The Apothecary's Daughter (53 page)

“You admire them.”

“I do. When a body’s ailing, money or no, apothecaries turn up
trumps. Which is why it rankles me to …”

“To what?”

“Never you mind. Thaht’s the half pint of bitter talkin’.” Evans
rose. “I’m to bed now.”

All doctors are more or less Quacks!
… and what they talk is neither more nor less
than nonsense @ stuff… .

THE FIRST DUKE OF WELLINGTON

he next morning, Adam Graves jogged down the stairs from
his third-floor rooms, but when he reached the ground floor,
stopped, stunned. There stood John Evans. Gone were the congenial
ale-warmed gaze and the unremarkable suit of clothes. In their place
the man wore a gown of vibrant blue tufted with dozens of golden
tassels. His eyes were stern, hard, and brooked no question.

What on earth?

Voices followed him down the stairs. There came Mr. Allen,
dressed in an unadorned black gown. Dr. Foster followed him, breakfast teacup still in hand. Foster hesitated at seeing his young partner
standing there, but the smile did not waver from his whiskered face.

“I shall bid you farewell here, Mortimer.” Foster held out his free
hand. “Thank you for coming to address the situation as only you
can.

Mr. Allen shook his hand. “You are quite welcome. Again, I apologize for not being able to respond in person to your first letter.
But I trust you will be more than satisfied by day’s end.”

What did it mean? Adam wondered, suspicion gnawing at him.

John Evans opened the door for Mr. Allen, but once they were
outside, Graves saw that John Evans preceded the older man down
the lane.

“It is going to be quite a day for medicine, Graves. Quite a day.”

Adam turned from his place at the window. “How so?”

“Justice, my boy. Justice for the common man and the Royal
College both.”

“I have no idea what you mean, sir. Has this something to do
with your friends?”

“Indeed. Though I count only one as friend. Mortimer and I
have known one another since boyhood. His father would have gladly
stood him at Oxford, as did mine. I suppose Mortimer had a taste
for power enjoys being a big fish among small. One would think
he knew all along he’d end as Master of those beetle crushers and
potion pushers.”

“What?”

“Yes. Mortimer is Master of Wardens for the Apothecaries’
Society.”

Adam felt his stomach clench as alarm pulsed through his
body.

“We both have well-placed friends in Parliament,” Foster
continued, “and have helped one another over the years, when a letter
to a friend might sway the vote on one medical issue or another. Very
broad-minded the both of us, I’d say. That other man is only the beadle
of the beetle crushers, who does my friend’s bidding.”

“Mr. Evans seemed quite well-spoken. A gentleman, I’d say.”

“A gentleman? A hired henchman.” Foster all but shuddered.

Adam swallowed, his mind reeling. “What are they about?”

“Oh, merely righting wrongs left too long to fester. Really, when
one thinks of it the negligence, the arrogance. Refusing to dispense a
physician’s order? Unpardonable as the new law makes quite clear.”
He chuckled into his teacup.

“If you are referring to the Haswells and that order of yours, you
know very well they were justified in not filling it.”

“So you say.”

“I have the patient record to prove it.”

“I have the law. And the Master of Wardens of pompous Haswell’s
very own society.”

“The letter of the law, sir, perhaps, but not the spirit. Does not our
Hippocratic oath rank supreme? To save a life must be the primary
mandate, not the law.”

“That’s radical politic, young man.”

“You brought them here for this purpose, did you not? Journey
to Bath, indeed. They stray quite far afield from their jurisdiction,
would you not agree?”

“Now who’s holding to the letter of the law?”

“It isn’t right. In this case, the Haswells have done no wrong.”

“Do you not mean she has done no wrong? I have not missed
your interest in the Haswell girl. But perhaps I did miss some new
law allowing women to diagnose and dispense physic?”

Adam turned toward the door.

“Hold there, Graves. I advise you do nothing to interfere. I
promise you a bleak future if you do.”

Adam Graves reached for the door latch, and felt its cold metallic
reality in his hand.

Lilly opened the door to Shuttleworth’s and leaned across its
threshold. The surgeon-apothecary was alone with his ledgers.

“Mr. Shuttleworth, do you know where Francis might be? I have
not seen him these two days gone.”

He looked up at her blankly. “Do you not know?”

