The Apothecary's Daughter (12 page)

The crisis past, the crowd began to drain away toward their coats
and carriages.

Mrs. Price-Winters offered Lilly her hand. “Thank you, my
dear.”

Lilly leaned forward and embraced her friend’s mother. “I am
only glad he is all right.” Then she added quietly, “Have him rinse
with salt water and a drop of laudanum thrice daily and his throat
shall heal quickly.”

“Come, Lillian,” Aunt Elliott called. “Let us depart.”

Even as she stepped away, she heard Dr. Porter ask, “What did
she tell you? ” Lilly did not hear Mrs. Price-Winters’s answer but did
hear the doctor call after her, “Who do you think you are? First to
operate on a man and then to prescribe treatment?”

Mr. Graves cleared his throat and began weakly, “I must say, Dr.
Porter, the young lady acted more quickly than I, but she acted well.
Do not abrade her for saving the man.”

Lilly silently wished Mr. Graves had found his voice earlier, when
the critical crowd was still around to hear it.

“Saving the man? The chit near skewered him.”

Her aunt took her arm and said between clenched teeth, “Keep
walking, Lillian.”

In the carriage, Aunt Elliott sighed emphatically. “Lillian, I know
you acted from the heart, but really, could you not have resisted?”

“What would you have had me do? Sit by and do nothing? No one
came forward to help, or I would have gladly stepped aside.”

“One of the men would have come forward were you not so …
forward. That Graves fellow was there, it turns out, and the doctor
was on his way. You usurped their rightful position as learned medical men.”

“He might have died.”

“Do not be so dramatic. It was only a peppermint, for goodness’
sake.”

“Probably choked on it when that soprano hit her high note,”
Uncle Elliott said dryly. “I know I almost did.”

“Mr. Elliott. There is nothing amusing about this. All the dressmakers and dancing masters, all the hours of language, drawing, and
deportment. All our efforts, ruined.”

“Dear lady, now who is being dramatic? It cannot be as bad as all
that. Our Lillian will be a heroine, at least among those with brains
in their heads.”

“You don’t know what you are saying, Mr. Elliott.”

“Come now. Even if a few mavens look down on her actions of
one evening, they shall forget soon enough.”

“I would not depend upon it.” Her aunt’s voice was haughty and
defeated at once. “In that regard, society and Lillian have much in
common. They both remember everything.”

The art of medicine consists of amusing the patients
while Nature cures the disease.

VOLTAIRE

I ^) n a fine afternoon two days later, Lilly Joined Christina PriceWinters for a drive through Berkeley Square in a sleek open
landau. Tall trees stood sentry around the square, their trunks ringed
by daffodils. The air was filled with low laughter and birdsong.

Christina joked and shared confidences as though the coachman
were deaf, or as intelligent as the two horses he reined. Lilly shifted
uncomfortably on the fine leather seat.

“Look!” Christina pointed across the square. “There’s William!”

Christina waved and, beside her, Lilly followed suit. William
came jogging across the green toward them. She was surprised to see
Mr. Graves striding more sedately several yards behind.

“Hold there, Barker! ” Will called to the driver, who halted the pair
of bays. Reaching them, Will grasped the landau’s door and beamed
up at them. “I told Graves we’d find you two trolling the park for
admirers.”

“We are doing no such thing,” Christina snapped playfully.

Mr. Graves joined them and appeared decidedly uncomfortable.
Will looked at Lilly and teased, “Or has Miss Haswell been saving
lives again? “

Lilly glanced at Mr. Graves, then away. “No, nothing of the
kind.”

Will did not seem to notice her discomfort. “We’ve just come from
Father, who, I am happy to report, is in excellent health and spirits.”

“Yes,” Lilly said. “I paid a call this morning and was relieved to
find him so.”

Will grinned. “Checking on your patient, were you?”

Again she glanced at Graves, who had remained silent throughout
the exchange.

“No. Simply to assure myself he is well.”

“And he is, thanks to you.” Will slapped the edge of the landau.
“He confided he was perfectly able to be up and about, but was enjoying Mother fussing over him too much to make the effort. If Father’s
throat is sore, it is because he cannot cease singing your praises.”

Lilly felt her cheeks flush.

“Do come down, and let us go into Gunter’s for an ice,” Will
urged. “What do you say? Perfect weather for it.”

Christina looked at Lilly, eyebrows raised hopefully.

“As you like.”

Will opened the carriage door and offered a hand in helping the
ladies down.

“Wait for us, Barker,” he instructed the coachman. “We shall
want the carriage for the return home.”

“Very good, sir.”

Mr. Graves stood awkwardly silent. Will glanced at him, then
offered his arm to his sister. “Come, Chrissy. Let us you and I go in
and purchase an ice for each of our friends here.”

Lilly began to object. “You needn’t-“

“The least we can do,” Will assured her. “That is, unless you
plan to send us a bill?”

Lilly again felt her cheeks burn. “Of course not.”

Brother and sister left Christina sending a look over her shoulder that was part confusion and part speculation over her brother’s
maneuverings.

Lilly prepared for an awkward wait.

“Shall we walk, Miss Haswell?” Mr. Graves asked suddenly.

She inhaled, relieved. “Thank you. Yes.”

