The Apothecary's Daughter (21 page)

Will shook his head. “She and my sister have been friends for,
what, well over a year now, and I had no idea.”

“Well, Miss Haswell is known for her secrets,” Marlow said, grinning wickedly. “And other crimes.”

“Mr. Marlow,” Lilly exclaimed. “I must protest.”

“Very well, Miss Haswell, I shall keep your secrets for you. Though
I suppose your Dr. Graves is already privy to all?”

She felt her lips part, but couldn’t form an answer.

“No?” Marlow leaned closer but made no attempt to whisper.
“P-W here hinted there might be something between the two of you.
I am glad to hear that is not the case after all.”

“I never said-“

In full view of the other men, Marlow tapped his forefinger against
her lower lip. “Shh … Your secrets are safe with me, Lilly.”

He turned and sauntered from the conservatory, Will PriceWinters at his heels.

She and Dr. Graves stared after them, both bewildered.

“Lilly? ” Graves repeated the name with equal parts distaste and
question.

“Yes,” she said resignedly. “Lilly.”

“A childhood pet name?”

She sighed, suddenly very weary. “My name, period. Until my
aunt changed it.”

“You have given that man leave to use your Christian name?
Even I “

“No one gives that man leave to do anything. He does as he pleases
and always has. You need not mind anything he says.”

He studied her face. “Indeed?”

WIDOW WELCH’S PILLS

The particular nature and symptoms of female complaints
are given with every box of pills,
and worthy the perusal of every person
who has the care of young women….

THE EDINBURGH EVENING COURANT, 1815

hen next Dr. Graves called, Lilly decided it was time to tell
him all, though she feared the consequences. They were again
alone in the sitting room, for Aunt Elliott was sleeping in after a late
night at the theatre. Once he was seated, she began in low tones, “At
the Bromleys’ rout the other night, Mr. Marlow accused me of keeping secrets.”

His raised his brows in expectation.

“There is another secret I should tell you.” She pressed damp
palms to her knees to still their trembling.

He nodded slowly, warily. “Something to do with that man?”

“No. Only that he knows of it.” She took a deep breath. “It is
about my mother.”

His brow wrinkled. “Your mother is gone, I understand.”

“Gone. But not dead. At least not as far as we know.”

He stared at her, clearly stunned.

“She left us nearly five years ago now. Disappeared without word
or letter. We don’t know where she went or where she is.” She glanced
toward the door to make sure no one was listening, then said quietly,
“My aunt and uncle prefer not to speak of her. They allow those of their
acquaintance to believe she is still living in obscurity in Wiltshire
or dead. I cannot blame them. If it were generally known, their name
and mine would be besmirched.”

His expression was incredulous. “Simply because your mother
disappeared? She might have been abducted merely gone on some
errand when unspeakable mishap befell her.”

She raised one brow high. “Are you trying to make me feel
better? “

His mouth drooped. “Forgive me.”

“In any case, I doubt that.” Swallowing a cinder of shame, Lilly
whispered, “She was seen leaving Bedsley Priors with a uniformed
man. It is only hearsay, and he may have simply been another passenger traveling on the same narrowboat, but as she was in love with
a naval captain before she married my father, it seems too great a
coincidence.”

His expression grew serious, nearly alarmed, the lines deepening
between his eyebrows. Still, she steeled herself and continued. “I have
recently learned a few things about her. I know she came to London
and saw my uncle. I know she lodged off Fleet Street for a time and
took in pupils.” A choked laugh escaped her. “I know which library
she frequented, but I do not know” her voice cracked “why she
left us, and if it was my fault, and why she never once wrote to tell us
she was all right….”

Her throat too tight to continue, she bit her lip to ebb the flow of
tears. Finally, she continued. “I lied to you when you asked why I was
looking at the naval lists. We believe my mother may be living under
another name as a Rosa Wells. It may simply be a false name, short
for Haswell. But I wanted to see if a man by the name of Wells had
served with the officer my mother once hoped to marry.”

“And?” he asked, though a quick glance told her he dreaded the
answer.

She exhaled deeply and nodded. “A James Wells did serve with
him in at least one commission. I have no real proof he ever met my
mother, but still it seems a strange coincidence.”

“Will you contact this James Wells?”

She shifted, ill at ease. “I don’t know. The connection seems so
unlikely.” She shrugged. “I don’t even know how I would find him.”

He nodded, and the two were shrouded in awkward silence for
several moments.

“Well,” Lilly said, squaring her shoulders. “I thought you
had the right to know. Should my mother’s desertion or worse
become known, I would be tainted by scandal, as would my aunt
and uncle. As would you, should you …” She let the thought trail
away unfinished.

