The Apothecary's Daughter (13 page)

The following week, Lilly attended a rout with her aunt and uncle,
and again wore the jonquille dress and topaz jewelry. The affair was
grand, but her aunt was suffering from a headache, and Lilly from
speculative and often cold glances, so they did not stay long. There
seemed little point, as Roger Bromley was not in attendance.

Upon their return home, Lilly helped her aunt to her room before
slipping downstairs to prepare a remedy. When she returned several
minutes later, Dupree was just coming out, her aunt’s dress in arms.

“Is she still awake?” Lilly asked.

“Yes, miss.”

Seeing the tray in Lilly’s hands, the maid knocked on the door for
her. Lilly smiled her thanks and entered.

Ruth Elliott sat at her dressing table in her nightdress and dressing
gown, brushing her long brown hair, which bore only a few strands of
grey. When she laid down her brush and stood, Lilly swiftly set down
her tray and took her aunt’s arm to help her into bed.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“How is your headache?”

“I shall be fine by morning.”

“I hope you do not mind, but I have taken the liberty of preparing the Haswell remedy for headaches.” Peppermint, blessed thistle,
feverfew, willow bark. How long had it been since she’d thought in
such terms?

Her aunt closed her eyes and released a breath. “My dear, you
cannot have failed to notice the coolness, the speculation and gossip
about your actions at the Willoughbys’ last week. You know I would
prefer-“

“I know you wish me to set aside that part of my life, but certainly
it can do no harm here at home.”

Her aunt looked up at her.

“Here in your home,” Lilly awkwardly amended.

“No, my dear. I like hearing you saying that. This is your home
now, for as long as you like.”

“Thank you, Aunt. You are most kind.” Lilly kissed her aunt’s
cheek. “Now, please, drink this.” She handed her a teacup from the
tray.

Accepting it, her aunt eyed the cup speculatively. “Dare I ask?”

“Merely peppermint and blessed thistle tea.” Lilly held out two
pills as well. “It is these you need worry about. Rather bitter, I am
afraid.”

“What are they?”

“Better not to know,” Lilly teased. “Don’t fret, I have put plenty
of treacle in the tea to help you drink them down.”

While her aunt swallowed the pills and sipped the tea, Lilly
retrieved two cloth bundles from the tray. “And I’ve brought some
wrapped ice.”

Lilly arranged one bundle on the pillow and her aunt lay back
against it. “There you are. One for your neck and another for your
eyes.” She settled the second iced cloth over her aunt’s eyelids and
temples.

“Heavenly,” Ruth Elliott murmured.

Standing there, Lilly silently asked God to ease her aunt’s pain. Touching her fingers to her throat and finding the necklace there, she
said, “I had thought to return the topaz pieces to the jewel chest, but
shall we leave it till morning?”

Her aunt’s voice was drowsy. “Would you mind setting your things
in there yourself, my dear? I prefer not to stir again this night.”

“Of course. You rest. Shall I put your rings away as well?”

“If you would not mind. Thank you, Lillian. If you have any
trouble, ask your uncle.” She waved a limp hand toward the key on
the bedside table. “He will likely be awake for some time yet.”

“Very well. I shall.”

Walking casually through her aunt’s dressing room, Lilly opened
the jewel chest with its many tiers of velvet-lined drawers opening
one, then another, looking for an empty compartment. Her hand froze.
Her stomach lurched. What on earth?

Gingerly, she laid aside her jewelry and picked up what surely
was a mirage. A specter of her imagination. Her fingers touched the
cool metal, the glossy black onyx, and trembled. Her eyes widened
and her heart pounded as she lifted the necklace with its unusual
webbed, burnished chain and octagonal onyx pendant. She would
have known it anywhere. It was the necklace her mother had always
worn. The very one she was wearing the last time Lilly saw her. How
had it come to be in the chest?

She longed to rush to Aunt Elliott and demand answers, but her
aunt was feeling ill. Taking the necklace with her, she went to find her
uncle, but contrary to her aunt’s prediction, she found him asleep in
his favorite chair in the library. Retracing her steps to the dressing
room, she carefully returned each piece and locked the chest its
contents now more valuable and bewildering than before. Her questions could wait.

But not for long.

Run into Bucklers bury, for two ounces of
Dragon-water, spermaceti, and treacle.

WESTWARD Ho, 1607

n the morning, her aunt was no better and stayed in bed.

“But you must still go shopping as we planned,” she said. “Take
Dupree with you.”

“Shopping can wait.” Lilly set aside her gloves and sat on the edge
of her aunt’s bed. “I shall stay and read to you.”

Her aunt patted her hand. “Sleep is all I want, my dear. And I
shall feel better if you are out enjoying yourself.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Yes, my dear. I am afraid your uncle has taken the carriage,
but-“

“I shall hire a hackney. I do not mind in the least.” In fact, she
was relieved. This way only one servant would know where she’d
spent her day.

With her aunt’s maid to accompany her, Lilly climbed into a hackney coach and directed the jarvey to take them to Bucklersbury,
to a row of shops known as Apothecaries Street.

Dupree looked at her in surprise. “I thought we were going
shopping.”

“We are. Just not for bonnets and ribbons and such.”

“Are you unwell, miss?”

“I am quite well. Only curious.”

