The Apothecary's Daughter (5 page)

“Father, I know you will worry, but-“

He grasped her arms. “Lilly. I do not worry about Charlie. Not in
the way you mean. I do not worry about him leaving us, for he never
shall. Rather, I worry about his hopes being raised and his feelings
crushed.”

“But-“

“Lilly. The Elliotts will never adopt him as heir. Not once they
realize “

“Hallo, Father! ” Charlie bounded through the garden door, dirt on
his sleeves and a smile on his face. “Mrs. M. said I was to hurry home.
I was at Mr. Fowler’s. He has a litter of puppies. Are ‘em very nice?”

Lilly bit her lip and smiled gently at her brother. “They are very nice.
Now do wash your face and hands and put on a clean shirt. All right?”

Her father moved to the door. “Then join us in the sitting room.”

“And Charlie?” Lilly added. “Do your best to remain calm and speak
slowly. Let them see how sweet and polite young Charles Haswell is.”

Her brother wrinkled up his face. “Who’s he?”

“Here we are.” Lilly brought in another plate of tarts and currant
scones, though no one had touched the first. “May I pour more tea
for anyone?”

“None for me.” Aunt Elliott touched a linen cloth to her thin lips.

Uncle Elliott held out his cup. “Thank you. I know it must be quite
a shock Rosamond’s family showing up after all this time. If it is any
consolation, we both regret having remained distant so long.”

Father, taking his seat again, nodded. “I will say I was surprised
to receive your letter, especially when I had written to let you know
that Rosamond was … no longer with us.”

“Yes….” Uncle Elliott looked down at his hands, and his wife
studied her own as well, leaving Lilly to wonder if they knew something
about her mother or had been in contact with her.

Father cleared his throat. “I believe your intentions toward Charlie are sincere and honorable, but I must tell you, I do not think an arrangement likely.”

“But why?” Aunt Elliott raised her eyes, clearly stunned. “Surely
you realize what you are denying your son?”

“I deny him nothing. You see, my son is the dearest, sweetestnatured boy you will likely ever meet, but “

The sitting room door banged open and Charlie strode in, looking
quite presentable in a clean white shirt tucked into his breeches and
a wide smile on his boyish, handsome face. He had even combed his
coppery-blond hair.

Her father rose. “And this is my son, Charlie. Charlie, say hello
to your aunt and uncle Elliott.”

Charlie stuck out his hand toward Aunt Elliott. She smiled, but
eyed it skeptically, finally touching it with gloved fingers.

“Hallo,” Charlie said. “I’ve never had an aunt and uncle before.
Our friend Mary has two of each, if you can believe it.”

The Elliotts smiled and exchanged pleased glances.

“So, young Charles,” Mr. Elliott began, “your father has been
telling us that you are fifteen years old.”

“‘At’s right. But all the lads say I look younger act it too.” Charlie
laughed as though he’d made a fine joke.

“Well, you have a good many years ahead of you to grow up. Have
you given any thought to what you will take up?”

Charlie tilted his head. “Take up?”

“Yes, for your profession. The law, for example, or the church?”

“Oh, no. I can barely fink what I am to do tomorrow, or remember
what I did yesterday. But Lilly remembers everyfing.” He turned to
her. “Don’t you, Lilly?”

She began to demur. “Well…”

“‘Tis true,” Charlie insisted. “Francis he’s Father’s apprentice
tested her, like. Picked a number from one of Father’s books and she
remembered everyfing on the page!”

“Not everything, Charlie, I am sure,” Lilly said, embarrassed.
“Aunt and Uncle Elliott have not come all this way to hear fibble-fable
about me. Now, do tell them about your work in the physic garden.”

He shrugged. “I just do what Father says I ought.”

“But our garden has never looked as fine as it did this year.” She
looked at the Elliotts. “If it were not so late in the season, I would
show you.” She squeezed her brother’s shoulder. “You have a way with
plants, Charlie. Do not be modest.”

Before he could respond, Mrs. Elliott asked, “Are you in school,
Charles?”

“I was. But I guess I learnt all Mr. Marsh knows, for he said ‘ere
was nofing more he could do wi’ me.”

“Yes, well, Charlie,” Father said kindly, “some lads are gifted at
book learning and others at working with their hands. That is where
you excel, my boy. I show you how to do something in the garden or
in the laboratory, and you work harder at it than any lad I know.”

Charlie smiled at his father’s praise, and Lilly felt tears prick her
eyes. Her father did not praise him often enough. Nor did she.

Aunt and Uncle Elliott did not smile, however. They looked at
each other, then at her father with question and disappointment in
their expressions.

Charles Haswell took a deep breath. “Charlie, why don’t you run
over and thank Mrs. Mimpurse for her delightful sweets?”

Charlie eagerly stood. “I had better eat one first if I am to tell her
how good ‘em are! “

“Of course. Take the whole tray.”

“Careful! ” Lilly rose quickly and helped Charlie pick up one of the
trays, then opened the door for him. When he was gone, she closed the
door behind him, shutting in the awkward tension in the small room.

From the stairwell came the sound of a crash metal tray on plank
floor. Followed by a muffled call of, “I’m all right!”

When the din faded, Jonathan Elliott cleared his throat. “I am
afraid we have been rather hasty. We did not realize…”

“Of course you did not,” Father interrupted. “How could you?”

