The Apothecary's Daughter (51 page)

Her father nodded. “I called on Sir Henry that same evening. I
found him weak but stable.”

Mr. Shuttleworth’s dark eyebrows seemed unnaturally high on
his forehead. “Sir Henry’s solicitor asked me to render an opinion two
days ago. Said he did not trust his client was getting the best care.”

Lilly felt her face wrinkle in confusion. She said, “Mr. Withers
summoned me that is, my father again yesterday. I came in his
stead.”

Mr. Marlow paced before them once more. “And so you each plied him with elixirs that in combination worked to send him into a coma.
Now you will work together to revive him.”

Lilly shook her head in dismay. Sir Henry was already unconscious
when she arrived yesterday, but she made no attempt to exonerate
herself. In her mind, if her father bore any responsibility, she did as
well. When she had last seen Roderick Marlow, he had been looking
for someone to blame. Now it appeared he had found his scapegoat.
Several of them, in fact.

“I know you will not endeavor to revive my father for pity’s sake,”
Marlow continued. “Nor for mine. Financial reward has not been sufficient motivation to this point, so instead I offer threat. Punishment.
I have no power to cure my father, but I have enough to crush each
of you. To bring ruination to your practices, your reputations. Is this
motivation more suitable, more efficacious, as you say? Will you now
heal my father?”

Dread filled her like bile. Roderick Marlow must be drunk. Perhaps even mad. She had never seen him like this. She barely recognized
this furious, desperate man as the same one she had kissed not so long
ago in the stables.

Marlow stopped before her father, shifting his weight to one hip.
“Haswell, legend has it that you once raised my grandfather from the
dead. How convenient for you otherwise people would not have been
so quick to overlook your fickle wife and idiot son. How the hordes
have flocked to you, to lap up your counsel and supposed cures. You
have lived off your fame long enough.”

Marlow turned. “Shuttleworth, you came to town claiming your
worldly experience, your remedies brought from distant lands. Here
is your chance to show up your rivals.”

“And Dr. Graves.” Marlow’s lip curled. “You with your privileged
Oxford education about which you constantly remind us. Here is
your opportunity to prove your knowledge superior to the less-learned
surgeon or apothecary.”

His hands returned to his hips. “Personally, I do not care which
one of you succeeds. But should you all fail, if my father dies without
regaining consciousness, your livelihoods die with him.” He looked once more at Lilly. “You should have left, Miss Haswell, when you
had the chance.”

The outer door slammed behind Roderick Marlow, and no one
spoke or moved until the echo died away. Then together the four of
them quietly entered Sir Henry’s inner chamber and approached his
bed. How still the man was. How grey.

“Good Lord,” her father breathed. “He is far gone indeed.”

Dr. Graves bent to listen to the old man’s heart. Mr. Shuttleworth
lifted Sir Henry’s sagging eyelids and palpated his abdomen. Her
father took up his limp wrist. “Rapid, yet weak.”

Together they discussed how each had treated Sir Henry, what
medicines they had given him, and if any of these might have reacted
adversely together.

“I gave him a very low dose of digitalis for dropsy,” Dr. Graves
said. “It would not have done this.”

“Digitalis?” Shuttleworth asked. “When an infusion of juniper
or briony would have been much less risky?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Lilly said. “Let us not place blame. Let us
together find a solution.”

“Solution?” Dr. Graves’s voice rose, incredulous. “The man is
dying. There is no solution.”

Lilly thought, flayed her memory for answers. Could she could
any of them find a possible remedy for this impossible situation?
Neither physician, surgeon, nor apothecary knew anything to do for
Sir Henry. Nor for his desperate son.

They needed a miracle.

The door burst open behind them. Whirling about, Lilly saw
Francis Baylor at the threshold, quite out of breath. She felt unaccountably relieved to see him. “Francis! Were you summoned as well?”

Francis surveyed the room and its occupants. “No. But Mrs.
Mimpurse told me about the will. When I couldn’t find Mr. Shuttleworth, or either of you, I became concerned. Thought I had better
come. See how I might help.”

“Have you some remedy in mind?” Mr. Shuttleworth asked.

Francis walked across the room and laid his hand on the baronet’s
pale brow. It seemed clear the old man was not long for the world. “I
am afraid I don’t. Though I may have let Withers believe I did, to
gain entry.”

Dr. Graves asked, “What’s this about a new will?”

Lilly confided, in low tones, what she had learned from Mr.
Marlow about the new will the primary reason, she suspected, for
today’s threats. Unless … Could he really be so desperate to gain his
father’s forgiveness?

The outer door banged open again and Roderick Marlow strode
in. “What is this about a remedy, Baylor?” he challenged.

Francis held up his hand. “I am afraid there is little any of us can
do for Sir Henry but pray.”

Marlow threw up his hands in angry disgust.

Francis said, “But I suggest you stay in herewith your father, Mr.
Marlow. Spend all the time you can at his side. Talk to him. He may
very well be able to hear you.”

For a moment, Marlow’s eyes lit. “Do you really think he
might? “

Francis nodded. “The rest of us will leave you and Sir Henry in
peace.

Marlow crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. “None of you is going
anywhere. Not until you have accomplished what I summoned you
here to do.”

“We are not leaving, sir. Only withdrawing to the dressing room.”
Francis held Marlow’s glare without wavering. “You have my word
we shall not depart until you give us leave to do so.”

