The Apothecary's Daughter (39 page)

She should have been relieved he would not expect such from
her. Had she not wanted to escape such a life? Then why did she feel
discounted instead?

I try to avoid looking forward or backward,
and try to keep looking upward.

CHARLOTTE BRONTE

illy stood on the back stoop. She looked out over the garden and
J breathed deeply of an English summer morn. It had rained in the
night, and all smelled fresh and green. Grey’s Hill her hill was just
visible in the distance beyond the garden wall. She closed her eyes,
enjoying the warm caress of the sun on her face and arms though she
knew she ought not be out-of-doors without a hat. Ah, what is one
more freckle… .

Songbirds chirped happily in the hornbeam and lime trees, and
beyond her view, a single horse clip-clopped its way along the High
Street. The church bells rang, and when their last peal faded away,
all was quiet save birdsong.

She could not help but think back to where she had been and what
she had been doing exactly one year ago. She knew she should not let
the memory play itself out, knew she should not compare this year to
the last, but she gave in and let the memories come.

Many hooves had beat the busy streets outside the Elliotts’ Mayfair townhouse. Carriage wheels and church bells had sounded as well.
Dupree brought up a breakfast tray bearing a vase of lemon-yellow
lilies in honor of the day. Then she helped Lilly put on a new frock of
sprigged muslin and dressed her hair with ribbons.

There had followed shopping with Aunt Elliott and Christina
Price-Winters. Roger had sent a nosegay and a lovely new fan with his
compliments. Later they dined at the Clarendon and then attended
the Theatre Royal, sharing a box with Will Price-Winters and his
then-fiancee, as well as Christina, Toby Horton, and Roger Bromley.
There had been a pearl necklace from her aunt and uncle and a new
shawl from Christina. She remembered the presents, of course, but it
was not the presents themselves she longed for now. It was the feeling
of being special she missed, of being cherished.

She recalled Mr. Marlow’s advice on how to tame unpleasant memories and realized there were times when one might wish to stifle pleasant
memories as well when they dimmed the present by comparison.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Lilly Haswell, she warned sternly.
Purposefully, she strode to the clump of lilies near the garden wall
and plucked a lemony bloom. She tucked it behind her ear and felt
better immediately.

“You’re up early.” Francis appeared above the garden wall, and
her heart lightened further.

He pushed his way through the garden gate with his hip, his hands
full. Spying the wrapped parcel in his arms, Lilly felt foolishly thrilled
and bit back a smile.

“I’ve brought you something. I hope Dr. Graves won’t mind.”

He would, she thought, but forbore to comment. After all, she’d
thought no one had remembered. Her father had not. Nor had Mary
said a word. “How thoughtful, Francis. Do come in.”

He followed her inside, and Lilly gestured uncertainly toward the
kitchen table. “Here, or … ? “

“The shop, I think.”

She led the way and stood aside as he laid the large parcel on the dispensing counter. He urged her forward with a sweep of his hand.
“Go on.”

Smiling, she gently ripped back the brown paper. She felt her eyes
widen as she stared at what lay beneath. Not a gift box, but a cage. A
cage inhabited by a hairy rodent.

She frowned. “It is a rat.”

“Not a rat, a cavy. Cavia porcellus.”

“Looks like a rat.” She darted a glance at him. “Though more
handsome, I grant you.” This long-haired animal had white and caramel markings and close-set eyes.

“Dr. William Harvey himself used several in his research.”

“Harvey …” Lilly thought. “The first to correctly describe the
circulatory system?”

“Exactly.”

“I do not recall any mention of… What did you call it -a cavy?”

“I believe he referred to them in his writings as ginny-pigs.”

She peered into the cage. “This little thing is hardly a pig. How
odd.”

“Mr. Shuttleworth kept one in his ship’s surgery. He believed
in feeding it new remedies especially materia acquired in foreign
lands before offering them to the ill among the crew.”

“And you thought I could … ?”

“Well, since he was working on his own without colleague to
discuss treatments or dosages he thought it a wise precaution.”

Lilly felt herself growing piqued. “And has he a cavy now in that
fancy shop of his?”

“No.” Francis smiled ruefully. “He has me.”

“You know perfectly well many poisons do not show up
immediately.”

“I do not suggest it as a foolproof measure. Only a precaution
against the most harmful of substances.”

She huffed and balled the paper tight.

“Come, Lilly, do not take offense. I only thought … I know
you pretend otherwise, but you are essentially alone here. I know you remember everything you once learned, but some things have changed.
There are new exotics, new materia, new methods.”

Now she doubted Francis had remembered her birthday at all,
but was too self-conscious to ask. Likely he had no idea, the date and
the gift coming together in pure coincidence.

He tried another tack. “Mostly I thought he was a sweet little
mite. Queen Elizabeth herself kept one as a pet.”

“Did she indeed?”

He nodded.

She looked from him to the cavy, then back again. “I would have
preferred a cat.”

