The Apothecary's Daughter (44 page)

As she came back down the stairs, she heard the shop bell ring.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped into the shop. Glancing around, she was surprised to find the place empty. That was not
Charlie just leaving, was it? She had imagined him ten minutes gone.
She checked her memory no, she had not heard the shop bell ring
earlier. What had the lad been doing since she’d asked him to take
Mrs. Kilgrove her tablets? Surely it hadn’t taken so long to feed a bit
of herb to a caged cavy.

Though she had not wanted the animal, Lilly actually enjoyed
tending and feeding it. She grimaced wryly. Now she had three males
in her care. Thinking of this, she turned and walked out the garden
door, striding to the plot of carrots. The cavy would need more than
a few bites of chamomile for his supper.

Francis’s head and shoulders appeared over the garden wall. Eyeing the dirt-encrusted root in her hand, he asked skeptically,
“Hungry?”

“I am, actually, but this is for that rodent you foisted upon me.”

“Aww. Warms my heart to see you taking such good care of
him.”

She rinsed the carrot in the water pail. “I must. It would not help
business should I fail to nurture life in any form.”

“I see. Still. If you really don’t want it, I suppose I could always
give it to Mrs. Kilgrove. She has a cat who is ever hungry.”

“You would not dare.”

She shook the carrot in his direction, the wet greens splattering
him with water. He ducked behind the wall and she returned to the
house, swinging the carrot, humming as she went.

Undaunted, Francis followed. “Mind if I pop in and greet your
father? “

She held the kitchen door open behind her. “You don’t fool me. I
know you really only want to see the cavy.”

She thought of Charlie again. She hoped he had not gotten sidetracked on his way to Mrs. Kilgrove’s. The woman would want her
chamomile before supper.

“I have been reading up on lung fever,” Francis said. “I trust Dr.
Graves has ordered nitrate of potash or spirit of nitre?”

“Mmm …” she murmured noncommittally, too distracted to
be impressed.

Striding back into the shop, Lilly examined the dispensing counter. The small jar of tablets she’d labeled for Mrs. Kilgrove had been
taken all seemed just as it should be.

Francis paused in the threshold. “Is your father in his surgery?”

She pointed without looking up. “Bedchamber.”

Her eye was drawn to a new bottle of silvered pills at the end of the
counter. The late afternoon sun shone on the glass and glimmering
metallic pills. Then she noticed it. The lid askew, a disparate yellow
tablet among the silver.

Dear Lord, no …

She turned toward the cage on the back counter. Frowning, she stepped closer. Shock drove a cry from her lips, and her hand flew
over her mouth.

The cavy was dead.

Lilly ran.

Pausing only long enough to shout for Francis and grasp a vial of
emetic tartar, she dashed down the High Street as fast as she could.

“Charlie! ” she cried as she ran. She crossed the Sands Road and
followed the narrow dirt track leading to Mrs. Kilgrove’s cottage.
“Charlie! “

She had to catch him before he delivered those tablets … before
the woman took them, at any rate. She recalled the labeled dosage:
two tablets with supper. Two tablets. Two chances. How long had she
stood there, speaking foolishness with Francis, while Charlie may
have carried the wrong remedy to an unsuspecting woman? Lord,
please. Please….

Francis caught up with her as she reached Mrs. Kilgrove’s gate.
There was Charlie just outside the door. How was it he was just now
arriving? Had he stopped to visit Mary on his way? Normally, she
would scold him for such. Today she thanked God.

“Charlie. Wait. Don’t-“

Charlie spun toward her, pale-faced. “Lilly! Somefing’s wrong.
Mrs. K. is pigged. I don’t know what to do. I was coming to find
you.

Panic seized her. “Did you give her the tablets?”

He nodded. “She were waiting for ‘em like you said.”

Oh, God. Oh no.

“What did she take?” Francis asked, still panting from the run.

Lilly pushed through the cottage door without answering or
knocking. Mrs. Kilgrove was on the settee, holding her abdomen
and groaning. Lilly hurried to her side, and in the woman’s pained
and confused eyes there was not one spark of recognition. Was she
already experiencing delirium?

Lilly opened the vial of prepared emetic tartar and tried to press it to Mrs. Kilgrove’s mouth. The old woman batted at her hands, nearly
knocking the fragile vial from Lilly’s grasp.

“Away!” she cried, waving her hands wildly. “Yellow smart
away!”

“Mrs. Kilgrove,” Lilly said officiously, “there are no bees in
here. It is Lilly Haswell. You need to drink this. Now. Do you understand? “

Francis knelt beside the woman and put his arms around her in
a firm but careful hold. This done, Lilly succeeded in administering
a generous dose of the vomit-inducing preparation.

Francis rose and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Charlie, run and fetch Dr. Graves,” Lilly said. “Or Dr. Foster.
Tell him Mrs. Kilgrove’s taken digitalis not meant for her.”

Francis, returning with a basin, nearly tripped at the words. He
quickly laid the vessel on the floor. “I’ll go,” he said soberly. “I’m
faster.”

She nodded and laid Mrs. Kilgrove back on the settee, holding
the groaning woman on her side at its edge, knowing she would be
sick any moment. Lilly prayed desperately. She prayed Francis would
find Dr. Graves. Or even Dr. Foster, though the old man could not
run and would take far too long in hitching his gig. Only later did she
consider that in coming he would have to know everything.

Several minutes later, Francis ran back in, followed by Dr. Graves,
bag in hand. Both men were breathing heavily.

“I’ve already administered emetic tartar,” Lilly said. “Though
likely she would have been sick enough without it, poor creature.”

