The Apothecary's Daughter (47 page)

Lilly chuckled. “Most men would flee to the Hare and Hounds
or the coffeehouse.”

“No doubt. But I cannot afford to go every night like Mr.
Shuttleworth is wont to do. I keep a few eggs, bread, and cheese in
the larder and do well enough on my own most meals.”

“You seem quite concerned about money, Mr. Baylor. Is Mr.
Shuttleworth not fair in your wages?”

“He is more than fair. I … well, my wages are not for spending.”

“Then what?”

He took a deep breath and shifted on the bench. “Let’s talk of
something else.”

“Very well. What do you reflect upon when you come here?”

She felt him shrug.

“Whatever is in my thoughts at the time. My father was such a man.
He would always talk over his decisions before he made them.”

“With your mother?”

“With her as well. My father was a North Somerset fisherman.
He always said if the apostles needed the Lord to tell them where to
cast their nets, then he could do no better than to ask the Almighty
for direction as well.” As the echo of his words faded, he looked over
at her. “Do you feel ready to stand now?”

“Of course.” She rose tentatively, and he took her hand, deftly
moving it to his arm for support.

“I shall walk you home.” He picked up his lantern.

“What of your time of quiet reflection?”

“Oh, I think I came here for a different reason tonight.”

As they stepped out into the churchyard, she studied his profile
in the moonlight. “Are you really so changed?” she asked.

“I hope I am more responsible than I was as a lad, but that is only
to be expected.” He walked beside her up the High Street. “You know,
a decade ago, had a young man and woman been seen coming out of
a dark building alone together … why, their parents would have seen
them married by morning.”

“Do not fret, Mr. Baylor,” she said on a laugh. “No one will force
you to the altar.”

“I was not fretting in the least.”

His tone was perfectly serious, and she felt oddly disoriented as
their light banter fell away, replaced by an awkward silence.

He cleared his throat. “But I … understand that may soon be
another man’s privilege.”

She let the comment fade away. It would be indiscreet and premature to confirm such a presumption. Dr. Graves had moved from
London to be near her, had he not? She was grateful he was not pressing her with a declaration, instead giving her time to help her father,
to see him well again. And now to help Charlie too. She was fond of
Francis, but could not let him distract her from a gentleman like Dr.
Graves.

When they reached Haswell’s, Francis said, “I will continue to
pray for you and every member of your family, dispersed as they are.”
He squeezed her hand. “I will also see what can be done.”

I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

JOHN NEWTON, AMAZING GRACE, 1772

he blind house was like a round, windowless granary with a coneshaped roof. Most villages in Wiltshire and surrounding counties
kept such a building to temporarily confine wrongdoers.

Lilly knocked on the locked door. “Charlie? Are you all
right?”

Hearing nothing, Lilly pressed her ear to the door. She heard a
shuffle, then Charlie’s muffled voice. ” ‘Tis awful dark, Lilly. Nofin’
to see.”

“We shall get you out, Charlie. As soon as we can.”

“Nofin’ to see …”

At the distress in her little brother’s voice, she pressed her forehead
to the wood, blinking back tears.

“Try counting sounds, Charlie,” she said, injecting false calm
into her voice. “Bird calls, passing horses. Whatever you hear, all
right? “

No response. Then a feeble, “All right …”

Oh, God, Lilly prayed, this will not do. Please help us.

“It is a medical matter. An apothecary matter,” Charles Haswell
asserted, slowly shuffling across the surgery. “Perhaps we should suggest Ackers report it to the Society and let them dole out reprimand or
consequence to me as they see fit.”

“Would that satisfy Ackers?” Lilly asked, relieved to see her father
on his feet. He had even felt strong enough to walk across the village
that morning to speak with Charlie through the blind house door. Dr.
Graves had given him sweet spirit of nitre, as Francis had suggested.
The liquid preparation clearly had some effect, though it remained
to be seen how long the improvement would last.

“I don’t know. He’d like to get his own pound of flesh, I’d wager.
Worse yet, if someone else is pulling his strings.”

“Dr. Foster?”

“Would not surprise me in the least.”

She’d had the same thought. “Should I call on Mr. Ackers and
suggest he refer the case to the Society?”