Roderick Marlow hesitated, staring at Francis, sizing up the
younger man. Lilly was surprised when he nodded and returned to
his father’s bedside.

The rest of them moved to the door. Dr. Graves took one of her
father’s arms, she the other, and together they helped him to the chair
in the dressing room. Francis closed the bedchamber door behind
him.

As he helped Mr. Haswell back into the stuffed chair, Adam
Graves found himself remembering Lady Marlow’s veiled threat to
Roderick atop Adam’s Grave. Was that somehow related to the present threat? Had the new will her unexpectedly large jointure been
what she had referred to? If so, no wonder the man was incensed.

Adam forced himself to remain calm and think. Turning to
Lillian’s father, he began, “Mr. Haswell. If it is true that you once raised
a man from the dead, might we ask for a repeat performance? “

“Indeed, Mr. Haswell,” Shuttleworth added. “If you could get us
out of this muddle, I would be much obliged.”

Miss Haswell laid a hand on her father’s arm. “We know the truth,
do we not, Father? Perhaps it is time we admitted it.”

Charles Haswell looked as though he might refuse, then sighed.
“I don’t do miracles. Never have.”

“But word of it has spread as far as London and Oxford,” Adam
insisted. “It has become the stuff of legends. Dr. Thomas Bromley
was here at the time, I understand, and witnessed the event. He attests
the man was dead indeed.”

Mr. Haswell nodded. “I tried everything I knew, but nothing
had any effect. I devised no secret miracle cure. Rather, in desperation, I fell to my knees in this very room and prayed for his recovery.”
Haswell looked at his daughter, tears shimmering in his eyes. “My
little girl beside me.”

Miss Haswell took his hand, tears in her eyes as well.

“Perhaps that is what is needed again,” Mr. Baylor quietly suggested.

Charles Haswell inhaled deeply. “I own it has been too long since
I have done so.”

Still holding his hand, Miss Haswell helped her father kneel beside
the chair. Mr. Baylor joined them, and together the three bowed their
heads.

Adam looked on, feeling sheepish. Beside him, Shuttleworth also
looked uncomfortable. For an awkward moment their gazes met. Adam
shrugged his response. He considered kneeling beside them, but felt too foolish at the thought. He noticed Shuttleworth had closed his
eyes where he stood. He did the same.

Kneeling there beside her father, Lilly felt her legs begin to stiffen
and guessed her father must be growing uncomfortable as well. She
glanced over, but her father’s eyes were still closed, his face wrinkled
in concentration. On his other side, Francis also had his eyes closed,
forehead resting on clasped hands. As if sensing her scrutiny, Francis
looked at her. In silent agreement, they rose and, with a few whispered
words, encouraged Mr. Haswell to rise and rest, and together they
helped him regain his seat.

“What is happening here?” Lady Marlow asked, startling them
all. She had entered without any of them hearing her. Wearing a
reserved day dress, her red hair simply fashioned, she stood regally
inside the dressing room door, looking from one face to another. Her
gaze landed on Dr. Graves.

He cleared his throat. “We were each of us summoned by Mr.
Marlow. To see what might be done for Sir Henry.”

“Then what are you doing out here? “

When Dr. Graves hesitated, Francis answered, “Praying.” He
added gently, “I am afraid, Lady Marlow, there is little else to be done
for your husband.”

For a moment the woman froze, her mouth forming a pink oval
of surprise.

“Mr. Marlow is in with Sir Henry now,” Francis explained. “Saying his farewells.”

Lady Marlow sighed as if suddenly weary, her face drooping into
lines that added ten years to her apparent age. “Poor man,” she murmured bleakly. And Lilly wondered which man she referred to.

The bedchamber door opened and, as one, they warily turned.
Roderick Marlow appeared at the threshold, tears on his cheeks. Ignoring the others in the room, his gaze sought out Lilly’s.

“I begged his pardon … and he … squeezed my hand.” His face
contorted with emotion. “He knew me….”

Tears of understanding trailed down Lilly’s own cheeks as her
eyes held his.

The rest of the assembly were equally moved, as well as relieved,
to realize Roderick Marlow had returned to his senses. In a matter of
minutes, he gave them all leave to go, visibly chagrined at his reckless
and irrational behavior. Given the distress of his father’s condition, all
seemed ready to forgive the future Sir Roderick, Baronet.

Sir Henry did not regain consciousness.

There had been no miracle, no answer to their prayer.

Or had there been? Lilly remembered the look of wonder, and
relief on Roderick Marlow’s face when he said, “I begged his pardon
and he squeezed my hand. He knew me.”

So perhaps there had been a miracle, after all.

What is a weed?
A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

n the busyness that followed, getting her father home to bed, telling
Mary and Mrs. Mimpurse all that had happened, and checking on
Charlie, Lilly did not see Francis again. She wanted to thank him for
coming to Marlow House and to talk over the events of the day. She
had hoped he would come by the shop that evening, but now it was
late and he no doubt thought she had already retired for the night. Or
had he stayed away in deference to Dr. Graves?

When Lilly finally slipped into her nightdress and into bed, she
still could not sleep. Beyond the stress of the day, she could not stop
thinking about Francis Baylor. Though the youngest man there, he had
been the one to take charge, and the one to suggest praying together.
She thought back to his quick actions after Mary’s fall and his many
kindnesses to her since then.