“But cats do not-“

“As a pet I mean. Not a royal taster.”

“I did not think Haswells went in for cats.”

“That was a long time ago. These days, Haswells are doing all
sorts of things we never imagined we would.”

His rueful smile returned. He reached out and gently touched her
arm. “Well, happy birthday anyway.”

Lilly closed the shop as usual that evening and retreated to the
laboratory-kitchen to see what she might find in the larder to scrape
together for supper. Very little, it appeared. A quarter loaf of bread. A
scrap of Stilton. A jar of goosegog conserve and another of sardines.

She took herself upstairs to check on her father and ask if he felt
up to eating. Lately, his condition seemed to vacillate by the hour.
She knocked, but he did not answer. She opened the door to find the
bedchamber empty, the bed made, if haphazardly so.

Where had he taken himself off to? Had he wandered down to
the surgery without her noticing? She paused in her own room, to
splash water on her face and check her hair in the small mirror. Still
reasonably neat. She took off her apron, laid it in the laundry basket,
and returned downstairs.

Her father was not in the kitchen, nor the surgery. Had he gone to see Dr. Graves? She stepped out the back door to check the garden.
The air was still as warm and sweet as it had been that morning, and
she took a moment to inhale it.

Charlie’s head appeared over the garden wall, startling her.

“Lilly! Come quick.”

Trepidation shot through her. “Is it Father?”

“Father too. Mary says hurry.”

What now? Lilly rushed out the garden gate and across the mews
to the coffeehouse. She burst through the kitchen door and hesitated
in the threshold. Mary looked up at her from the hearth.

“What is it? Charlie said you and Father needed me.”

“We do. We’re missing something.”

“Missing what?”

Mary straightened. “The guest of honor, you goose. Surely you
guessed?”

Lilly shook her head.

Mary rolled her eyes, took her by the arm, and led her through
the door into the coffeehouse dining room. Charlie followed behind.
There, at the large center table were her father, clear-eyed and sitting
upright, Mr. Shuttleworth, Francis, and Dr. Graves. Maude Mimpurse
stood nearby, reaching over to set a platter of food on the table. An
iced cake sat in the middle.

Lilly looked at Mary with surprise and saw her own pleasure
mirrored in her dearest friend’s face. She squeezed Mary’s hand and
whispered, “Thank you.”

Mr. Shuttleworth cleared his throat. “In ancient Egypt,” he began,
“at least one pharaoh celebrated his birthday by doing away with his
baker.”

“Mr. Shuttleworth,” Mary scolded, though Lilly did not miss the
teasing lift of her mouth.

He winked at her. “No doubt his cakes were not as good as yours.”

Charlie hurried over and took a seat next to Francis. “Mary’s sittin’ next to me,” he said. “But your place is here, Lilly.” He reached
behind Francis and patted the back of a chair at the open place the
place between Francis Baylor and Adam Graves.

Francis met her gaze with a knowing look of his own.

Dr. Graves stood and pulled back her chair. “Felicitations, Miss
Haswell.”

Walking around the table, she placed her hand on her father’s
shoulder as she passed behind him. He reached up and grasped it with
his own. She looked down at him, saw his eyes crinkle as he smiled
up at her. “Happy birthday, my dear.”

It was the loveliest gift she could imagine.

After supper, Maude rose to cut the cake. “Now, this is no ordinary
cake,” she said. “It’s an olde English cake, baked with coins and other
treasures inside, each one a symbol of something.”

“Mind you don’t break a tooth,” Mary warned, handing plates
with generous wedges to each of them.

Looking at each other with nervous anticipation and barely suppressed grins, they began to tentatively fork pieces of cake into their
mouths and carefully chew. All except for Charlie, who shoveled in
big hunks of cake with abandon.

In a matter of moments, Mr. Shuttleworth held up a coin.

“But not just any coin. Look again,” Mary urged.

Squinting, he read, “Italia.” He flipped it over. “Looks familiar.”

“It ought to,” Mary said. “It is the one I borrowed from you for
the occasion. It means travels in your past or future.”

“Ah …” He nodded his understanding.

“I also have a coin,” Dr. Graves said, holding one up. “A
shilling.”

“Well then,” Mary said, “you shall be wealthy one day.”

He leaned in, his expression mock-serious. “Might I have that
in writing? “

“I have a sweet!” Charlie triumphantly raised a cake-covered
peppermint, then popped it into his mouth.

“What did you find, Charles?” Maude asked quietly.

Her father wiped the find with his handkerchief. “An old Roman
coin. Plenty unearthed in these parts. Is this from Harold’s collection,
or a new find?”

Maude didn’t respond to the query about her deceased husband,
but Mary murmured, “Treasure from the past.”

Lilly glimpsed the crumb-coated thimble on Mary’s plate, but
noticed she made no move to display it. Mrs. Mimpurse glanced over
and clearly saw it as well. Looking worriedly at her daughter’s face, she
whispered, “I am sorry, my love. It is only a game after all.”