Death at the Wedding Feast by Deryn Lake Page A

for Milady’s welfare there is nothing you can do about it at this hour of the night. Now go to bed, Sir, and you will arise fresh and well in the morning.’
    â€˜Will you wake me at six?’
    â€˜You will be woken at seven, Sir, if you’ve no violent objection – and there’s an end to it.’
    Too tired to argue, John slowly climbed the great staircase and made his way to the guest suite, glad that someone else had made the decision for him.

Six
    To John’s horror when he opened the clothes press on the following morning, he discovered that he had left only two ensembles behind in Devon. One was a perfectly ghastly affair in a violent shade of lime green with violet embroidery – a colour combination that could have come off had it not been for the vivid hue of the lime. It had been created by a tailor in Exeter and the Apothecary felt he only had himself to blame for the purchase. The second was the divine outfit he had had made for Lady Sidmouth’s ball, crimson satin decorated with silver butterflies, with a straight-cut short waistcoat also made of silver. This too had been made locally, though by a different craftsman. The decision was to choose which to wear.
    Eventually John chose the lime, thinking it preferable to look like a piece of fruit than a complete dandiprat, one who tries to be something that he was actually not. Very conscious of his vivid apparel he covered all with his long travelling coat – from which the servants had obligingly scraped off the mud – and set forth for Lady Sidmouth’s lovely home, perched high on the cliffs overlooking Sidmouth Bay. John suddenly found that he was sweating profusely – bathed in it, in fact – at the thought that Elizabeth might be dead. She was very old indeed to be a mother and it came to him that her body might have been too tired for the rigours of childbirth. Then it occurred to him that the child might be dead as well and he would be going to a house draped in darkest mourning. He prepared his face as he rang the bell and thus was looking extremely stern when a footman answered the door.
    â€˜Good morning, Sir.’
    â€˜Good morning. I have come to call on the Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi.’
    â€˜Very good, Sir. Step inside. I will fetch Lady Sidmouth.’
    The man seemed cheerful enough and John felt his spirits begin to rise. He was ushered into a small parlour and then his hostess came in, bustling like a harvest mouse, her strange face with its tiny mouth as jolly as he had ever seen it.
    â€˜Elizabeth . . . ?’ he said.
    â€˜Asleep and not to be disturbed,’ she answered promptly.
    â€˜And has she . . .’
    â€˜Oh yes, indeed, my dear John. Come upstairs and meet your . . . No, I shall hold you in suspense a moment or two longer. Shall we go?’
    Feeling that he was running the gauntlet of emotion, John found that his legs were trembling as he followed Lady Sidmouth’s comfortable form up to the first floor. ‘Have I a son or a daughter?’ he asked, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears.
    She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Wait and see.’
    They entered a small corridor and went straight to the end where Lady Sidmouth threw open a door to permit a beautiful view of the pounding sea. But it was not to the sea that John’s eyes were drawn. Instead he saw to his amazement that a strange man was inside, holding a small baby in his arms and examining it carefully. Before John could utter, Lady Sidmouth made the introduction.
    â€˜Dr Hunter, allow me to present to you Mr John Rawlings, an apothecary of London.’
    Where one moment John had stood askance wondering what was going on, now he bowed deeply. ‘Dr Hunter, the honour is entirely mine. Your name is spoken of with ringing tones throughout the medical profession.’
    For he was standing in the presence of one of the most eminent men of his