The Apothecary's Daughter (4 page)

After watching her surreptitiously, Francis announced, “Pierquin’s
Diuretic: macerated millipedes and juniper berries boiled in tea.”

“In white wine, Mr. Baylor,” Charles Haswell said between
clenched teeth. “Tea, indeed. You had better study harder, young
man, if you want to excel as my pupil.” He threw Lilly a flinty look of two parts irritation to one part paternal pride. “Professor Lilly will
not always be on hand to rescue you.”

“Right. Sorry, sir.”

Shaking his head, her father left them, taking the day’s post back to
the surgery to do a bit of reading and, she guessed, a bit of napping.

Francis looked at Lilly, shoulders drooping. “How do you do it? I
must read and reread things ten times over before I remember them.
It all comes so easily to you.”

She shrugged. “It is in my blood, I suppose.”

“It is more than that. Is there nothing you cannot remember?”

She strolled over to the old globe on its stand in the corner. Foregoing the cloth, she ran her fingers over its surface. “Probably a great
many things.”

“I do not believe it. Quick Godfrey’s Cordial.”

“Francis. That one is easy. You know it is so popular we must prepare it every week sassafras, aniseed, caraway, opium, sugar…”

“Stoughton’s Bitters?”

She traced her finger over the West Indies. “Gentian root, orange
peel, cochineal powder …”

“On what page in Culpeper’s Herbal would you find, say,
saffron? “

“I don’t know….” She glanced up. “Maybe, one hundred fortyfour? “

“And what is listed after saffron?”

“Do you not wish to check my answer?”

He shook his head, waiting.

She sighed. “Well, meadow saffron, of course, then scurvy-grass in
all its varieties, self-heal, sage, saltwort … It is in alphabetical order
for the most part after all.”

He stared at her, shaking his head. “You should be the apprentice.
Not I.”

Walking back to the counter, she said, “You know girls cannot
be apothecaries. I can only assist.”

“Lucky for me, or I’d be out of a post.”

She tossed the dustcloth onto the rear counter. “Never fear. Even
if I could, I should not want to work here all my life.”

He looked nearly stricken. “But, Lilly, with your abilities “

She cut him off. “You heard Father even he realizes I shall not
always be here to help.”

Much to Lilly’s relief, the shop bell rang, putting an end to the
uncomfortable conversation.

When nearly an hour had passed and her father had still not come
out from his surgery, Lilly grew concerned. His afternoon naps never
lasted for more than half an hour.

She knocked softly on the surgery door. There was no answer. She
pushed the door open anyway. “Father?”

Her father sat at his desk, head in his hands.

“Father, what is it? Are you all right?”

“No. I don’t believe I am.”

Alarmed, Lilly stepped inside the small room, closing the door
behind her. “What has happened?”

He lifted his head. “I’ve had a letter.”

Lilly regarded the fine piece of stationery upon his desk. “So I
see.” She swallowed. “From … Mother?”

The look he gave her held equal measures of surprise, incredulity,
and pain. “No.”

She bit her lip and waited.

He sighed. “It is from Mr. Jonathan and Ruth Elliott.”

“Elliott?” None of their acquaintances bore that name.

“Your aunt and uncle Elliott. Your mother’s brother.”

She almost blurted, Have they seen her? but thought the better of
it. She did not want to conjure that look upon her father’s face again.

Instead she said, “I do not remember an aunt and uncle Elliott.”

“How could you? You have never laid eyes on them. But you shall.
They are coming all the way from London to pay a call this Friday
whether I like it or not.”

“Why should you not like it? They are family, are they not?”

He looked away, toward the surgery window. “I suppose that
depends upon your definition of the term.”

“But you have met them? “

“Yes, many years ago.” He frowned. “It was not a happy
occasion.

“Do they know … ?” There was no need to spell out the painful
subject her father habitually avoided.

“Yes. I wrote to them some time afterward.”

“What do you think they want?”

Her father’s features were pinched. “I shudder to think.”

Seeing his distress, she laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps they merely wish to reestablish bonds with us.”

He looked up at her, his blue eyes glinting in the late afternoon
sun slanting through the window. “I admire your hopeful outlook,
my dear. But I would caution you against it. Mark my words, Lilly.
We will rue this visit for years to come.”

When [Jane’s brother] Edward was 16,
the Knights adopted him as their heir.
It was not uncommon for wealthy relatives to take in a child
from a less fortunate branch of the family.

JANE AUSTEN SOCIETY OF NORTH AMERICA

illy watched from an upstairs window as a post chaise pulled by
—J two matched bays came to a halt before the shop. When the postillion clambered down from his mount and opened the carriage door, a
tall, portly man in hat and greatcoat stepped out. He then turned and
assisted a dainty woman in fur-trimmed cloak and hat. Lilly hurried
down the stairs and peeked through the door of the laboratory-kitchen
as Father opened the shop door.

“Elliott. Ruth,” he said. “Welcome.”

The man took her father’s measure. “Haswell. You are looking
fit, I must say.”

“Benefit of the profession, I suppose. Do come in.” He took their
coats and gestured them inside.

Taking in her surroundings, Ruth Elliott asked tentatively, “You
live here, in your shop?”

“Why, yes behind and above it.”

“Is that common with men of your trade?” she asked.

“Yes. I believe it is common with men of most professions. Now,
please, come into the sitting room.”

