The Apothecary's Daughter (31 page)

“Oh? Is there some way I might help?”

“Indeed there is.” His signature smile was noticeably absent. “I
understand Mr. Baylor has been securing powders and other simples
for you from my shop.”

She swallowed. “Yes, on a few occasions. When the need was
urgent.”

“Well, I do not like it at all. Quite insupportable.”

She had never known the man to be so somber. Hadn’t Francis told her his employer would not mind? “We did pay for the items full
price.

“Yes, yes. I am not accusing anyone of stealing. However, I cannot
allow things to go on in this manner.”

She felt truly chastened. A sneak caught. “Please forgive me, Mr.
Shuttleworth. You are quite right. I should have asked you first.”

“Indeed you should. For I should never have allowed it.”

She bit her lip. She had never seen this side of him before. She hated
the thought of losing the man’s goodwill. Of jeopardizing Francis’s
position. “It will never happen again,” she assured him.

“I should hope not. Next time, come to me and I will give you
whatever you need at wholesale. Full price indeed. Are we not colleagues? Part of the same professional society?”

There, she saw it. Just a hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Yes, I suppose we are.”

He took a step closer, and grinned almost sadly. “Moreover, are
we not friends? I had rather hoped we were.”

She nodded. “You are right, Mr. Shuttleworth. Again, please forgive me.

“I shall. On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He held up his hand. “A business
proposition. You acquire what you need from me at cost assuming
you don’t empty the crockery. And, in return, you sell me the herbs,
flowers, and other garden stuff I need. I understand from Mr. Baylor
you have an excellent physic garden.”

“Not as fruitful as it once was. But we are working to revive it. In
fact, we have been harvesting all week.”

He pushed up his hat brim with the tip of his walking stick. “I own
I have never been much of a gardener myself. I like clean hands and
fine clothes too dearly. I must go to market for everything. It would
be a great boon to have fresh Haswell herbs on hand.”

“Truly? “

“Truly.” He held out his hand. A gesture rare among unwed ladies and gentlemen, but common enough among tradespeople. Among
business associates. “Have we a bargain?”

With a rueful grin, she smartly shook his hand. “Indeed we
have.”

The next day, her father did not even get out of bed. A fortnight
had passed since she had made him promise to see a doctor, and still he
refused. But she couldn’t bring herself to force him against his wishes.

“I think I need to draw off some blood,” he said. “Would you
”
mind bringing the leech] ar?

Lilly felt uneasy. “Are you sure that is the best course?”

“I believe so. I would do it myself, but it’s a dashed bother to
position them from a supine position.”

Lilly went to find the leech jar. The simple white pot had a tightfitting lid and tiny air holes. Hirudo medicinalis were known to squeeze
through the smallest of openings. An apothecary needed to take care
when placing them on a patient’s face that none found its way up a
nostril.

She pried open the lid. A strong rotten fish smell rushed out and
repulsed her. The water was dry. The leeches quite dead. How had
she missed it during cleanup?

Lilly groaned. “I find we need to purchase some, Father. I shall
help you as soon as I return.” She did not wish to rile her father by
admitting she planned to acquire the leeches from his competitor. She
was relieved when he did not ask.

She went to find her reticule. “Aaron Jones is bringing a load of
coal today,” she called. “If he comes while I am out, tell him I shall
settle up later.”

“Very well. Don’t be long.”

Stashing a few bank notes into her reticule and sliding the small
bag onto her wrist, Lilly hung the new hand-lettered Returning Soon
sign on the door and let herself out. She walked briskly up the High Street and down narrow Milk Lane to Shuttleworth’s. She did not like
going there in the middle of the day, but it could not be helped.

“Miss Haswell!” Mr. Shuttleworth greeted her, looking up from
his splendid central desk. “What a lovely surprise. Mr. Baylor is out,
I am afraid.”

“I came to see you, actually.”

“Wonderful. How can I help?”

She took a deep breath. “I am in need of leeches.”

“You and the entire medical profession. Did you know there is a
shortage on? I had to order this last batch all the way from Germany.
The French, it seems, are going through them by the barrelful.”

“I had no idea.”

“It does not signify, lovely lady. My leeches are your leeches.” He
chuckled. “Now if that is not the most gallant thing I have ever said.”

She laughed. “Chivalrous, indeed.”

Mr. Shuttleworth stepped over to his compounding counter, where
stood an impressive leech jar nearly two feet tall and decorated with
elegant floral and scroll work.

He paused to ask, “Have you milk at home?”

She nodded.

“Excellent. Encourages them to bite. Sometimes they seem capriciously determined to resist all attempts to adhere. If you ever have a
great deal of trouble, you can always prick the skin with a lancet and
draw a little blood. They cannot resist it. Has never failed me.”

