The Apothecary's Daughter (32 page)

“The inside of the elbow it is.” Lilly’s pulse pounded in her ears.
She began to perspire in a very unladylike fashion. Leeches, she could
manage. Blisters and plasters, all well and good. But the lancet? Piercing a person? Drawing not a drop of blood but a veritable fount, were
she to accomplish it correctly? Or a waterfall, should she use the manyrazored scarificator. She winced at the thought.

She began by washing the woman’s arm that she could do. She
had her recline in the bleeding chair, in case she swooned. Offered
her a sip of water. Positioned her elbow on the small caster table for
the purpose. Picked up the lancet and the double-handled bleeding
bowl. Sat on the stool where her father always sat to do what she was
about to attempt. If only her fingers would cease trembling.

She rose on shaky legs. “Will you excuse me one moment, Mrs.
Hagar? “

The woman nodded, eyes closed. “If you have any blue ruin, I
shouldn’t mind a sniff. Takes the sting out.”

Ignoring the request for strong drink, Lilly quickly padded up
the stairs to her father’s bedchamber. He looked up at her from over
the top of a book. “Bloodletting, Father. I cannot do it.”

“Of course you can. Seen me do it a thousand times.”

“Seeing it done does not mean I can manage it myself.” She suddenly thought of Mr. Shuttleworth. Perhaps he would perform the
procedure for her.

“And you’ve no doubt memorized the prescribed method from
one of the texts.”

“Yes, but remembering the words is not the same as performing
the act.”

“Lilly, we cannot afford to refuse patients. Nor to send them to
our competition.”

So much for asking Mr. Shuttleworth…… Then you come down
and do it yourself.”

He huffed. “Very well.” He used one elbow to push himself into
a sitting position on the bed. His arm shook from the effort. He sat
on the bed, catching his breath, steeling himself for the energy and
pain required to stand.

Her heart ached to see it. “Never mind, Father. You lie down. I
shall take care of it.”

He fell back, panting. “You can do it, Lilly. Just remember-“

“I remember. Now you rest.”

Retreating back down the stairs, she prayed with each step. Please
help me, help me, help me …

She started at the sight of a figure standing in the laboratorykitchen. “Francis! You startled me.”

“Forgive me. I hope you don’t mind, but I “

“No! I am so pleased to see you. Might you do me a favor?”

“Um … of course. Anything, if I am able.” He grinned, eyes
sparkling. “What do you need? Dragons slain, villains dueled?
Alembics scoured?”

Grasping his wrist, she led the way to the surgery door. “Nothing
so arduous, I assure you.”

“What then?”

“Just one small hole.”

“Who’s this, then?” Mrs. Hagar asked when they entered.

“This is Francis Baylor. Our former apprentice. Now a journeyman at “

“At your service, madam.” Francis bowed to Mrs. Hagar and
gave her a charming smile.

“My, my.” The woman placed a hand over her chest.

“That is, if you do not mind my stepping in? I can understand
why you might prefer Miss Haswell-“

She waved this away. “Oh, that don’t signify. You will suit just
fine, young man.”

“You are most obliging, Mrs. Hagar. Now. Are you
comfortable?”

“I am.”

“Very good. Let’s just tie a ligament here. Miss Haswell?”

She sprang to hand him the tie.

“Thank you.” He tied the linen tape around the woman’s fleshy
upper arm. “Firm, but not too tight. How does that feel?”

“Fine.”

“Excellent. Now, let us have a look at your veins. My goodness!
When have I ever seen such lovely veins? Really, Mrs. Hagar. What
a light task this shall be!”

The woman looked down at her arm with sheepish pride.
“Indeed?”

Isolating the vein between thumb and forefinger of one hand,
Francis held out his free hand toward Lilly. “The thumb lancet, I think,
Miss Haswell. Only the finest instrument for such a fine vein.”

The woman fairly blushed.

Lilly quickly handed him the thumb lancet with the ornate
tortoiseshell case.