When both Elliotts sheepishly lowered their heads, Father hastened to add, “I meant only that, when I wrote, I simply mentioned that
Rosamond had left me with … that is, left behind …” He sighed in
frustration. “That she had two children -a daughter and a son. I never thought to mention Charlie’s … limitations. Never dreamed you’d
need know.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “You see, Rosamond
suffered an extremely difficult lying-in with Charlie. He was far too
long in reaching the air he desperately needed. I believe it was this,
and no innate defect, that caused his delayed mental development.”

“But he isn’t, well, an imbecile or anything,” Lilly hurried to
explain. “Just a bit slow, I suppose you would say. In time, he might
very well catch up.”

“Lilly, we do not know that,” Father admonished. “It would
be unfair to offer that hope to others, however dearly we cling to it
ourselves.”

“But with education, and special tutoring …” Lilly looked imploringly at the Elliotts. “I am certain in London, there must be many
opportunities for a boy like Charlie.”

“I doubt that is the case,” Uncle Elliott said, his expression sober.
“And even if it were, I must be honest and tell you that I do not feel I
can name your son as my heir. While he would no doubt reap some
benefit, I have my own estate to think of. I must choose someone who
can manage it well.”

It was Lilly’s turn to hang her head.

“My dear.” Her aunt’s voice was surprisingly warm. “May I
say your concern for your brother is most admirable and touches
me deeply. A lesser girl might have begrudged her sibling such an
opportunity.”

Looking up, Lilly slowly shook her head. “Never.”

“I promise you this,” Ruth Elliott said. “If we hear of any special
school or teacher for boys of Charlie’s, well, special qualities, I shall
write you directly.”

“Thank you.”

Her aunt’s gaze lingered. “Do not take offense, my dear, but I
cannot help but wish that you were a boy.”

They shared a rueful smile.

“Now, are you really as bright as your brother boasts?”

In Bartholomew Lane, the drink called coffee
which closes the orifice of the stomach, fortifies
the heat within, and maketh the heart lightsom … is to be
sold both in the morning and at three in the afternoon.

LONDON PUBLIC ADVERTISER, 1657

n the coffeehouse the next morning, Lilly sat on her usual stool in the
kitchen. It had been her place for as long as she could remember, which
was long indeed. From the adjacent scullery came the rhythmic rustle,
rustle, rustle of scrubbing and an occasional tinny clang as the kitchen
girl, Jane, went about her work. Over this mild clatter, Lilly recounted
the Elliotts’ visit to her friend Mary, who stood at the worktable, cutting
ginger biscuits. Paying no heed, Charlie hunched at the little table in
the corner, picking out the caraway seeds from a piece of seedcake. He
counted each seed and laid it neatly on a plate beside the others.

“If you don’t like it, Charlie, you needn’t eat it,” Mary said. Her
voice and round, pale blue eyes emanated irritation and affection
both.

“Ninety-seven seeds, Mary. ‘At’s fine, fine.”

With the back of her hand, Mary pushed a strand of dull strawberry hair from her milky round face. “You know I don’t like to see my good
baking wasted. At least feed it to the birds, all right?”

Charlie nodded. “Birds likes seeds.” He put on his coat, then
carried the plate out the door to the kitchen garden.

“Mind you bring back the plate,” Mary called after him.

Though it was an autumn day, it was always warm in the kitchen,
so the window stood ajar. Lilly realized her brother had settled himself
on a bench beneath it, for through it, they heard him begin counting
all over again. “One, two, tree …”

Lilly shook her head, chagrined.

Mary said quietly, “Don’t fret about Charlie. Probably find a post
in a counting house one day and end up richer than the Marlows.”

From the open window, Lilly heard quick footsteps on the stone
garden path. A female voice, in tense, pinched tones said, “Charlie
Haswell, you are a sneak and a spy.”

Lilly’s mouth fell open and she turned toward the door. But Mary
placed a staying hand on her shoulder and shook her head, finger to
her lips.

“If you tell anybody what you saw-“

“I saw nofing,” Charlie said. “I was behind a tree.”

“Heard then. Or thought you heard.” The girl attempted to whisper, but in her agitation her voice rose. Lilly recognized it as Dorothea
Robbins’s voice. “I will have you know I did not allow him to so much
as kiss my glove. Do you understand?”

“Yes, miss.”

“And you must promise that you won’t say anything. That you
will not even mention my name.”

“All right, miss.”

Frustration heightened her pitch. “What were you doing in the
wood anyway? “

“Nofing. Just sittin’ and countin’.”

“Counting? Counting what?”

Lilly and Mary exchanged knowing looks.

“Red leaves on the trees.”

“What on earth for?”

“Just like to is all.”

Miss Robbins sounded incredulous. “But it’s not natural.”

“Oh yes, miss. Very natural, trees are. ‘Tis why I likes ‘em.”

The footsteps marched away as they had come. When the sound
faded, Mary stepped to the door and held it open.

“Everything all right, Charlie?”

Lilly could hear the hesitation in his voice. “Uh … yes, Mary.”

“Did you get the birds fed? “

“Oh … yes.”

Lilly rose and joined Mary at the door. She saw Charlie on his
feet, dusting seedcake crumbs from his breeches.

“Well, good-bye,” he said and lurched away in his awkward
gait.

“Charlie?” Lilly called after him.

He turned and looked at her, clearly troubled.

Lilly bit her lip. “Nothing. I shall see you later.”

The two young women returned to their places at the worktable.

Lilly began picking at her own piece of seedcake. “The man Miss
Robbins was with in the wood. I suppose it was Francis.”

Mary kept her eyes on the biscuits as she placed them on the pan.
“Do you? I shouldn’t think so.”