She had thought of visiting the street once or twice before, though
she had always dismissed the idea. But somehow her discussion with
Dr. Graves about physicians and apothecaries as well as the previous
night’s discovery left her feeling unsettled and missing home.

When they reached Bucklersbury, near the east end of Cheapside,
the two ladies alighted and Lilly paid the driver.

As she turned, she noticed Dupree craning her neck to look down
a narrow street leading away from the shops.

“What is it, Dupree?”

“I know this place, miss. My sister lives just up that lane there.”

“Does she indeed? Then you and she must have a nice visit while
I peruse the row.”

“On your own, miss?”

“I shall be quite safe and will venture no further. You can find me
right here. Say, in an hour’s time?”

“But the mistress …”

“We shall keep the specifics about how we spent the day to ourselves. Agreed?”

Dupree grinned. “Very good, miss.”

Lilly watched as Dupree hastened up the narrow cross street.
Then Lilly closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Smells familiar
and foreign reached her. Sounds too. Her father had told her about
London’s Apothecaries Street, where nearly every shop housed an
apothecary, chemist, or grocer. He had spent a great deal of time on the
street during the two years he had lived in London, apprenticed at the
Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. She longed to see Apothecaries’
Hall, as well as the society’s garden in Chelsea, but would settle for
Bucklersbury for now.

She began to slowly walk down the street, looking in bowed shopwindows so much like theirs at home. She took in signs advertising
the latest patent medicines. She smiled in delight at the displays of
the exotic -a shark hanging from one shop awning, a blowfish from
another. There a statue of an Indian from the Americas, there a
carved rhinoceros one of the symbols on the Society’s coat of arms.
A mother, in fine promenade dress and fruit-sprigged hat, held her
toddler atop the wooden creature. The little boy grabbed for the horn
on the rhino’s back. A second horn graced its nose.

Unlike at home, she heard callers barking out their wares, offering
free samples, and promising cure-alls. The further down the row she
walked, the louder the clamor rose. She was about to turn back when
a corner shop caught her eye. Its flaking window trim, its simple sign,
reminded her very much of Haswell’s. Stepping closer, she read the
sign, L. Lippert, Apothecary, and peered through the window. Very
similar indeed traditional displays, neat counters, even an ancient
alligator hanging from its beams. Her heart started at the sight of a
young woman bent over a ledger at a tall clerk’s desk in the corner.
She was alone; there were neither customers nor an apothecary to be
seen. Then, from the back, a man entered in waistcoat and apron.
He wore spectacles and was older than her father but had the same
competent bearing. When the man paused and spoke to the young
woman, reached out and tugged affectionately at a loose strand of
her hair, tears filled Lilly’s eyes. She was happy with the Elliotts but
suddenly felt nostalgic. How she missed her father. How she missed
them all.

As she pushed open the shop door, the bell jangled, a slightly
higher pitch than their own. The woman looked up with a pleasant
expression. She had fair, delicate features and appeared to be only a
year or so older than Lilly herself.

“Might I help you?” she asked.

“I am merely looking.”

“You are most welcome.”

The man stepped forward. “If I can answer any questions, do
not hesitate to ask.”

“Mr. Lippert, I presume?”

“The very same.”

“I admire your shop. I was quite drawn to it.”

“Well, you are alone in that, I am afraid.” He stepped to straighten
his already tidy counter.

“It reminds me of my father’s.”

“Ah! Well, I hope his is busier at least.”

“Yes. But, after all, he is the only apothecary in our village.”

“Indeed? And may I ask the name of this village?”

“Bedsley Priors. In Wiltshire.”

“I know it! ” He turned to the young woman. “Your grandparents
live not far from there, Polly.”

“In Little Bedwyn.” The girl smiled. “Do you know it?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Many a happy hour I spent with my grandparents in that beautiful valley.”

Lilly smiled at the genuine warmth of her words.

“When I started out,” Mr. Lippert said, brandishing an ancient
pestle, ” I thought I would return to Little Bedwyn. But the opportunities here in London were just too great. But now you see how it is.” He
gesticulated toward the window. “My son says that if I am to compete,
I must change update my equipment, displays, and labels; order the
latest exotics from the East and West Indies; and stock all the popular
patent medicines. Quite a head for business, my son. Unfortunately,
prefers the shipping trade to medicine. Unlike Polly here. The draper
offered her a position, but she won’t hear of it.”

“I like it here, Father. Are you wanting to be rid of me?”

“Of course not, my dear. In any case, I think the draper is in
greater need of a wife than a clerk.”

Polly smiled wryly. “I’ve no interest in that post either.”

Lilly heard a voice shouting outside and walked to the window.
She watched with interest a man with a market cart down the street,
lifting a bottle high and proclaiming its virtues like a revivalist. “Who
is he?”

Polly glanced up. “Just one of those irregular doctors.”

“Irregular, indeed,” Mr. Lippert said. “I’d call him a peddler at
best, or a quack.”

“What is he selling?”

“Lady Rutger’s Restorative. Won’t tell me what’s in it. Declares
it patent pending. Useless as far as I can tell.”

“You don’t sell it here, do you?”

The old man looked chagrined. “I am afraid I do. My son says if
customers want it, I should sell it.” He walked across the small shop,
selected a bottle from his display, and handed it to her. “The fool stuff
is very popular.”

She looked at the label. “No list of ingredients. No dosage instructions, no warnings.”