Carefully skirting parked carriages and sidestepping horse droppings, they left the paving and walked into the square’s central garden.
There they strolled under the scant shade of young maple trees, hands
behind their backs.

After several minutes, Mr. Graves said, “You are to be commended for your quick actions the other night, Miss Haswell.”

She looked up at his handsome, unreadable profile. “Thank
you.

“May I ask how you knew what to do?”

Lilly hesitated. Her aunt had long counseled her not to offer details
about her upbringing nor her father’s trade. And who knew how this
Oxford-trained physician would view an apothecary, let alone his
daughter. Besides, her actions during the concert were not informed
by her life as an apothecary’s daughter. At least, not directly. Had the
man’s heart seized and she’d had to administer digitalis, that would
have been another case entirely.

She settled for the most relevant truth. “My dearest friend suffers
from falling sickness.”

“Epilepsy?” His quick glance was grim. “I am sorry to hear it. Is
she in an institution?”

“Heavens no. Why should she be?”

“It is very common here in London, depending on the severity
of the fits.”

“Well, it is not common in Bedsley Priors to lock away a lovely,
clever person just because she has been, on rare occasion, seized by
fits beyond her control.”

Mr. Graves had to hurry to catch up with her agitated strides. “I
did not mean to give offense.”

“How can I not take offense at such an idea? Mary Mimpurse is a
blessing to all who know her. She helps everyone and hurts no one.”

He asked gently. “No one but herself?”

Lilly sighed and forced herself to slow down. “On occasion she
has fallen and sprained or bruised a limb. Or has been eating and had
something lodge in her throat. Twice I’ve had to pry out obstructions
when her mother was not at hand.”

“I see. That explains how you knew what to do for Mr. PriceWinters.” He paused. “But not why you did so.”

Lilly was confused by the question. “My friend’s father needed
help.”

He stopped walking, and she halted as well, turning to face
him.

“I think, Miss Haswell, that any friend of yours is lucky
indeed.”

She studied his expression and found it sincere. With his pale
hair, perfect nose, and golden-lashed eyes of delft blue, Mr. Graves
had the face of an angel. The only flaw she noticed was a pair of vertical lines between his eyebrows. He evidently squinted or frowned a
great deal.

“I would have done the same for anyone,” she said.

“Even someone like me?” Dimples framed each side of his wry
grin.

“Even you.” Goodness. If not for the unfashionable moustache,
he might have been prettier than she was.

They resumed their stroll, walking in silence for several moments,
relishing the sunshine and the fairlike atmosphere of the popular
park.

He cleared his throat. “You were kind not to expose me.”

“You were kind to defend me.”

He breathed in through his nose. “I am not kind, Miss Haswell. I
felt morally compelled to speak. Still, I almost did not, fearing recrimination for my inaction. I believe Dr. Porter was too angry with you
to realize.”

Or too intoxicated.

“Why was he so angry?”

“I fear most physicians are defensive these days. You are not likely
aware, but there is a great deal of contention between the various
branches of medicine physicians, surgeons, apothecaries. Physicians are the most qualified to treat and prescribe, but that does not
stop the others from horning in on physicians’ rightful domain.”

Lilly bit down on her lip, hard, to keep from speaking up, from
defending her father’s rights and skills.

“Even now,” Mr. Graves continued, “Parliament is debating who
should be allowed to do what. If men like Dr. Porter have their way,
apothecaries will be able to do no more than fill the scripts given them
by physicians. They can throw in their lot with the chemists.”

Anger rose up in her, but she held it in check. “And do you agree
with this assessment, sir?”

He lifted a shrug. “I am not yet certain what to think. Physicians
alone are university-educated. Why, anyone with a mortar and pestle
can hang a shingle and call himself an apothecary.”

She shook her head. “But there are long traditions of apprenticeship, and training with a master at the Apothecaries’ Society, which
has its own laboratory and physic garden….”

He stopped walking and stared at her.

“Or so I understand.”

Quickly, she walked on and changed the subject. “May I ask …
why did you not act when Mr. Price-Winters fell?”

He sighed. “Fear again my old nemesis.”

“Fear of what?”

He shrugged. “Fear of authority, fear of failing, fear of consequences … even fear of dancing with a beautiful woman.”

Her stomach fluttered. “Goodness,” she said breathlessly. “I
wonder you want to be a physician at all.”

“It is what my father wants. He determined each of our professions. My elder brother will take over the running of Father’s estate,
though he would have preferred the church. My second brother is a
reluctant solicitor here in town. And I shall be a physician.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I am not yet licensed, Miss Haswell. I resolutely grasp the hope that when that document is
in my hand, proclaiming for all the world that I am a fully qualified,
capable physician, I shall finally be just that.”

Oh dear. She asked gently, “And if not?”

“It does not bear thinking about. My family, my father … No. I
must overcome and succeed.”

Dipping her head, she said, “Then I shall pray for you, Dr.
Graves.”

She saw him wince.

“Is it the prayer you object to, or the form of address?”

“Forgive me. You may address me as doctor if you like, but I fear
it will be some time until I am accustomed to it.”

Will Price-Winters hailed them, and she and Dr. Graves turned
to join brother and sister, each bearing two glass licks of red barberry
ice.