The Apothecary's Daughter (11 page)

He stopped dancing and stood there. He opened his mouth, but
she was already turning away. She was several yards away from him
when his “Of course” reached her ears. Normally she would have
hated to be so rude, but in this case she assumed her partner would
be relieved to be free of the duty to escort her back to her place and
falsely thank her. She again glimpsed Mr. Marlow’s face above the
heads of the crowd. She could not be certain, but was he trying to
weave his way toward her? She walked quickly away to the safety of
the ladies lounge.

Her aunt found her there several minutes later. “There you are,
my dear. Are you all right? “

“Yes. Merely tired.”

“Your uncle and I are ready to depart, if you are certain you do
not wish to remain longer?”

“I am ready.”

Gathering their wraps, they made their way to thank their hosts
near the door. A man’s hand touched her gloved arm and she started.
But it was only Will Price-Winters. His usually cheery face was serious. “Miss Haswell, I hope you will not take my friend’s reluctance
as an affront toward your lovely person. Graves is the most reticent
chap I know.”

She quickly skimmed the crowd around them. “Think no more
of it. Good night, Mr. Price-Winters.”

He eyed her closely. “You are certain you are all right?”

“Quite, I thank you. Do say good-bye to Christina for me.”

“I shall.”

On the carriage ride home, Aunt Elliott squeezed Lilly’s hand.
“Well done, my dear.”

“Pray what do you mean?”

“Roger Bromley favored you with more dances than any other
lady present.”

Perhaps not by choice, however, Lilly thought. “Yes, he was very
kind.”

“More than kind, my dear,” Aunt Elliott said. “He is evidently
quite taken with you. And as a gentleman of means, Mr. Bromley
is under no compulsion to find a wealthy wife of the ton. I know we
were disappointed last season, my dear, but I trust we shall prevail
this time.”

Lilly only smiled meekly. She had thought so, too, before tonight.
Before she had seen the way he looked at Miss Whittier. Had her aunt
not noticed? Had she seen only what she wished to see?

Ruth Elliott continued, “I was a little concerned when I saw you
dancing with that fair gentleman at the last.”

“Were you. Why?”

“Chap with the moustache, you mean? ” Uncle Elliott interrupted.
“Someone ought to tell him it isn’t all the crack, no matter what some
officers seem to believe.”

Her aunt continued undeterred, “Have you met him before?”

“No. Christina’s brother introduced us. A Mr. Graves, I believe.
They were at Oxford together.”

“Ah … Graves,” her uncle said. “Mr. Price-Winters told me he
is awaiting licentiateship in the Royal College.”

She stared at her uncle, not comprehending.

“The Royal College of Physicians, my dear,” Uncle Elliott
clarified.

Lilly felt oddly stunned. “I did not even realize.”

“Good gracious, I trust the two of you did not spend the evening
discussing ailments and diseases.” Her aunt shuddered.

“We discussed nothing,” Lilly said. “We barely spoke.”

“Good.” Her aunt relaxed against the seat. “Then no harm
done.”

So modern ‘pothecaries, taught the art
By Doctor’s bills to play the Doctor’s part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools.

ALEXANDER POPE

he following evening, the Willoughbys hosted a musicale in their
stately Grosvenor Square home. The performer was a young
soprano Lilly and the Elliotts had heard perform the previous season. Lilly did not appreciate the ingenue’s cathedral-high vibrato but
resisted comment. She knew her aunt would never dream of declining
an invitation from the Willoughbys.

Dressed in an elegant gown of pearly nacre satin, her upswept
hair ornamented with pearls, Lilly followed her aunt and uncle into
the impressive home. Several servants were kept busy taking guests’
wraps, and by the time Lilly turned after handing over her hooded
cloak, she realized she had become separated from the Elliotts in the
throng. No matter. She knew where to find them. Front and center
before the soprano.

Following slowly with the crowd, Lilly made her way through the
double doors into the great drawing room. There the crowd thickened as gentlemen greeted one another and ladies searched for the best
seats to regard one another’s gowns and to spy potential suitors for
their daughters. Lilly paused and stepped to the side, out of the
flow, while she searched the room for her aunt and uncle. From the
corner of her eye, she glimpsed a gentleman standing against the
wall, arms crossed. She glanced over and was disconcerted to see
Mr. Graves standing there, looking at her. One could not miss his
pale blond hair.

Not knowing what else to do, she nodded at him and returned to
her search. Where were they? A moment later, she still felt his ponderous eyes upon her. The last thing she wanted was for him to believe
she loitered there in hopes he would take notice and address her.

She glanced coolly at him over her shoulder. “I am looking for my
aunt and uncle. We came together, and I seem to have lost them.”

He nodded stiffly but said nothing.

“Why do you stare? ” Lilly asked tartly. “If you are trying to place
me, I am the lady you danced with last evening.”

“I had not forgotten. But nor would I call what I did dancing.”

She looked at him sharply. “Dancing it was, though you were
coerced into doing so.”

He blinked his blue eyes. Opened his mouth. Blinked again.

Crossing her own arms, she turned her back to him, attempting
to resume her search, though anger coursed through her and she felt
unable to focus with his cold eyes pricking her.

A moment later she was surprised when he stepped to her side
and said quietly, “I meant only that I am aware my poor attempt can
hardly be called dancing.”

