The Apothecary's Daughter (24 page)

“You can trust me, Lill Miss Haswell.”

Already she felt foolish for insisting on her proper name.

“Are you coming to the coffeehouse?” he asked.

“No. But you go on. I had better stay and see if I can get Father
to eat something.”

He nodded, then cocked his head to look at her closely. “It is good
to have you back.”

“Not back, only visiting. For a fortnight.”

He continued to study her, and she grew uncomfortable under
his scrutiny. Had she changed so much? Was he about to tell her she
looked well? “Is something amiss?” she asked.

Grinning a little, he said, “You have a bit of cobweb in your
hair.”

Embarrassed, she brushed at her temple. “Where?”

“Allow me.” He reached out and gently drew his fingertips along
her hairline. “There.” He held up a wispy web and blew it from his
fingers.

Her scalp tingled oddly from his touch. She did not even consider
reprimanding him for blowing the web onto the just-cleaned floor.

Aloft in rows, large Poppy Heads were strung,
And near, a scaly Alligator hung….
The Sage in Velvet Chair, here lolls at Ease,
To promise future Health for present Fees.

SIR SAMUEL GARTH, DISPENSARY

sing some of the money her aunt had given her for the journey
home, Lilly hired a laundress to attack the pile of dirty clothes
and linens in her father’s room. She placed an order with the coal monger, then visited the chandler to replenish a few necessities candles,
soap, and such. She would worry about meals later. With the amount
her father was eating, Mrs. Mimpurse’s stew and Mary’s bread would
last a solid week in the cold cellar.

Late that afternoon, Francis returned to the shop and, seeing the
surgery door ajar, gestured her over. “Mr. Shuttleworth would like to
speak with you.”

“Whatever for?”

“About” he lowered his voice “the bottle you gave me. Freddy
Mac couldn’t place it.”

“And Mr. Shuttleworth?”

“Said he needed more information before he could hazard an
assessment.”

“A guess, you mean.”

Francis shrugged. “You can come by the shop, or-“

“I cannot go there. It will look like I am spying, or worse, disloyal
to my father.”

Francis looked uncomfortable.

“And I cannot invite him here, for Father might hear us. Perhaps
the coffeehouse?”

“Good. Mr. Shuttleworth frequents it.”

“Does he?”

“He’s a bachelor and keeps no servants.”

For some reason his status surprised her. Still, she did not like the
thought of Mrs. Mimpurse serving her father’s rival.

Lilly was ill-prepared for the man who stood to greet her when she
entered the coffeehouse and approached the table where he and Francis
sat. He was not a tall man, but had a large presence. She guessed he
might be as old as thirty, but it was difficult to tell. Though he was of
average build, there was nothing else average about him. His black hair
stood in three-inch prickles all over his head. His eyebrows formed
sharp black peaks over dark eyes that sparkled impishly. His clothes
were startling. A gold-and-black waistcoat shone between the lapels
of a plush burgundy frock coat with yellow cuffs. His cravat was not
white or ivory like every other she’d seen, but gold.

He followed her gaze. “Do you like it?” he asked, touching his
cravat.

“Yes.” She hesitated. “I have a gown that very hue.”

“A lady with exquisite taste. How charming.” His teeth, she
noticed when he smiled, were quite long.

“Miss Lillian Haswell, may I present Mr. Lionel Shuttleworth.”

She was surprised Francis thought to use her full given name.

She curtsied and Mr. Shuttleworth bowed. His grin, the light in
his eyes, communicated deep delight. It gave her an odd feeling of
warmth and discomfort at once.

“Miss Haswell. What a pleasure. I have been hearing such wonderful things about you, both from young Mr. Baylor here as well as
the Mimpurse ladies.”

Mary appeared, as if she’d heard her name. She set down a basket
of breads and a pot of tea. “Chicken and vegetables will be coming
out soon.”

Lilly noticed Mr. Shuttleworth’s eyes following Mary’s every
move. Her friend’s fair round cheeks were flushed from more than
just the kitchen fires, Lilly guessed. Dressed in her blue frock and
white apron, with her hair loosely pinned, Mary might not be beautiful, but she made a pretty portrait indeed.

When Mary had disappeared back into the kitchen, Mr. Shuttleworth returned his attention to Lilly. “I do hope you will come by
my little shop sometime. I would be honored to show you about the
place. I have a new mounted tiger shark, a shrunken head, and several
Egyptian scarabs. The colors, Miss Haswell, are like the finest gemstones. Really, quite exquisite.”

“And do you use scarabs and sharks in your physic? ” She did not
ask about the skull; she knew all too well that many apothecaries used
powdered bone it was supposed to heal wounds and treat falling
sickness. Her own father abhorred the practice, said it was blasphemous somehow. Lilly agreed. And it was certainly not something she
wished to discuss while dining.

He ignored this question and went on, “I was right there on the
deck when the crew hauled in the shark. No catalogue-purchased prize
for me. And the scarabs I captured and lanced myself.”

