The Apothecary's Daughter (50 page)

While Mary recovered from her wounds, Mrs. Kilgrove recovered
her strength, relieving lingering fears of further penal action. Charlie,
seemingly no worse for his captivity, spent all his spare time with the
doting, forgiving woman, and with his cat, jolly.

Lilly’s gratitude toward Roderick Marlow did not flag. His father’s
health, however, did. After enjoying a brief return of vitality in the
weeks prior to and after his marriage, Sir Henry had again fallen ill.
Her father had been called in to see him a few nights before, and
just that morning, Marlow’s man had come to the shop to ask Mr.
Haswell to come again. But her father had awoken quite weak that
day, so Lilly had gone alone. This seemed to agitate Mr. Withers, and
upon entering the ailing baronet’s chamber, she’d understood why.
Never had she seen Sir Henry in such a state. She had actually been
relieved to hear Dr. Foster had been summoned as well.

Now, Lilly wearily made her way home from Marlow House, grieved at this latest turn in Sir Henry’s health and her inability to
help him. Ahead of her, Lilly heard someone cry out. Picking up her
skirts, she ran through the trees separating the road from Arthur
Owen’s farm. In the clearing, she paused, stunned. There was Roderick
Marlow in the Owens’ market garden, kicking and punching first the
galley-crow, then the fence post. He cried out in unintelligible grief
or anger or both.

He must know, she thought.

Owen’s pigs scrambled to the far end of the pen. Marlow’s horse
whinnied, ribbons dangling, trotting this way and that, clearly spooked
by his master’s behavior. Lilly was spooked as well.

“Mr. Marlow!” she called. “Mr. Marlow, pray calm down.”

He spun to face her, expression wild. “Calm down? How can I?”

“Your father is ill, I know, but-“

“Father has been ill for years in body, but never in mind. Until
this! ” He thrust a piece of paper high above his head, then crumpled
it with both hands, hurtling it toward the pond, though the wad fell
short of its mark.

Wary, Lilly walked closer. “What is it?”

“A copy of his new will. He has authored my ruin, or more accurately, the red witch has convinced him to do so. Now should my father
die, she will take what is rightfully mine.”

Her mind whirled. “But … I thought the law was quite clear.
The eldest son is heir.”

“I am to inherit the land, yes. It is entailed. But to raise the staggering amount specified for her jointure, I shall have to sell off the
stock, the London house, and I know not what to satisfy it.”

“But certainly you would not begrudge your father’s widow something to live on.”

“Something to live on, I would not begrudge. But the amount
is far above that. I shall be unable to pay my steward, the servants,
let alone afford to heat that huge place. Father no doubt allowed her
to believe he was wealthier than he was when she married him. But
in truth we have struggled for some time. You know we keep only
two carriages, only a small London house and that we let out for most of the year. We do not entertain often. We live quietly, and we
retrench and retrench again. And so far we have managed, but this
is the absolute end.”

“But did your father not realize? He has been ill, perhaps-“

He went on as though he had not heard her, “I may even have to
let the place out. My own home …”

“I am sorry. There must be some mistake. Some misunderstanding.”

In two strides, he closed the remaining distance between them.
“Perhaps I shall have to enter a trade as you have, Miss Haswell.” He
looped his arm around her and pulled her close, but the fire in his eyes
was fueled by betrayal, not passion. “Do you think I should make a
good butcher? Perhaps an apothecary…. You would teach me all I
need know, would you not?”

“Mr. Marlow, please. I “

No doubt seeing her stricken expression, he released her, the fire
in his eyes fading to dullness. “Forgive my foolishness, Miss Haswell.
You have come upon me at a most dark moment.” He reached down,
retrieved his fallen hat, and stepped toward his horse. “I beg your
pardon. I must speak to my father and unwork the devilish persuasion
that woman has wrought.”

Lilly was confused. “But … I have just come from Marlow House.
Your father lies in a coma. I thought you knew.”

“No! ” He whirled back around, hat forgotten. “I have been trapped
with Father’s solicitor all morning.” Mr. Marlow sank to the ground
and stared at her, stunned. “When?”

“He might have been in this state all night, but there’s no way
to know. Withers said he at first thought Sir Henry merely sleeping.
When he did not rouse, he sent for my father. My father was indisposed, so I went in his stead.”

Cautiously, she sat down on the ground near the stricken man,
tugging her skirts around her. “Dr. Foster is expected any time, I
understand,” she added, hoping to comfort him. “He has long experience with your father.”

He sat, elbows on his knees, staring blankly ahead. “Indeed my father has had long association with several of the medical profession,
enjoyed their company, but with no benefit that I can see. And now
this.”

He shook his head. “I argued bitterly with Father when last we
spoke. I have not quite managed to forget that, as is my wont. And
now I shall never be able to make it right.”

He laid his head down, face hidden within his arms. “A coma,”
he breathed. “Then it is too late. All is lost….”

Impulsively, she laid a hand on his elbow. “Your father may yet
rally. He has before, remember.”

He lifted his head and regarded her, eyes alight. “Might he come
to his senses, then, at any moment?”

“I don’t know. But it is possible.”

“Then I must be there should he awaken.” He rose quickly. “Beg
him to change his mind and … to forgive me.”

With that he turned, leapt on his horse, and galloped away, without
farewell or backward glance.

