The Apothecary's Daughter (46 page)

“Oh, ‘at’s fine! Fine! “

But then Charlie’s smile faded. He faltered, “But she said I weren’t
ever to have another.”

“She…” Lilly hesitated, then said gently, “Mother is gone. But
Father and I want you to have it.”

“But what if he runs away again? “

Lilly answered thickly, “Then I shall help you find him. And you
will love him and care for him better than anyone in Bedsley Priors.
As I love you.”

The cat put its muzzle close to Charlie’s face, sniffing his cheek
and mouth.

Lilly smiled through her tears. “He seems to like you a great deal
already.”

Charlie stroked the cat. “I fink he does. Or the milk I drank wi’
breakfast.”

“Look how gentle you are with him.”

“Mrs. K. taught me.”

A movement caught her eye, and Lilly looked up to see her father leaning against the doorjamb. Their gazes met for several ticks of the
clock, and she saw that hers were not the only eyes filled with tears.

Three days later, just before closing time, Bill Ackers strode boldly
into the shop. Lilly felt her heart jerk as wildly as from foxglove itself.
Ackers was a big, broad man in his late twenties with arms strong from
his smithy work and years of starting and breaking up fights. Broom
in hand, Charlie froze, staring up at the man.

“Charlie Haswell, there thee bist. I’ve come for ye.”

Charlie’s mouth drooped open. “She died, did she, Mr. Ackers?
Poor Mrs. K. gone to the churchyard?”

“Not yet, she ain’t. No thanks to you and yers.”

“Thank God,” Lilly breathed.

“There’s still wrongdoin’ to be answered for, lad. That’s why I’m
come to take ye in.”

“To the blind house, Mr. Ackers?” Charlie asked.

“Aye.”

“Mr. Ackers,” Lilly protested, panic rising. “If anyone is to blame,
it is I.”

“You poisoned Mrs. Kilgrove then?”

“No one poisoned Mrs. Kilgrove. That word conveys such vile
intent, does it not? A mistake has been made, I own. She swallowed
one small pill of the wrong sort. Not poison. Not for a healthy stout
person. But for an eighty-year-old woman …”

“I have it on good authority that givin’ a person the wrong medcine
is a crime, Miss Haswell, no matter the old ghel’s age. And seein’ how
it might yet lead to her death, can ye deny it?”

“No. Of course it is wrong. And I do not expect all consequences
to be waived. But it is my fault, the shop is my responsibility.”

“Is it now? Might yer father have sumat to say about that?”

“Father is recovering from an illness, Mr. Ackers. In his stead, I
have temporarily assumed responsibility. It was I who filled the pill bottle and I who left the wrong pills in proximity to the first. Charlie
was only the delivery boy.”

“Yer telling me you put the wrong pill in ‘er bottle?”

She swallowed. “Well. Not actually physically put it there, but in
effect, by my negligence, yes.”

“And who actually, physically, put it there?” A dark glint lit his
eyes.

She changed tack. “Am Ito be brought before the magistrates,
Mr. Ackers?”

“Might come to that, aye. Need to hold ‘im till the next quarter
session in Devizes. Though in yer brother’s case, I’m thinkin’ the JPs
might forgo county gaol or transportation.”

“Oh? ” Tentative relief sprouted within.

“I understand there are places for imbeciles like Charlie. Where
he’d be kept safe and do no harm to others.”

Relief quickly withered. “He is not an imbecile, and he does no
harm to others now! “

“I’ve got a woman courtin’ death who just might jarl with’ee. If
she lives, that is.” He smirked at his macabre joke.

Suspicion filled her. She narrowed her eyes at the man, her head
tilted to one side. “How would you know about such institutions? Dr.
Foster put you up to this, did he not?”

“I may have asked the man’s advice. But I act on my own authority.
Maybe I ought to take ye both in till we get this sorted out. Fisherton
Anger has a women’s prison too.”

