Death at Apothecaries' Hall Read Online Free PDF

beyond belief.’
    â€˜It nearly killed me, let alone the poor old man. I just hope that I find him much recovered when I call.’
    â€˜And when will that be?’
    â€˜Later this morning. Sir Gabriel is taking me to Chelsea in the coach, then we are going on to Kensington to look for a house. Which reminds me. Can you take charge of the shop for a couple of days?’
    â€˜Certainly. Do you want me to alert Master Gerard?’ Nicholas smiled fondly at the very mention of the ancient apothecary who willingly came out of retirement to help John when the younger man was called away.
    â€˜Only if there is an emergency. You are more than capable of compounding for ordinary ailments.’
    Nicholas looked duly gratified and rose from the table. ‘Then I’ll be on my way, Sir. I hope you find a house that Sir Gabriel likes.’
    â€˜Is that a hint that he should do the choosing?’
    â€˜It is not fitting that you and he should fall out. You have always been so close. Perhaps the best way to heal the breach is for him to decide where you will live. After all, I feel certain that he will spend more time in Kensington than you.’
    John’s crooked grin reappeared at last. ‘Were you born old and wise, or is it something you learned along the way?’
    â€˜Both, Sir,’ Nicholas answered seriously, then he bowed and left the room.
    They left London by one of John’s favourite routes, wending their way south of St James’s Park to the somewhat infamous Tothill Fields. From the Middle Ages onwards, the fields had been used for all kinds of nefarious activities, from bull- and bear-baiting, to duelling and dumping rubbish. During the Great Plague of 1665 the dead had been buried there in an enormous pit. Now the entire area had been turned over to good works donated by Christian citizens and looked innocent enough as Sir Gabriel’s stunning equipage, jet black and drawn by snow-white horses, edged round the perimeter, passing along the road that led to the Horse Ferry as they did so.
    Looking out of the coach’s window, John gazed on all the assembled charity. The Reverend Palmer’s Almshouses for Six Poor Old Men and Six Poor Old Women sat rather grimly beside the Gray Coat School, complete with the figures of an orphaned boy and girl attached to the frontage. Close by stood Lady Dacre’s Almhouses established for the purpose of bringing up children in virtue. But this was not all. Next door to the Green Coat School, yet another haven for orphans, stood Bridewell, like its counterpart near Fleet Street, a house of correction for women who sold their bodies for cash. John musingly thought as they drove past that he was yet to see a house of correction for the men who hired the poor wretched creatures.
    But the feature that the Apothecary loved most of all was the one that he could now glimpse out of the window. The imposing Chelsea Water Works was lying directly in front of them. Created earlier in the century, the Works were fed by the Thames and supplied Westminster with water. Magnificent as its reservoir and streams were to look at, however, John was made more than uneasy by the fact that the river was also used as a sewage outlet and no provision at all had been made by the builders for separating the human discharge from the human drinking product. Not a thought he cared to dwell on.
    â€˜You’re very quiet, my dear,’ said Sir Gabriel, who had been a little over-solicitous following their argument.
    â€˜I was just thinking about the water we drink.’
    â€˜What about it?’
    â€˜If only there were a way of bottling a spring, so that at least we could be sure of its purity. The Thames is full of dead dogs and dollops of dung …’
    â€˜Please!’
    â€˜The essence of which we drink regularly.’
    â€˜Dear God.’
    â€˜It’s a fact, Father. There’s no escaping it.’
    â€˜But wouldn’t spring