Charles Haswell ran a weary hand over his stubbled cheeks.
“Bill Ackers write a letter? I’d as soon believe the claims of a
Cornhill quack.”

Lilly was having her tea alone when Maude Mimpurse let herself
in the kitchen door. She had been incensed when Lilly had told her
the news and had promised to see Charlie just as soon as she could
get away.

Over one arm Mrs. Mimpurse bore the straps of a worn leather
market bag, in her free hand, a quart jar. A delicious smell of pastry
and savory sauce emanated from the bag.

Seeing Lilly eye her burden, Maude explained, “Two Burt meatand-potato pasties and a jar of honey tea. Charlie’s favorite.”

Lilly rose from the table. “But do you think Mr. Ackers will
allow it?”

Mrs. Mimpurse snorted. “You leave Billy Ackers to me.”

Her father was in his surgery with Mr. Fowler. But even if she’d
had to leave the shop unattended, Lilly would not miss this chance
to see Charlie face-to-face.

A quarter of an hour later, coat and blanket in arms, Lilly strode
beside Mrs. Mimpurse as the woman marched smartly along the
hedgerow. Lilly kept up easily, but Bill Ackers whom Maude had
cajoled from his smithy trudged begrudgingly behind.

“Do keep up, Billy. These pasties won’t stay warm forever.”

Reaching the blind house first, Maude and Lilly waited for the
constable to catch up. “Do hurry, Billy. My coffeehouse won’t run
itself.”

“My smithy either,” he grumbled. Taking out a pair of old heavy
keys, Bill Ackers unlocked the blind house door. “Step back, Charlie,”
he called gruffly.

Incredulous, Maude said, “As though a lamb like Charlie would
run away? Really, Billy.”

“All right. Hand’im’is supper.”

“Indeed I will not. Why can he not sit here in the sunlight and
eat his meal with dignity?”

“He’s not on holiday, mum.”

“Nor is he an animal. Come out, Charlie. I have a nice supper
for you.”

Charlie emerged from the darkness and hesitated at the threshold,
eyes squinting. Lilly’s heart ached to see it.

“Poor love!” Mrs. Mimpurse tutted. “You come out nice and
slowlike, Charlie. No hurry.”

Bill Ackers sighed.

Glancing shrewdly at him, Mrs. Mimpurse handed him one of
the pasties. “For your trouble, Billy.”

Four days later, when the post came, Lilly received two letters.
One was an all-too common request for payment, but the second set
her palms to perspiring.

She found her father alone in the surgery, looking through the
newest dispensatory Mr. Shuttleworth had loaned him.

“It is a letter, Father, as I feared. From the Worshipful Society of
Apothecaries. It appears Mr. Ackers wrote to them after all.”

“I cannot credit it.”

“Who else could it be? Foster could have nothing to do with apothecaries, could he? When he so clearly loathes the lot of us?”

He shrugged uneasily. She held out the letter, but he waved it
away. “You read it.”

She broke the seal and unfolded the fine stationery. ” `The Court
of Examiners at Apothecaries’ Hall, Blackfriars, London.’ “

He frowned. “Spare me the friggling and just lay out the
worst.”

“Very well. `It has been reported that one Charles Haswell III has
dispensed an adulterated, potentially harmful drug.’ “

Her father thundered, “They haven’t even the facts!”

” `Upon receiving any further such reports, the Society will have
no alternative but to pursue formal action. Proceedings will then be
taken against said person.’ “

“Said person? Formal action all the way from London? Fuss
and nonsense. What a narration about nothing.”

“I am not so certain it is.”

“Is that all it is to be, then? A threat? A slap on the wrist from
afar? “

“I can hardly credit it,” Lilly said. “Can this really be all?”

“I would wish it so.”

“Wishing isn’t enough, Father. We must pray it so as well.”

Her father stared out the surgery window. “Now, if only we could
convince Ackers.”

The days passed slowly, and Lilly found the wait interminable.
Rarely had she felt so helpless, so frustrated, so afraid. She visited
Charlie every day, as did Mrs. Mimpurse, Mary, Francis, and her
father, when he was able. And she prayed. But as Charlie’s imprisonment approached a fortnight, she felt her faith flagging. Had she not
prayed for her mother’s return to no avail? Her father’s healing? Did
it really make any difference?