She could not keep the surprise from her tone. “You have been
to Egypt?”

“Egypt, Italy, the West Indies, Africa.”

“My goodness. May I ask how you came to travel so far?”

“Indeed you may.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “I worked as
a ship’s surgeon on a merchant vessel for several years. My employer
imported exotic things from exotic places. I found it all fascinating. Not
only the unusual plants and animals even people but especially
the healing practices of different cultures. Most interesting.”

“Then I must ask the obvious question, sir,” Lilly said. “How in
the world why in the world would you choose to set up shop in a
little inland village like Bedsley Priors? Have you family here?”

He shook his head. “I have no family.” He stared off over her head,
apparently in deep thought or memory. “I grew weary of shipboard
surgery and living among coarse men. I quit my post and took passage on one of the canal boats transporting our wares from Bristol to
London. There I served with a master apothecary for several months
and then decided to stay a few years, London town having such a
varied and rich culture.”

“London I can understand, sir. But Bedsley Priors?”

She felt Francis’s silent censure and amended, “It is a lovely
place, and I am partial to it, having grown up here and having family
here.”

“You are fortunate to have family and friends, Miss Haswell. And
indeed it is a lovely place, occupied by lovely people. In fact, when
I passed Bedsley Priors on my way to London, I saw three reasons
which compelled me to decide then and there that I would return to
Bedsley Priors one day.”

Lilly raised her eyebrows. “Three reasons, sir?”

Mary came out of the kitchen again, bearing a tray of dishes. Mr.
Shuttleworth said softly, “And here comes one of those lovely reasons
now.” He rose. “May I assist you with that tray? Looks heavy.”

Mary blushed. “I can manage, sir.”

He beamed at them all. “And strong of limb as well.” His gaze
moved from Mary’s face to Lilly’s. “You might be sisters. So lovely
are the both of you.”

The platter of chicken clunked heavily onto the table. “Sorry,”
Mary mumbled. Biting her lip, Mary set out the bowls of vegetables
with a return of her usual grace. Lilly hoped she wasn’t about to have
one of her bouts of falling sickness.

Breaking away from the man’s steady gaze, Lilly asked, “Join us,
Mary? “

“Can’t now. Maybe for coffee and pudding later.”

Lilly forked a piece of stewed chicken onto her plate and passed the platter to Mr. Shuttleworth. He stacked several pieces beside his
mound of leeks and potatoes. “Well, now the food’s arrived, let’s dive
into business, shall we?”

He leaned in close across the table. “The bottle. I extracted a few
remaining drops of liquid. Definitely contains alcohol.”

Her heart fell. She felt shame flush her features.

“As well as laudanum.”

She looked down at her plate, all appetite fleeing.

“But I believe its primary purpose is not to intoxicate, but rather
to tranquilize.”

She looked over at the man.

“I surmise the bottle is your father’s and is one of many?”

She darted a look at Francis, but Mr. Shuttleworth raised a hand.
“Mr. Baylor did not tell me, but it seems fairly obvious. I have been
aware of your father’s reclusive state. Have even called in, only to have
my concern rebuffed.”

“I am sorry.”

“Never mind.” Mr. Shuttleworth dismissed her apology with a
wave of his fork. “I saw him on the street several weeks ago, and his
features were quite pinched. I wondered then if he was in a great deal
of pain. And I am more convinced now. The mixture is a pain reliever
to be sure, but what else it is, I am not completely certain.”

“But it is physic, you think? Not simply … drink?”

“I believe so, yes. Perhaps some new patent medicine, or more
likely, something of his own creation. You might look and see what
simples he leaves about or is running low on.” He leaned back expressively, “Or, you could simply ask him.”

Lilly took a bite of chicken in lieu of answering. Mr. Shuttleworth
did not know her father.

In the morning, Lilly observed her father carefully, more objectively, she hoped, now that the shock of so many changes had passed.
He was unshaven, his cheeks bristling with a few days’ worth of grey and ginger whiskers. The skin of his neck hung looser than she remembered, his jowls more slack. His hair was somewhat thinner and in
disarray, with new strands of silver at his sideburns. His eyes had lost
some of their blue color, it seemed, and much of their light. When she
looked at him, she felt repelled and tender all at once. Even though
she had not seen him for over a year, he was still the only parent
in her life her security, her constant. Her father had always been
strong and capable. It unsettled her to see him seem so weak, so …
diminished.

She approached and greeted him gently. She sat on the cot near his
legs, so that she might speak with him nearer to his eye level.

“Morning.” His voice was rough.

“And how are you today? ” She found herself speaking to him in a
calm, sweet tone one normally reserved for a child. He was no child.
Neither was she, but still the thought of losing him filled her with the
emptiest quiver of loneliness. She thought of the Chinese kites she had
once seen in Hyde Park coming untied and floating away. Like she
and her brother would. Oh, Charlie … What would poor Charlie do
without Father?

She cleared her throat and tried again. “Are you very ill, do you
think?”