She hoped it would not come to that.

Seeing her stare at the ornate jar, he explained, “The most exquisite leech jars are made in Staffordshire. I can order one for you if you
like.”

“Oh. Thank you, no. I shall content myself to admire yours.”

Mr. Shuttleworth opened the lid, extracted one wet leech, and
held it aloft for her inspection. The wormlike body was murky green
with yellow stripes and as thick and long as her forefinger.

“Humble but hardworking creatures like these deserve the most
elegant of raiment.” He gave a wink and a tug on his waistcoat. “Like
me, ey? Now, how will you transport your new friends home? “

Chagrined, she lifted her reticule. “This is all I thought to
bring.”

He chuckled again. “Why not? I shall just pop a few into a small
jar, and you can transfer them to a proper one at home.”

“I am afraid our poor jar is nothing to yours.”

His long teeth gleamed at her praise. “You are very kind to say
so.

A quarter of an hour later, Lilly walked into her father’s surgery
with their own leech jar, cleaned and filled.

“Here we are. Five fat H. medicalis.”

“Only five?”

“There is a shortage on. The French cannot get enough of them.
Leeching is all the crack there doctors using fifty at a time, then
salting them.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “Makes them regurgitate the
blood so they can be used again. But kills them if you salt them too
heavily.”

“Right. So, we shall make do with five very hungry German
leeches, shall we? “

“Very well.”

He had already washed and rinsed his chest during her absence.
She removed the leeches from their damp jar and let them crawl about
on a cloth for a few moments to dry. At the surgery side table, she had
a pot of milk, wine glasses, and a lancet at the ready.

She laid the first leech on her father’s chest, then a second. She
turned to pluck a third from the cloth, only to return to find the first
two crawling away. One was heading for her father’s neck, the other
for his waistband.

Oh dear. The glasses. Right.

One by one she captured each leech under a small upturned wine
glass, trapping it in the desired area. She felt as though she were performing a circus act in Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, hurrying to keep
the plates spinning before they fell.

Finally, she stood still, both hands splayed. “There.”

“Yes, as long as I don’t make any sudden moves,” her father said.
“Or cough.”

“Or talk. Steady on.”

“Tickles devilish, but no bites.”

Frowning, she removed the first wine glass and dabbed a bit of
milk on the spot before replacing it.

No good. She hoped she would not need to resort to the lancet. The
thought of drawing blood from her father, cutting him even superficially, made her queasy.

Remembering something she’d overheard in Mr. Lippert’s shop
in London, she turned and hurried to the door. “Don’t move.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the tea set.”

“Tea … now? “

She returned with the sugar bowl and mixed a spoonful into the
milk. The sugared milk did the trick, and one after another the leeches
bit her father, evidenced by his five successive winces.

When she was sure they had each adhered, she removed the wine
glasses, returning them to the side table.

“We’ll let them take their fill,” he said. “Let them fall off by
themselves.”

“Very well. Are you warm enough? ” She picked up a lap rug hanging over a chair and laid it over his legs.

“Thank you, my dear.” He sighed. “If only you had been a boy.
The son I might have left my shop to.”

“Shh. You will be back on your feet, running the shop in no
time.”

“For how long? For what reason? What good is a legacy with no
one to leave it to? There has been a Haswell in this shop for nearly a
hundred years. But now … ?”

“Father, Haswell’s is not going anywhere. But for now you must
regain your strength. Which you won’t do by fretting.”

“Bossy girl. Sound like a physician.”

“No. I sound like you.” She grinned. “Worse yet.”

It has been recommended, to bleed people when they are lying down.
Should a person, under these circumstances faint,
what could be done to bring him to again?

MRS. BEETON’S BOOK OF HOUSEHOLD MANAGEMENT

illy had never seen the woman before, yet there she sat in
1 Haswell’s surgery, boldly giving Lilly detailed descriptions of all
her feminine flows and woes.

“I feel like a good bleedin’ is all I need,” the barge pilot’s wife said.
“There’s nothin’ like it to balance the humours, I always say. I’ve been
to Dr. Foster, but that man is worse than a cross headmaster. I like
the notion of a female apothecary. So much easier to discuss one’s flux
without embarrassment, if you know what I mean.”

Lilly managed a meek smile. She had been the one to insist her
father return to sleeping in his bedroom instead of the surgery. She
had counted it a small victory when he had finally relented. Not only
would he get more rest in his own bed, but it freed the surgery for
private discussions and examinations. The idea had sounded appealing. In theory.

“So you have been bled before,” Lilly began nervously. “Can you
tell me if the blood was let from elbow, ankle, or throat?”

“Had my ankle opened once. If that didn’t hurt devilish bad. Not
the neck, either, if you please. Don’t want to spoil my frock.”