“How did it happen?” Dr. Graves asked.

“I am still trying to work that out for myself.”

An hour later, Lilly gazed mournfully down at Mrs. Kilgrove. The
woman’s lined face was grey, her body so lifeless on the bed where Dr.
Graves and Francis had lain her. With remorseful tears in her eyes,
Lilly slowly lifted the blanket over Mrs. Kilgrove’s legs, her torso,
then under her chin.

Lilly whispered, “How long will she sleep?”

“She is not sleeping, Miss Haswell,” Dr. Graves said sternly. “She
has lost consciousness.”

Lilly nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Her heart rate seems to have slowed to a more normal rate, but it is
irregular. We can only hope this restful state will aid her recovery.”

“Will she recover?” Francis asked.

“I cannot say. She is very weak. It is too early to know if she suffered a fatal disturbance of the heart. I’ve administered the de viper
antidote. Now we shall have to wait and see.”

When they had removed themselves to the woman’s sitting room,
Lilly sat down on Mrs. Kilgrove’s settee, wadding and twisting a
handkerchief in her hands. Mrs. Kilgrove’s cat to curl up on her lap,
but Lilly firmly returned him to the floor, feeling unworthy to be
comforted by his warmth. Francis sat in an armchair across from her,
elbows on his knees, leaning near. Dr. Graves stood, his hand on the
mantel, staring into the empty fireplace.

“I think I know what must have happened.” Tears made her cheeks
wet and her throat tight. “You know how Charlie is. He would have to
count the yellow chamomile tablets. Then the new silvered pills must
have caught his eye. We don’t often do silver coatings, but Dr. Foster
ordered them for Mrs. Robbins’s dropsy. Charlie must have poured
the pills out and counted those as well. He could not have resisted
all those pretty silver pills. When I reminded him to take the tablets
over, he must have quickly tried to slide the pills back into their correct bottles. In his haste, he must have mixed one or two digitalis pills
in with Mrs. Kilgrove’s chamomile. She must not have even noticed.
Her eyesight isn’t keen, you know. Poor creature! And Charlie-” She
suddenly realized she had not seen her brother this hour gone. She
looked around the room. “Where is Charlie?”

Francis said, “He was pegging it down the road as we ran in.
Thought you must have sent him on some errand or other. And
with … well … everything, I quite forgot.”

New tears filled her eyes. Her facial muscles strained. “Poor
Charlie! He never meant to harm anyone.”

Dr. Graves’s expression remained somber, but Francis said quickly,
“Of course not. We all know how fond he is of Mrs. Kilgrove.”

“Charlie must be frightened to death by all this. Francis, please
find him. This will lay him very low, and I fear what he might do.”

Francis reached over and laid his hand on hers. “You mustn’t
think the worst. I am sure he is in the churchyard, or one of his other
haunts. I shall find him.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, his eyes wide with compassion. Lilly
noticed Dr. Graves frown at their clasped hands just as Francis let go
and took his leave.

DEATH BYA POISONOUS HERB

Wm. Ross had or pretended to have considerable skill in the
administration of herbs. His daughter had got a root of monk’s-hood in
a neighbouring garden. He mistook it for some other plant,
and commenced chewing it …

DEVIZES & WILTSHIRE GAZETTE, 1833

rue to his word, Francis found Charlie hunkered down in the
churchyard and gently escorted him home. He had twigs in
his hair and torn breeches but was otherwise unharmed.

For two days, Lilly, Francis, Dr. Graves, and even Mr. Shuttleworth took turns sitting with Mrs. Kilgrove, spooning distilled water
and broth into her dry mouth, turning her to prevent bedsores, doing
whatever they could. By unspoken agreement, none of them mentioned
the incident to Dr. Foster, but Lilly guessed it was only a matter of
time until everyone in Bedsley Priors and Honeystreet knew of it.

Late that second day, just as Lilly feared, a sharp knock sounded
on the door. Rising from Mrs. Kilgrove’s bedside, she walked slowly,
dreading to answer it. When she opened the door to Dr. Foster, his
lip curled and he brushed past her without comment. He took himself
into Mrs. Kilgrove’s bedchamber, felt the woman’s pulse, laid his ear on her chest, and lifted her eyelids, testing for responsiveness. All the
while, Lilly hovered in the threshold.

“So. It has finally happened,” he said. “The Haswells have killed
someone.

Lilly sucked in her breath. “We have killed no one, sir, and I’ll
thank you to lower your voice.” She was fleetingly tempted to tell him
it had been the pills he’d ordered that had done this to Mrs. Kilgrove,
but she knew that was irrational. If only Dr. Graves had taken Foster’s
order to Shuttleworth’s instead!

“Yes, she lives, but barely. And not for long, I’d wager.”

“Is there nothing you can do? Or advise me to do?”

“I will do what I can, but I would not waste my breath on you,
girl. You already fancy yourself too much the medical man.”

“No, I have-” She hesitated. Wasn’t he right? To know that she
had injured, possibly even taken the life of another person was the worst
feeling she had ever known. Worse even than losing her mother.

“Unprescribed digitalis. Past time that brother of yours was put
away somewhere, if you ask me.”

Hot indignation rose up in her, only to be quelled by an icy chill
as his words registered. This man held the power to do that very
thing.

When Adam Graves came to take his shift, he immediately noticed
that Miss Haswell’s expression was somber indeed. He could easily
guess the reason. “Dr. Foster came?”

She nodded and sat heavily on the settee.

Remorse filled him. “He heard it somewhere and asked me directly.
I could not lie.”