“Thank you. And the bowl is here at the ready. Well done, Miss
Haswell. Now, Mrs. Hagar, do let me know the minute you feel lightheaded or a swoon coming on.”

“I own I feel on the verge already, young man, with you holding
my hand that a’way.”

Lilly met his eye and bit back a grin.

He chuckled. “You flatter me, ma’am. Now, do tell me where you
were born.”

“Stanton St. Bernard, but I don’t see how that signifies.”

“Not in the least. I just wanted to distract you from the prick.”

“Ohh … I didn’t even know you’d done it.”

The blood ran in a thin, graceful stream into the waiting receptacle. Not a drop went astray nor soiled her frock. Lilly was impressed
indeed. Not only at his skill, but at his warm and charming manner
with the worn, plain Mrs. Hagar.

When the blood reached the first gradient line in the bleeding
bowl, Francis asked. “And how are we feeling, Mrs. Hagar?”

“Floaty. Tingling. Dark.”

“Excellent.” With swift deft movements, he placed a lint pad on her wound, pressing it with his thumb and lifting her hand in the air.
“There. You put pressure on that if you can.”

“All right …” she said dreamily.

Lilly handed him the linen bandage and sling, and he skillfully
wrapped the wound and secured the woman’s arm in less than a
minute’s time. “Now you rest here, Mrs. Hagar. Until you are quite
yourself again.”

She nodded and asked, “Mr. Baylor, will you be here next I
come? “

Francis again met Lilly’s eyes. “Perhaps, Mrs. Hagar. But if I
am not, either Miss Haswell or her father will be. And I have learned
everything worth knowing from them.”

Leaving the woman to rest, Lilly followed him from the surgery.
“Francis,” she called softly.

He turned.

“How can I thank you?”

His smile grew thoughtful. “Quite easily, Miss Haswell.”

She tilted her head in question.

Looking at her, he slowly shook his head, lips quirked, brown eyes
alight with equal parts humor and longing.

She stared back, eyes drawn to his full lower lip, and felt a shocking
desire to touch it with her own. Where had that come from? Thank
heaven he could not divine her thoughts!

I am merely grateful to him, she assured herself. If Aunt Elliott
had disapproved of a physician, she would be scandalized to think her
niece attracted to an apothecary’s assistant!

The shop bell jingled, and she self-consciously took a step back,
putting a proper distance between them.

The next morning, Lilly opened the door of the coffeehouse
kitchen and stuck her head inside. “Hello, Mary.”

“Come in, Lill. You’ve caught me elbow deep in flour, I’m
afraid.”

Lilly stepped to the worktable. “I would offer to help, but I know
how you feel about my abilities in the kitchen.”

“Indeed. You with your odd apothecaries’ weights and measures
with our recipes …” She feigned a shudder.

Grinning, Lilly sat and surveyed the assembled mixing bowls
and ingredients. “A cake?”

Mary nodded. “And not just any cake, mind. A Rich Bride
Cake.”

“And who is the rich bride? “

With a glance toward the scullery door, Mary leaned across the
worktable and lowered her voice. “One Miss Cassandra Powell.”

Lilly felt an unexpected stab of regret. She had enjoyed Roderick
Marlow’s brief attentions. She had known he would never ask for her
hand, yet could not help being disappointed at the news, for she could
not like Miss Powell. “Well, I should be not be surprised. Mr. Marlow
intimated they would marry.”

Mrs. Mimpurse burst into the kitchen from the dining room, her
face flushed. “Girls, you will be most surprised to hear what I have
just learned. That bonny Miss Powell is going to marry “

“Yes, Mamma. I was just telling Lill about the cake order.”

“But we have had it wrong, Mary.” Mrs. Mimpurse drew near and
spoke in hushed tones. “Miss Powell is marrying one of the Marlows
to be sure. But not Roderick, as we supposed. She is marrying Sir
Henry himself.”