“My father detests scandal,” Graves said, as though to himself.
“Always has.” He ran agitated fingers through his pale-blond hair and
cleared his throat. “Well, thank you for telling me, Miss Haswell.”
He rose and eyed the door with apparent longing, his words coming
in clipped phrases. “I had better take my leave. Much to ponder. Be
in touch soon.”

No you shan’t … Lilly thought sadly, fatalistically, as the handsome golden man turned on his heel and hurried away. Hadn’t she
always known it would end this way, with any gentleman of quality? I
have finally succeeded in scaring off the last of my suitors, she thought,
and the realization pained her more than she would have guessed.

Fletcher handed Lilly a letter as she passed by him on her way
upstairs. She needed to quickly finish dressing, for her aunt would
soon be ready to begin paying calls.

But a quarter of an hour later, Lilly still sat on her bed, dressed
only in her white muslin morning dress.

“Lillian?” her aunt called from the corridor. “Are you ready? I
have the carriage waiting.”

But Lilly remained where she was, the letter in her hands beginning to shake.

Her aunt let herself into the room, pulling on her gloves. She was fully dressed in striped carriage dress, vest, and cap. “Lillian? We are
late, my dear. Lillian! What is the matter?”

She pushed the paper into her aunt’s hand. Lilly already knew
what it said, not because of her keen memory, but because of its cryptic
brevity. Come home. Your father is not himself.

“But you do not know that anything dire has happened,” Ruth
Elliott insisted while Lilly paced the room. “Your father is `not himself.’ What does that mean?”

“I do not know.”

“You do not even know who wrote the letter, if letter it can be
called.”

“I suppose it was Mrs. Mimpurse. Our neighbor.”

“Then why did she not tell you what the matter is?”

“I don’t know!” Lilly’s voice rose, and her aunt winced at the
unusual sharpness of her tone. “Forgive me, Aunt. I am only very
worried. I have had no replies to my recent letters, and now this!”

Lilly bent and drew her valise from under the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Of course I must go.”

“But … what about Mr. Bromley?”

Lilly exhaled sharply. “Mr. Bromley hopes to engage the affections of Susan Whittier.”

“Are you certain?”

Lilly nodded and threw back the lid of the worn valise. It was the
only item her aunt and uncle had not thought to replace with a new
one, perhaps hoping there would be no need.

“Oh no.” Panic swelled in Ruth Elliott’s voice and eyes. “There are
only six weeks left in the season. Very little time to start again, and by
next year they will say you have been passed over on the shelf.”

Lilly hesitated. “Is that really the end of the world?”

“No, my dear. Merely the end of your best opportunity for securing an advantageous match.”

“I cannot think about that now.” Beneath the brave words, these
were the very thoughts plaguing her as Aunt Elliott’s worries fed her
own. For in spite of Lilly’s ideals of marrying for love, or of using her skills to aid her husband, the truth was a good marriage was imperative to any woman’s happiness and comfort, not to mention social
standing.

She began to fold and pack her clothing Dupree’s job. Lilly knew
how distressed her aunt was when she did not correct her.

But surely all was not lost. She would be back soon. She had not
failed her aunt, nor her goal in coming to London. Not yet.

“Surely twenty or even one and twenty is not too old. Unless
Forgive me. I should not presume you would wish to host me here for
another season.”

For once, her aunt’s perfect posture melted into a dejected slump.
“In all truth, I am weary. And to see my hopes fall apart all over again.
All the work, the expense …”

Lilly felt chastened. She said quickly, “Please forgive me. I did not
realize I had become a burden, but of course I must be. I have been
very selfish, and I am sorry for it.”

Her aunt sighed. “I do not mean to threaten or frighten you, my
dear. But with all our failures this season the gossip, your father’s
trade becoming known, Susan Whittier diverting Mr. Bromley -I
simply hold little hope for another season, when a whole new harvest
of accomplished young ladies will come out to compete for the same
string of gentlemen.”

Lilly ceased her packing long enough to grasp her aunt’s hand. “I
am only going for a visit. A week, a fortnight at most. That will still
give us the better part of a month when I return. Will it not? “

Her aunt looked into Lilly’s eyes, her own brimming with unshed
tears, as if she very much wanted to believe her, but could not quite
succeed.

The human heart, at whatever age,
opens only to the heart that opens in return.

MARIA EDGEWORTH, 19T” CENTURY NOVELIST

f Lilly expected things to be the same as ever in Bedsley Priors, she
was much mistaken. During the year and a half she had been gone,
the village as well as neighboring Honeystreet had grown with the
boom of canal traffic. New businesses and thatched cottages had been
built to accommodate additional sawmill workers, barge builders, and
their families. Huntley’s Yard, bordering the canal, was now a bustling
enclave of saw pits, paint shops, and even a cobbler and undertaker.
The two villages had developed and spread until all that divided the
once separate communities was the narrow Sands Road.