a field slightly west of the High Street. John, entering the arena, felt quite overcome with excitement for the place was alive with every kind of trader, every booth, every hawker, that it was possible to imagine.
    It seemed that the whole of Exeter – or at least a goodly proportion of its citizens – had decided to make this event a holiday, for the field was packed with people. Tall men of Devon walked with their round, rosy wives