“You seemed familiar enough with the steps,” she challenged.

He dipped his chin. “True. I can claim no lack of training.”

“But you clearly did not enjoy it.”

“No. I am-” He cleared his throat. “Miss Haswell, please forgive my conduct of last evening. There is not a man alive who should
require coercion to dance with you.”

She looked at him, stunned. She felt her lips part, but now it was she who could not seem to speak. And by the time she could, he had
already slipped away into the crowd.

It was all Lilly could do to keep from wincing as Miss Augusta
Fredrickson hit the climactic note of her aria. However, she could not
keep one eyebrow from lifting higher and higher with each screeching
half step as the soprano trilled up the score in a piercing octave. The
scream, when she first heard it, sounded like more of the same. It took
her a few seconds to realize that the scream came from behind her
and from a more pleasing voice. She whirled in her seat as the soprano
sang on. Clearly others had not realized the shriek had not been part
of the performance.

Lilly left her chair and, ducking a bit, hurried to the back of the
room. A woman screamed again, this time adding words to her emission. “Somebody help! Calla doctor!”

It was Mrs. Price-Winters, kneeling beside her husband, who lay
prone and gasping on the floor.

The singer broke off at last.

The hostess, Mrs. Willoughby, rose. “Is there no doctor in the
house?”

Crouched beside Mr. and Mrs. Price-Winters, Lilly searched
frantically, but there was no sign of Mr. Graves.

One liveried footman ran to send for a doctor. A second stood
nervously at the double doors of the drawing room.

“You there,” Lilly called to him. “Please bring me the house medicine chest.”

The footman stared at her.

“The mistress does have one?”

He nodded.

“Then hurry!”

The young man rushed away, and Lilly bent to examine Mr.
Price-Winters.

In less than a minute, the footman ran back in and set a mahogany
box beside the prone man. Kneeling there, Lilly threw open the hinged
lid. Square bottles with labels on their shoulders proclaimed their contents turkey rhubarb, fever powder, ipecacuanha, laudanum. Lilly
recognized the chest as an older model of one they sold in their shop at
home. She pulled open the bottom drawer lancet, blistering plaster,
double-ended measure, and … There! The probang. A long flexible
device used to dislodge anything stuck in the gullet.

The first footman rushed back in. “Doctor’s on his way.”

“How long?” Lilly asked.

“A few minutes yet, I’d reckon.”

Mr. Price-Winters’s face was turning blue.

“He hasn’t got a few minutes! Here, help me roll him onto his
side.” The servant complied. Mrs. Price-Winters was too hysterical to help, and the others seemed frozen an audience transfixed.
It was left to her. She knew what to do. Had done so for Mary more
than once. Inserting the probang, she used it first to fully pry open
the man’s mouth, then to peer down his throat. “Step aside, please. I
need more light!”

Someone held an oil lamp above her. There it was. A white object
lodged in his throat. She gently but quickly slid the device alongside
the obstacle, careful not to push it further down his throat. Pressing
the top of the device like a lever, she pushed and pulled simultaneously. This, combined with his gag reflex, was enough to expectorate
the obstacle.

“There,” she announced, as the object -a round peppermint by
the looks of it popped out.

Mr. Price-Winters coughed and gagged and sucked in a breath,
quickly regaining consciousness. His wife embraced him awkwardly
there on the carpet. “Oh, thank God!”

Amen, Lilly silently added, grateful Christina’s father not been
denied life-giving air any longer.

She became aware of murmuring voices, of people staring at her
with looks both censorious and amazed. She glanced up, hoping to
see her aunt and uncle, but instead saw Mr. Graves. Standing in the
back, stone-faced and pale. Had he been there all along? Why had
he not come forward?

A distant voice shouted, “Doctor’s here! “

A foppish gentleman in evening attire bustled in, carrying his
black leather case. “Make way, make way!”

His eyes widened as he took in the open medicine chest, the
probang, and the young woman kneeling beside his patient.

“What has happened here?”

Lilly smelled alcohol on the doctor’s breath. He had clearly been
called away from a supper or party.

“Mr. Price-Winters had a peppermint lodged in his throat,” she
calmly explained. “He could not breathe.”

Mrs. Price-Winters gestured with a limp hand. “She used that
thing and got it loose.”

“A probang? Good heavens, girl, what were you thinking? You
might have punctured his esophagus!”

“I am all right,” Mr. Price-Winters whispered hoarsely. “Throat
hurts like hades, though.”

“And no wonder!” The doctor turned on Lilly. “Who do you
think you are to operate on a man?”

Lilly was stunned. Why was he so angry? Was inebriation clouding his judgment?

“I am sorry, Dr. Porter,” Mrs. Willoughby soothed. “None of us
knew what to do.”

Lilly hesitated. Surely she had not done anything so wrong. “I
saw no other alternative-“

“Had we known you would arrive so soon,” Mrs. Willoughby
continued, sending a cool glance her way, “we might have stopped
her.”

Dr. Porter glared at Lilly. “You could have killed him.”

“On the contrary, sir.” Adam Graves now stood above them. “He
could have died had she not acted.”

“Graves … you approved this?”

“Not exactly…”

His words trailed off and were lost in Dr. Porter’s mutterings and
instructions for a heavy dose of laudanum, which Lilly thought quite
more than necessary.