“No!” The vehemence of Charlie’s shout startled her and the
broom handle cracked to the floor. “Lilly did nofing wrong. Never
has. It was me what done it, Mr. Ackers. Don’t know how, but must
have done. Leave Lilly be.”

“That’s to yer credit, Charlie. I daresay there might be a jobbet
of man in’ee after all.”

As Charlie stepped forward, Lilly took his arm. “Charlie, no.,,

“Lilly? ” Her father appeared in the doorway, fatigue and concern
in his eyes.

“He’s taking Charlie!” Her voice rose. “To the blind house.”

“It’s all legal, Haswell,” Ackers said. “I’ll be holdin’ ‘im till a
hearing is set.”

Father slumped against the doorjamb. “Take me, then, Ackers.
It is my shop, after all.”

“Don’t look to me like ye can barely stand, let alone stand trial.
Weren’t even in the shop the day it happened, now were ye? “

“I … don’t know. When was it?”

Lilly answered quietly, “You were abed all day, Father.”

“Seems every Haswell’s in an awful hurry to bear the blame,”
Ackers said. “Would ye rather I locked yer ghel in the blind house,
Haswell? We’ve only the one drunkard presently might not go too
hard on her.”

“Of course not, man.”

“It’s all right, Father,” Charlie said. “I don’t mind. Mind less if
ere were windows.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a blind house, now would it? ” The constable
turned harsh eyes on Lilly. “Not an imbecile, innum?”

Her father launched himself from the threshold but stumbled and
nearly fell, barely managing to take hold of the dispensing counter
for support.

Lilly ran to help him, and Ackers took advantage of the diversion. He grasped Charlie’s arm and led him from the shop without
interference. He wasn’t violent but did stride rapidly, pulling gangly
Charlie along behind him like a floppy fish on a line.

Trying to hold her father upright, Lilly called, “Charlie!”

Her brother looked back over his shoulder. “Take care of jolly.
And tell Mary, so she don’t fret where I’ve gone.”

“I’ll come as soon as I can! ” But the door was already closed, shop
bell jingling, and she knew he could not have heard her.

Her father slipped lower, and taking his arm, she helped him onto
the surgery cot without injury. She knelt beside him, dread filling her
anew at the sight of his grey face and trembling limbs. “Are you all
right? “

He fell back against the pillow. “So detestably weak …”

Indeed he seemed worse than ever. And now Charlie imprisoned what a double blow this was! Covering her father with
the lap rug, she tried to keep the panic from her voice. “What
will they do to him? Will he be whipped? Put in an institution?
Transported?”

“I do not know. Which is the least of evils? Which should we
pray for? “

She noted his rare mention of prayer, and knew he must feel as
desperate as she.

“A miracle. We need another Wiltshire miracle.”

Grief and fear overwhelmed her. Tears streaming down her face,
Lilly bolted from the shop. Her first impulse was to run to the arms of
Mrs. Mimpurse and Mary, but she knew they were visiting Maude’s
sister in Wilcot. She thought of running up Grey’s Hill, but for once
the thought of its wild loneliness didn’t draw her. She felt too alone
already.

As she dashed through the village, the quiet churchyard called
to her. She paused at its gate, then turned and walked up the stone
path to the old church. The door creaked in her hands as it opened to
the dim, quiet interior. She entered slowly, her boot heels disturbing
the silence and echoing against the limestone walls. There seemed no
one about, and that suited her. It was not a mere human’s presence she
sought. She stepped through the nave and into the chapel.

She sat in the front pew, where Haswells had sat for a hundred
years. Where her mother had once sat in her fine frocks and plumed
hats, and her father in his dark blue Sunday coat, Charlie on his lap,
little eyes staring at the stained glass, counting the individual panes,
no doubt. How long ago it seemed since they had all sat there as a
family. They would never do so again.

Lilly fell to her knees on the stone floor, driven there by losses of
the past … and by probable losses of the near future.

Oh, Lord, please spare my brother and father. I have already lost
my mother. I cannot bear to lose them as well….

