rather concerned.”
“You don’t think Mrs. Bussell has struck, do you?” asked the Muscovite, laughing.
John regarded him seriously and the atmosphere in the room changed very subtly. “I don’t know.”
“But surely he was deluded about that. She looked formidable but she did manage to smile at me.”
“I think she smiled too much,” the Apothecary answered.
“But, Master, she was furious with you. She glared.”
“Until the moment when she decided to become winsome.”
Nicholas was silent, his amusement gone. “So you think something has happened to him?”
“I don’t know. He was an odd sort of man but not the type to be late for an appointment I would have thought. Besides, he wanted to entrust papers to me.”
“Oh dear, it doesn’t bode well, does it.”
“No,” John said. He pulled out a small table. “Let’s play. There is nothing we can do till the morning.”
“But even then what? Do you know his address?”
“No,” admitted the Apothecary with a certain reluctance. “In all the hurly-burly I forgot to take it.”
“Then,” said Nicholas solemnly, “I’m afraid we’ve lost him.”
Chapter Two
T hey hadn’t lost him at all, of course. As soon as John entered the shop on the following morning, he went straight to an old copy of Pigot’s Street Directory and there, listed as an importer of fine wines and spirits, was Anthony Fenchurch. The address given was Elbow Lane in the City of London.
“But I wonder where he lives,” said Nicholas, peering over John’s shoulder.
The Apothecary handed him the book with a crooked grin. “Look through, my friend, street by street. He’s sure to be somewhere.”
“But what about my work?”
“I shall take care of that.”
It was a slow day with few customers and those that there were demanding very ordinary physicks. The high spot came in a call from a salesman representing a warehouse where sheaths or cundums were manfactured. The name, of course, came from the deviser of this form of birth control. Colonel Cundum of the Guards, though the great Venetian, Casanova, also laid claim to having invented this boon to man - and woman - kind.
“Note the delicacy of the sheep gut and the satin tying ribbons, Apothecary,” said the salesman. “These sheaths - which have all been tested by blowing therein - are designed for persons of quality, no less.”
“I’ll take two dozen,” answered John, who was realistic about the need for such things. “And also some of your cheaper variety.”
“The linen soaked in brine tied with mere strings?”
“The very same.”
“Don’t forget to warn the purchaser to wash them thoroughly between uses.”
“I always do,” John replied solemnly.”You are a learned man. Apothecary.”
The salesman laid the goods upon the counter and John settled the account with money which he fetched from his strong box. As he went into the compounding room, his apprentice said, “Got him at last, Master. Here we are. Anthony Fenchurch, Five, Bloomsbury Square.”
“A good address.”
The salesman having taken his money and his leave, the Apothecary returned to the back and lifted the street directory from Nicholas’s hand.
“Yes, that’s him, all right. There can’t be two with a name like that.”
“Are you going to call, Sir?”
“I might well. I have every excuse.”
“Indeed you have. When will you go?”
“Now,” said John, on a sudden whim.
“But won’t he be at his office?”
“Even if he is, I can always leave my card. That should remind him of his broken engagement. Besides, I want to see what splendour this rich merchant lives in.”
“Do you want me to get you a chair, Master?”
“No, I’ll go to Piccadilly and pick up a hackney. I don’t want to spend long over there. I intend to be back before the hour to dine.”
“Very good, Master,” Nicholas said, and helped John into his coat.
It was an enjoyable ride, the April sun, weak but sharp, lighting The
“You don’t think Mrs. Bussell has struck, do you?” asked the Muscovite, laughing.
John regarded him seriously and the atmosphere in the room changed very subtly. “I don’t know.”
“But surely he was deluded about that. She looked formidable but she did manage to smile at me.”
“I think she smiled too much,” the Apothecary answered.
“But, Master, she was furious with you. She glared.”
“Until the moment when she decided to become winsome.”
Nicholas was silent, his amusement gone. “So you think something has happened to him?”
“I don’t know. He was an odd sort of man but not the type to be late for an appointment I would have thought. Besides, he wanted to entrust papers to me.”
“Oh dear, it doesn’t bode well, does it.”
“No,” John said. He pulled out a small table. “Let’s play. There is nothing we can do till the morning.”
“But even then what? Do you know his address?”
“No,” admitted the Apothecary with a certain reluctance. “In all the hurly-burly I forgot to take it.”
“Then,” said Nicholas solemnly, “I’m afraid we’ve lost him.”
Chapter Two
T hey hadn’t lost him at all, of course. As soon as John entered the shop on the following morning, he went straight to an old copy of Pigot’s Street Directory and there, listed as an importer of fine wines and spirits, was Anthony Fenchurch. The address given was Elbow Lane in the City of London.
“But I wonder where he lives,” said Nicholas, peering over John’s shoulder.
The Apothecary handed him the book with a crooked grin. “Look through, my friend, street by street. He’s sure to be somewhere.”
“But what about my work?”
“I shall take care of that.”
It was a slow day with few customers and those that there were demanding very ordinary physicks. The high spot came in a call from a salesman representing a warehouse where sheaths or cundums were manfactured. The name, of course, came from the deviser of this form of birth control. Colonel Cundum of the Guards, though the great Venetian, Casanova, also laid claim to having invented this boon to man - and woman - kind.
“Note the delicacy of the sheep gut and the satin tying ribbons, Apothecary,” said the salesman. “These sheaths - which have all been tested by blowing therein - are designed for persons of quality, no less.”
“I’ll take two dozen,” answered John, who was realistic about the need for such things. “And also some of your cheaper variety.”
“The linen soaked in brine tied with mere strings?”
“The very same.”
“Don’t forget to warn the purchaser to wash them thoroughly between uses.”
“I always do,” John replied solemnly.”You are a learned man. Apothecary.”
The salesman laid the goods upon the counter and John settled the account with money which he fetched from his strong box. As he went into the compounding room, his apprentice said, “Got him at last, Master. Here we are. Anthony Fenchurch, Five, Bloomsbury Square.”
“A good address.”
The salesman having taken his money and his leave, the Apothecary returned to the back and lifted the street directory from Nicholas’s hand.
“Yes, that’s him, all right. There can’t be two with a name like that.”
“Are you going to call, Sir?”
“I might well. I have every excuse.”
“Indeed you have. When will you go?”
“Now,” said John, on a sudden whim.
“But won’t he be at his office?”
“Even if he is, I can always leave my card. That should remind him of his broken engagement. Besides, I want to see what splendour this rich merchant lives in.”
“Do you want me to get you a chair, Master?”
“No, I’ll go to Piccadilly and pick up a hackney. I don’t want to spend long over there. I intend to be back before the hour to dine.”
“Very good, Master,” Nicholas said, and helped John into his coat.
It was an enjoyable ride, the April sun, weak but sharp, lighting The
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