between swallows.
“I have some business to discuss. London affairs,” the Apothecary answered smoothly.
Louis came in. “If my friend has returned to town I shall be sure to pass any message on.”
The gaffer squinted meaningfully. “But it may be before he goes,” he said, then finished his ale, held the pot out for a refill and refused to say any more.
Serafina joined them thirty minutes later, sweeping into the tavern on her own, turning every head in the place.
“Well?” said Louis.
She indicated the gaffer by the merest inclination of her head. “My darling, I must return home. The children will be missing me.” Then, when nobody but her husband and John were looking, she slowly winked one eye. Sensing something positive, the Apothecary grinned.
Once outside, though, Serafina said nothing. She allowed
Louis to lift her into the saddle and immediately set off at a pace, not turning her head to look at the two men who cantered along behind.
“She knows something,” shouted John with elation.
The Comte grinned Gallicly. “She most certainly does. Come on, let’s overtake her.”
But try as they would, Serafina, accomplished horsewoman that she clearly was, led them all the way and finally clattered into the stable yard ahead, lowering herself into the arms of the hostler, then hurrying into the house. By the time they had dismounted, she was nowhere to be seen.
They found her in the drawing room, dressed in her riding clothes, her hat now at an extremely jaunty angle indeed. She raised a glass of champagne in their direction.
“You saw her,” said Louis, pouring a glass for John and then one for himself.
She smiled mischievously. “Not exactly, no.”
“Mon Dieu, don’t torture us, Wife, I beg you. What happened?”
Serafina drained her glass and sat down. “Well, I did not bother with the stables but went straight to the door, securing my horse to a pillar the meanwhile. This so disconcerted the servant who answered that I believe he took me for someone either mad or tipsy.”
“Which you are, frequently - both.”
The Comtesse ignored this and continued. “I presented my card, he ushered me into the hall. I said I had come to visit the lady of the house with an invitation to dine. He told me she was not at home. Then…”
“Yes?” said John.
“I heard the faintest scuffling, as if someone were still ascending the stairs, above my head, out of sight. And then…”
Louis thrust his head into his hands. “For heaven’s sake, Serafina. I shall have a seizure in a minute.”
“I smelt it.”
“What?”
“Her perfume. It came wafting down the stairwell on a cloud. There was no mistaking it. It is made by Charles Lillie and is sold to ladies of bon ton.”
“Well, he made a mistake with her then,” said John, and laughed uproariously at his own joke.
Serafina tutted disapproval. “Really, Mr. Rawlings, how could you interrupt thus?”
“I beg your pardon. Pray continue.”
“It is the sort of perfume that could not possibly be worn by a servant, however highly placed. No, she’s there all right, hiding out on the upper floors.”
“Well, well,” said John. “I thought as much. I shall write to Sir John this very afternoon and Irish Tom can take the letter immediately to Bow Street. Then before the journey back he can call at Nassau Street and bring with him any messages.”
“But what about Emilia? How will she get home from Kensington if Tom is here?”
“As soon as I return I shall send him to fetch her. I don’t want her to delay a moment longer.”
Louis looked thoughtful. “I wonder if the old gaffer knows that Mrs. Bussell is in hiding.”
“I’m sure he does. He’ll probably be round for his guinea before nightfall.”
“Crafty old devil.”
“Enough of him,” said Serafina. “What about me? Have I helped your enquiries Mr. Rawlings?”
“You will have assisted in bringing a villainess to justice. At least I hope that you
“I have some business to discuss. London affairs,” the Apothecary answered smoothly.
Louis came in. “If my friend has returned to town I shall be sure to pass any message on.”
The gaffer squinted meaningfully. “But it may be before he goes,” he said, then finished his ale, held the pot out for a refill and refused to say any more.
Serafina joined them thirty minutes later, sweeping into the tavern on her own, turning every head in the place.
“Well?” said Louis.
She indicated the gaffer by the merest inclination of her head. “My darling, I must return home. The children will be missing me.” Then, when nobody but her husband and John were looking, she slowly winked one eye. Sensing something positive, the Apothecary grinned.
Once outside, though, Serafina said nothing. She allowed
Louis to lift her into the saddle and immediately set off at a pace, not turning her head to look at the two men who cantered along behind.
“She knows something,” shouted John with elation.
The Comte grinned Gallicly. “She most certainly does. Come on, let’s overtake her.”
But try as they would, Serafina, accomplished horsewoman that she clearly was, led them all the way and finally clattered into the stable yard ahead, lowering herself into the arms of the hostler, then hurrying into the house. By the time they had dismounted, she was nowhere to be seen.
They found her in the drawing room, dressed in her riding clothes, her hat now at an extremely jaunty angle indeed. She raised a glass of champagne in their direction.
“You saw her,” said Louis, pouring a glass for John and then one for himself.
She smiled mischievously. “Not exactly, no.”
“Mon Dieu, don’t torture us, Wife, I beg you. What happened?”
Serafina drained her glass and sat down. “Well, I did not bother with the stables but went straight to the door, securing my horse to a pillar the meanwhile. This so disconcerted the servant who answered that I believe he took me for someone either mad or tipsy.”
“Which you are, frequently - both.”
The Comtesse ignored this and continued. “I presented my card, he ushered me into the hall. I said I had come to visit the lady of the house with an invitation to dine. He told me she was not at home. Then…”
“Yes?” said John.
“I heard the faintest scuffling, as if someone were still ascending the stairs, above my head, out of sight. And then…”
Louis thrust his head into his hands. “For heaven’s sake, Serafina. I shall have a seizure in a minute.”
“I smelt it.”
“What?”
“Her perfume. It came wafting down the stairwell on a cloud. There was no mistaking it. It is made by Charles Lillie and is sold to ladies of bon ton.”
“Well, he made a mistake with her then,” said John, and laughed uproariously at his own joke.
Serafina tutted disapproval. “Really, Mr. Rawlings, how could you interrupt thus?”
“I beg your pardon. Pray continue.”
“It is the sort of perfume that could not possibly be worn by a servant, however highly placed. No, she’s there all right, hiding out on the upper floors.”
“Well, well,” said John. “I thought as much. I shall write to Sir John this very afternoon and Irish Tom can take the letter immediately to Bow Street. Then before the journey back he can call at Nassau Street and bring with him any messages.”
“But what about Emilia? How will she get home from Kensington if Tom is here?”
“As soon as I return I shall send him to fetch her. I don’t want her to delay a moment longer.”
Louis looked thoughtful. “I wonder if the old gaffer knows that Mrs. Bussell is in hiding.”
“I’m sure he does. He’ll probably be round for his guinea before nightfall.”
“Crafty old devil.”
“Enough of him,” said Serafina. “What about me? Have I helped your enquiries Mr. Rawlings?”
“You will have assisted in bringing a villainess to justice. At least I hope that you
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