How long she stayed like that, on her knees, head bent and eyes
closed, she could not say. Vaguely, she heard a door open, footsteps echo in the nave, and the clank of something metallic. But the sounds
took several seconds to fully register. When she came to herself with
a start, embarrassed to be found in such a humble position, she tried
to quickly rise. Only to realize she could not.

“Lilly?” a surprised voice asked.

The chapel seemed completely dark at first, but as her eyes adjusted,
she saw the faint glow of a lantern or candle somewhere nearby.

Her discoverer knelt before her. Francis.

“Lilly!” Concern sharpened his voice, though it was still hushed
in that reverent place. “Here, let me help you up.”

“I am afraid my legs have fallen asleep. I cannot feel them.”

He took her hands to pull her up but hesitated, holding her fingers
more tightly. “Your hands are chilled!” He released them to grasp her
arms. “A little at a time, all right?” Gingerly, slowly, he helped her up
onto the bench. As he did, she realized the clank she had heard must
have been the sound of a lantern being set hastily on the floor. Its light
flickered dimly down the aisle.

“Here now, let’s get some life into those limbs.” He rubbed her
hands, first briskly, then kneading them more deeply.

“My knees-“

She’d only meant to comment on how strange they felt, numb yet
prickling with pins and needles at the same time. But Francis took her
words as plea and began working on her knees as well, massaging her
estranged appendages. Though his touch was professional and her
modesty secure beneath her sturdy kerseymere frock, still the act felt
unquestionably intimate. His administrations at first intensified the
pain, but gradually the pins faded and warmth spread through her.

He returned his attention to her hands. “Still cold.”

She allowed him to caress and knead her hands, sudden tears
pricking her eyes. How nice to feel cared for. An old memory unwound
itself in her mind’s eye her father cupping her little face with both
palms. “Patient has no fever, but suffers a fatal case of good looks and
freckles.”

“Here.” Francis dropped her hands and leapt to his feet. She
missed his touch immediately.

He hurried down the aisle, retrieved his lantern, and sat beside
her again. “Warm your hands over this.”

She eagerly complied.

While she did so, he said, “May I ask what brings you here tonight?
Your father?”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes anew. “And Charlie …” She
told him about the constable taking him away and her father’s recent
collapse. She felt more than saw him grimly shake his head in the dim
light, her hands masking much of the lantern’s glow.

Setting the lantern on the floor before them, he pulled off his coat
and laid it over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth and lingering
aromas of herbs and woodsmoke. He took her hand in his once more.
“All right if I pray for you?”

She hesitated. “Now?”

He nodded.

“Aloud?”

He pursed his lips. “Unless you’d prefer to read my thoughts?”

She bit her lip. “Very well.”

Francis bowed his head, the lantern light glimmering on his profile.
When had his jaw become so square, and hints of a beard begun to
show at the end of day?

“Gracious Father, please look with compassion upon the Haswell
family. Have mercy upon Charlie in his present danger. Relieve the
pangs of Mr. Haswell’s disease, and avert from him all lasting harm.
Give Lilly strength to bear these afflictions, and comfort them all.
Grant this for the sake of our blessed Saviour, in whose holy name
we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” Lilly echoed softly, warmed by his words, lofty yet so
sincere. She felt a new flutter of hope lift her spirits.

She soon became self-conscious, sitting so close to Francis in the
dark, quiet place. Gently pulling her hand from his, she straightened
and looked up at the chancel, shadowy in the flickering light. She asked
lightly, “Have you not enough of this place on the Sabbath?”

He leaned back against the pew. “Well, with all the page turning and hymn singing and sermon listening of which I approve, don’t
mistake me little time remains for quiet reflection.”

“Could you not do that in your lodgings? Now that the roof is
repaired, I mean.”

He laughed softly. “I attempt it. But as well as Mr. Shuttleworth
and I get on, it is tiring to be always in the society of one’s employer.
And, well … the man does love to sing. Often. And with great
enthusiasm.”