“No! ” Mary’s small mouth fell open.

“How can that be?” Lilly asked, stunned. “I saw them together
in London and at the house party at the manor. And when I spoke to
Roderick Marlow, I had the distinct impression he was going to marry
her.” Lilly’s mind whirled over their conversations. He had not actually
said the words, but what he had said seemed clear enough.

“Maybe he planned to, but she threw him over,” Mary suggested.
“Why be Mrs. Marlow when you can be Lady Marlow?”

“But Sir Henry must be nearing sixty,” Lilly said. “And not in
the best of health.”

“Still, a charming man,” Maude offered. “Always so kind and
attentive to the first Lady Marlow.”

“Poor Roderick,” Lilly breathed.

“Poor Roderick?” Mary repeated in wonder. “Now, there are
two words I would never have imagined coming from your lips, Lilly
Haswell.”

Lilly ignored that. “I wonder if he is heartbroken.”

“You allow he has a heart? “

“Of course he has, Mary,” Mrs. Mimpurse said.

Lilly amended, “Though one capable of both extreme coldness
as well as warmth.”

“How warm? ” Mary quirked a brow.

Lilly felt her cheeks heat and hurriedly asked, “When is the great
day to be?”

“Thursday,” Mary and her mother answered in unison.

Lilly shook her head. “Rich bride indeed. Or will be in two days’
time.”

Mrs. Mimpurse returned to the front room with a fresh pot of
coffee, and Mary continued working, sprinkling liquid onto the mound
of almonds she had pounded into a fine powder.

“What is that?” Lilly asked.

“Orange-flower water.”

Mary left the almonds and began whisking a bowlful of egg
yolks.

Lilly ran her gaze over the worktable. “Where is the recipe?”

Mary shrugged. “Around here somewhere. Slice those candied
peels for me, would you?”

“How thin?” Lilly picked up a knife and made a trial cut.

“Like that, right. Mind you don’t cut yourself.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mary hesitated, looking cautiously at her. Lilly pulled a humorous face, surprised she could make such a joke without an answering
sting of loss.

Clearly relieved, Mary said, “The Marlows will not want your
blood in their cake.”

“No indeed. What else does a rich bride get?”

“Five pounds of the finest flour; five pounds currants; three pounds
fresh butter; two pounds loaf sugar; one pound sweet almonds; a half
pound each of candied citron, orange, and lemon peel; sixteen eggs;
one gill each of wine and brandy; two nutmegs; and a titch o’ mace
and cloves. And two layers of almond-and-sugar icing besides.”

“Rich indeed.”

“The ingredients alone cost us nearly ten pounds.”

Lilly’s eyes widened, and she popped a bit of orange into her
mouth.

Mary again raised her brows, “Ten pounds tuppence now.”

“It was only a titch.” Lilly helped herself to a currant. “What is
a titch, anyway?”

“A dessert-spoonful or quarter ounce, if I took the time to measure proper.

Two fluid drams. Of its own volition, Lilly’s mind converted to
the apothecaries’ system, based on twelve ounces to a pound and
eight drams to an ounce. “And you don’t need a recipe?” Lilly asked
again.

Mary shrugged.

“But you cannot make this cake very often.”

“Indeed not. The last one I made was for the christening of the
Robbins boy.” Mary gave her a shrewd look. “Of course, then I called
it a Christening Cake.”

“How do you remember not only what goes in it, but the mode
of preparation?”

Mary tucked her chin. “An odd question coming from you, of
all people.”

Lilly chuckled. “We are alike in that ability it seems.”

“True. But my concoctions don’t save anybody’s life.”

Grinning, Lilly snitched another currant and popped it into her
mouth. “Oh, I would not be too sure.”

BITES OF DOGS

Keep the wound open as long as possible. This may be done by putting
a few beans on it, and then by applying a large linseed-meal poultice.

MRS. BEETON’S BOOK OF HOUSEHOLD MANAGEMENT