Taking her cue, Lilly hurried to precede them up the stairs. Straightening her mother’s miniature portrait on the end table, she stood nervously behind the settee as her father escorted their guests inside.

“Here we are. Do be seated anywhere you like. Oh, there you
are, my dear. May I introduce my daughter, Lilly. Lilly, this is your
aunt and uncle Elliott.”

Lilly curtsied. “How do you do. I am pleased to meet you both.”

“Lilly?” Ruth Elliott repeated skeptically, arranging herself in
an armchair.

“Yes,” Lilly said. “Short for Lillian.”

“Ali, yes, after Mother,” Jonathan Elliott said, taking a seat. “That
is, your grandmother.”

Lilly smiled. She had not known. “But almost nobody calls me
that.”

“Lillian, a young lady ought to use her given name,” her aunt said.
“You are too old for pet names, do you not think?”

Lilly felt her smile waver. “Well, you must be tired and hungry
from your journey. Will you have tea?” She gestured toward the tea
service and tray of assorted tarts, scones, and biscuits.

“You employ a cook, then?” Aunt Elliott asked.

Lilly nodded. “Mrs. Fowler cooks and cleans, but these were provided by a kindly neighbor. An old friend of Mother’s, actually. Here,
let me pour the tea.” Lilly began to serve, hoping to put into practice
all that her mother had taught her long ago. She had even rehearsed
yesterday, heeding Mrs. Mimpurse’s gentle admonitions, but still her
hands shook now.

She felt her aunt’s gaze upon her every move as she handed her
the first cup.

“And where is the boy?” Uncle Elliott asked. “A young Charles,
I believe, you mentioned in your letter?”

“Yes,” her father answered, accepting a cup from Lilly. “I expect
him any moment.”

“And young Charles is what age now?” Jonathan Elliott asked.
“Thirteen? Fourteen?”

When Father hesitated, Lilly supplied, “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen,” Uncle Elliott repeated. “And do you plan for him to
take over your shop one day?”

Charles Haswell studied his teacup. “I had hoped, but now I am
not certain.”

The Elliotts glanced at one another, and Jonathan Elliott smiled.
“Well, that is good to hear.”

Her father frowned. “Why on earth would it be?”

“Well, Haswell. We need to meet the boy first, of course, see
how we three get on, but I can say that it has occurred to Mrs. Elliott
and myself that it might be time to adopt an heir. Providence has not
blessed us with a child of our own, and I at least” he smiled at his
wife “am getting up in years. One must think of the future.”

Lilly nearly spilled her tea. “But Charlie has a family,” she said
quickly. “Us.”

“Of course he has, my dear,” Aunt Elliott soothed. “And that
would not change.”

“It is done, you know,” Uncle Elliott said. “Legal adoption for
inheritance purposes. Quite common.”

Lilly murmured, “I had not realized.”

“It is not as if we would take him from you completely,” Aunt Elliott
assured her, then shifted her gaze to her brother-in-law. “Between us,
we could determine a visiting arrangement that suits us all. Assuming
you and young Charles are amenable, of course.”

“Have you no other close relatives?” Lilly asked, feeling panic
begin to rise.

Uncle Elliott shifted uncomfortably on the saggy settee. “I do have
one young cousin who might suit if he were not such a despicable
character. But a nephew would be my first choice. And, well, Charles
is my sister’s son.” He beamed at them both, as if this would dissolve
their disbelief and despair.

As Lilly looked at the smiling face of Jonathan Elliott, she thought
how odd it was that this portly man of middle years was her own mother’s brother. He appeared years older, for Rosamond Haswell had
always been so youthful, slender and pretty. Beyond the man’s dark
hair and brown eyes, she could find no resemblance to the portrait
nor her memory of her mother.

The thought of Charlie leaving them, visits home not withstanding, filled Lilly with dread. Her little brother living in London without
their father? Without Mary or Mrs. Mimpurse? Without her?

She looked to her father for help, expecting at any moment for
him to refuse the Elliotts in no uncertain terms. Hoping he would.
But then another line of thought presented itself. Might this be the
opportunity she had prayed about for Charlie? With her aunt and
uncle’s resources, could they not find a specially equipped school,
although Father insisted none existed for boys like Charlie? Or even
a learned tutor who might help Charlie grasp new ideas, adapt to his
limitations, and, well … grow up?

Lilly stood. “Father, might you help me downstairs a
moment? “

“Hmm? Oh, of course.” He rose. “Excuse us a moment.”

He followed her down to the laboratory-kitchen.

“I know what you are thinking, Lilly,” he began, speaking in low
tones.

“Do you? I am thinking this might be a wonderful opportunity
for Charlie.”

He looked at her askance.

“Yes, I know,” she continued. “My first instinct was to refuse
them and keep dear Charlie here with us. But that would be selfish,
would it not? Should we not give Charlie every opportunity to learn,
to improve himself? Mr. Marsh did little for him. You and I try, but
in London there might be new schools, new tutors, or methods that
will take decades to reach us here in Bedsley Priors. Please do not
reject their offer for the sake of revenge.”

He snorted. “Another man might seek revenge for his wife being
cut off from her family simply for marrying him.” His voice began
to rise. “Followed by nearly twenty years of cold silence, only to have
them show up now and ask for one of his most treasured-” He broke off, ran a hand through his thinning reddish-brown hair, and forced
his voice back down to a whisper. “But if I truly thought they would
do Charlie good …”