That evening, when Lilly confided Mr. Marlow’s tidings in hushed
tones to Mrs. Mimpurse, the Marlows’ former nurserymaid shook her
head, her mouth turned down in a rare frown.

“Him not even in his grave and already they’re fighting o’er his
money. Fuss and commotion.”

“What’s this about?” Mary asked, coming in from the dining
room, her finger still wrapped but healing nicely.

“Sir Henry changed his will,” Lilly explained once more. “So
much money is to go to the new Lady Marlow that, in raising the sum,
Marlow House may very well be ruined.”

Mary’s brow puckered. “If she wanted the money and title of
Lady, ” she began, “why not marry the heir and have both? She had
to know Sir Henry could not be expected to live many years.”

“Perhaps she really does love Sir Henry,” Mrs. Mimpurse ventured. She sighed. “And now the poor man is senseless, and not two
months gone since the honeymoon.”

Lilly knew Maude was partial to her former employer, but she could not quite believe Cassandra Powell had married the sickly
baronet for love alone. “Or perhaps she liked the thought of a widow’s
jointure to spend as she liked.”

Mrs. Mimpurse shook her head. “Most widows get only a small
portion of the dowry they brought to the marriage. Beyond that, they
must depend upon the generosity of the husband’s heir.”

Lilly considered this. “Then perhaps Lady Marlow did not wish
to depend upon Roderick’s generosity, and that is why she worked on
Sir Henry to change his will, as Roderick suspects.”

That Lilly would believe. But she did not foresee the danger it
would mean for them all.

Oh thou, to whom such healing power is giv’n
The delegate, as we believe, of heaven.

RICHARD CUMBERLAND, ODE TO DOCTOR ROBERT JAMES

when the summons came the following afternoon, Lilly was
not overly surprised. In the hastily written note, Roderick
Marlow bid Charles Haswell to come directly, bringing all medical
necessities.

“I did not think I would be summoned, not with Foster attending
Sir Henry yesterday.” Her father groaned and swung his legs off the
side of the bed.

“I shall go again, Father. You are still not fit for it.”

He lifted the piece of paper. “He asks specifically for me in the
most pointed terms. I dare not refuse.”

“Then I shall go with you.”

She harnessed Pennywort to the gig and helped her father up into
it, then set his largest medical case on the floor.

When they arrived, Mr. Withers opened the door to them. Lilly
noticed the man still seemed agitated, and was surprised when he did not escort them up to his master’s rooms as he had on previous
calls.

She helped her father up the long staircase and down the corridor
to Sir Henry’s chambers. Holding his arm, she said, “Lean on me,
Father. It is not much further.”

She pushed open the first door and was surprised and perplexed
to see Dr. Graves standing in Sir Henry’s outer dressing room.

“We did not expect you to be here,” she said.

“I was summoned by Mr. Marlow.”

“As were we.”

Before either of them could say anything further, her father’s
knees buckled. Dr. Graves rushed to take his arm, and together they
helped him to the stuffed chair. With shaky hand, her father pulled
a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his perspiring brow. “A
great many stairs, that.”

Moments later, the door opened again, and Mr. Shuttleworth came
in, stick in hand. He smoothed down his fine coat before realizing there
were others already in the room. He seemed startled to see them there.
“Good heavens. The old man must be very bad indeed.”

Lilly nodded. Her heart pounded at the thought of the grief and
rage she had witnessed in Roderick Marlow the previous day. Whatever was about to happen would not be pleasant.

The door to the inner room, Sir Henry’s private bedchamber,
opened and Roderick Marlow strode out. He stood, hands on hips,
eyes blazing. His face seemed more gaunt than she remembered, and
his strange eyes, unfocused and glowering, were like those of a mad
dog.

When those eyes lit on her, he seemed to falter. “Miss Haswell …
you should not be here.” He swept his arm toward the door. “You
may leave. Go.”

She forced herself to hold his gaze without flinching. “I will stay and
assist my father in whatever you have summoned us here to do.”

He hesitated only a moment. “As you wish.” He lifted his outstretched arm and scratched at the back of his neck. “I cannot say I
am surprised. Everyone knows the apothecary’s clever daughter is all but running Haswell’s these days. The master to her father’s impotent
puppet.”

The words felt like a slap after his recent kindnesses. Her father
opened his mouth to protest, but then tucked his chin, defeated.

She squeezed her father’s shoulder. “Charles Haswell is the greatest apothecary Wiltshire has ever known.”

“So he would have us believe. Today, he shall have his chance to
prove it. Or be ruined once and for all.”

She opened her mouth-stunned-but no words came.

Marlow paced the room maniacally before them. “You medical
sorts. You all pretend to such powers, such compassion, but really,
all you care about are your own purses. I read the papers, I know
about the posturing, the verbal battles about who should be allowed
to treat what. You don’t care about patients you care only for your
own livelihoods.”

He jerked his thumb toward his father’s bedchamber. “Dr. Foster
was here last night and again this morning. It seems that each of you
has treated my father has filled him with potions that together have
rendered him unconscious. You have all treated my father in the last
week, have you not?” He paused, scorching each of them with his
gaze.

Lilly was flummoxed. Aside from her father, she’d had no idea the
others had so recently seen Sir Henry. Why had no one told her?

“Lady Marlow sent for me three days ago,” Dr. Graves defended.
“I did what I could for Sir Henry, which was little enough, but he was
still lucid when I left.”