The Apothecary Page 0,14

might be an earl or a viscount.”

It was the first time I had heard the word, and it sounded like “vye-count.” I know now that it’s a level of aristocracy above a baron and below an earl.

“Maybe he could marry Aunt Cecilia,” Sarah said.

Mrs Pennington pressed her lips together and it was her turn to blush, behind her face powder. “It’s time we went home,” she said. “Perhaps next time the two of you could join us for tea.”

“Aunt Cecilia’s an old maid,” Sarah said confidentially, in a way I knew was meant to torment her mother. “We’re desperate to find her a lonely viscount.”

“Sarah!” her mother said.

“Bye!” Sarah said, waving over her shoulder as she was hustled out the door.

Benjamin turned to the desk clerk. “Is that man who just left an earl or a viscount?”

“I thought he was your uncle,” the clerk said.

“He will be if he marries Aunt Cecilia,” Benjamin said. “And she’s a treat. Looks like Lana Turner.”

The desk clerk smirked and looked very interested in his paperwork.

“I bet he’s an exiled Russian prince,” Benjamin said.

“We protect the privacy of all our guests, titled or not. Now I’m afraid I must ask you children to leave.”

When I got home, my father looked up from a script he was reading. “Who won the great chess match?”

“Benjamin.”

“Well, you’ll take him next time.”

“I hope so. I’m going tomorrow.”

My parents glanced at each other. “Already?” my mother asked.

“For a rematch,” I said. “I have some pride.”

The truth was that Leonid Shiskin, of the Soviet embassy, went to the park on Sundays, too, and Benjamin wanted to watch him again.

“Huh,” my father said, closing his script to look carefully at me.

“Huh,” my mother echoed.

“Do we get to meet young Master Figment?” my father asked.

“Only if you stop calling him that,” I said. “And not tomorrow. I’m meeting him at the park.”

I was already planning the things I would write in my diary, but first I got the chessboard out. Benjamin’s spying might be crazy, but he was dashing and brave, a real Robin Hood, not a fake one. I thought some of his boldness must be rubbing off on me, and I wasn’t sure that was a bad thing.

“I’ll take that chess lesson now,” I said.

CHAPTER 7

The Message

When we got to Hyde Park on Sunday, Mr Shiskin was already on his bench with his back to us, in his grey overcoat. Benjamin set up the chess pieces, giving me the white ones again, while I kept an eye on Mr Shiskin over his shoulder.

I moved my king’s pawn out, and Benjamin, as I knew he would, slid out the pawn in front of his bishop. I brought out my king’s knight, as my father had told me to, and was rewarded by one of Benjamin’s approving smiles.

“Very good!” he said. He brought out his queen’s pawn.

I brought out my queen’s pawn and Benjamin took it, and I took his pawn with my knight. Benjamin nodded with pleasure and moved his king’s knight out. I looked over his shoulder at Mr Shiskin. Another man was sitting next to him. I’d completely missed his arrival.

“Someone’s there!” I said. “A man.”

“What kind of man?”

“I can only see the back of his head. He’s wearing a hat.”

Benjamin watched my face, as if to read there what I was seeing. “What’s he doing?”

“Nothing. Just sitting there.” The newcomer, even from behind, seemed oddly familiar.

Benjamin glanced over his shoulder to look at the man, then put his head in his hands. “Oh, no,” he said.

Then I realised. I hadn’t recognised him, out of context. “It’s the apothecary!” I said. “It’s your father!”

Benjamin pretended to study the chessboard. “He’s going to muck it up,” he moaned. “Why’d he have to choose that bench? If he’s there, Shiskin can’t make his drop.”

“Maybe he is the drop.”

“He’s not the drop.”

But as I watched, Benjamin’s father took a section of the newspaper from the bench, without looking at Shiskin. I felt goose bumps rise on my arms. “Your father just picked up the newspaper,” I said.

Benjamin stared at me. “No he didn’t.”

“He did! He’s walking away now. You can look.”

Benjamin turned, and we watched his father pause to unfold the newspaper and read whatever was there. Then the apothecary’s whole manner changed. He tore up a small piece of paper, threw it with the newspaper into a rubbish bin, and hurried off down the street. Shiskin had already disappeared in the other direction, walking unevenly on his wooden leg.

“Come on,” Benjamin