Her senses became instantly alert. “Know what?”

“Mr. Baylor has taken his leave. Quit my employ.”

She was stunned. “But why? “

“He has other plans. Did he not tell you?”

“He told me nothing.”

“Well…” Mr. Shuttleworth awkwardly straightened his cravat.
“They’re not my plans to tell.”

“Lilly! ” Charlie ran up Milk Lane toward her, arms windmilling.
“Francis is leaving.” He paused when he reached her, bending over
and panting to catch his breath. “I just seen him … carryin’ his bag
to the canal.”

Lilly stared at her brother, yet hardly saw him nor her surroundings as he spoke.

Charlie straightened. “Remember when he first come ‘ere? And
spoilt Father’s shoes?”

Lilly ran.

She arrived at the canal, out of breath, lungs heaving, as much
from emotion as the exertion of the run. There was Francis, stepping down onto the stern of his cousin’s narrowboat, moored near
the Honeystreet Bridge.

”
“Francis.

When he saw her, he left his valise and hat on the deck and climbed
back up the bank to where she stood, still trying to catch her breath.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“London.”

“London?” She stared at him in confusion, her mind whirling.
Had he told her and she’d forgotten? Was this what it felt like to forget
something? This disorientation, this disturbing, irrational dread?

He continued, “It is my turn to see something of the world, I
suppose. Learn a few things. Better myself.”

“Without saying good-bye?”

He nodded, sheepish.

“But I’ve wanted to talk to you, to thank you.” She swallowed a
rising wave of panic. “How long will you be away?”

His grin was rueful. “Do not fret, Lilly. You’ve not seen the last
of me.”

She thought of her mother’s vain promise to Charlie. She thought
of Mr. Lippert, the apothecary from Little Bedwyn, who had stayed in London where the opportunities were too great to give up for village
life. “You cannot know that, Francis.”

He tilted his head to the side, studying her.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. “If you
are determined to go to London, I should like to give you the name
of a kindly apothecary I met there.”

“An apothecary? At one of your fine London balls?”

“No. In Bucklersbury, where every other shop is an apothecary’s
or chemist’s.”

Again she felt his inquiring look.

“I went there a few times, when I was feeling lonely, I suppose.
Missing home.”

“I am surprised you had the time to miss Bedsley Priors.”

“Well, not only the village itself, but my father, of course. And
Charlie and Mary and … you.”

Eyes intent on hers, he took a step forward. “Lilly-“

“Mr. Baylor!” a feminine voice called. Glancing over, Lilly saw
Miss Robbins smiling and waving from the lawn of Mill House. “Bon
voyage!”

He waved back quickly before returning his attention to Lilly.
It stung to realize he had shared his plans with Dorothea Robbins
instead of her. Had the two an understanding? She felt her chin begin
to tremble.

“In any case,” she hurried on, determined not to cry, “the apothecary’s name is Lippert. He and his son were very generous when
I needed advice on reviving the shop.” Lilly darted a glance at the
retreating figure of Miss Robbins. “And he has a charming daughter
as well.”

He raised a skeptical brow. “What is that to me?”

“She is a lovely young woman who adores everything about an
apothecary’s shop. There is no place she would rather be.”

He frowned. “And you wish me to meet her? “

Do I? Lilly hesitated. “Well, if you are ever in need of a friendly
face in London.”

He looked at her, slowly shaking his head. “Is that what you really want, Lilly? For me to find myself a charming London girl and never
return? “

“No. I …” She faltered, confused. Of course she wanted him to
come back though not for Dorothea Robbins. Have I mistaken the
matter? Did Francis not renew his attentions to Miss Robbins after I
refused him? Tentatively she asked, “Do you plan to return?”

He expelled a dry puff of air, a bitter pull at his lips. “I don’t know.
Not until you … That is …” He ran a hand through his hair. “This
is why I thought to leave without trying to say good-bye.” He cleared
his throat. “Lilly, I know Dr. Graves is a physician, and that he-“

“Come on, Francis!” his cousin called up from the narrowboat.
“Must shove off and sharpish. The lockkeeper Reading way goes to
bed at eight bells.”

Francis lifted a hand to the man, then looked once more at Lilly.
“I’ve got to go.”

“But-“

“Francis! We can’t wait any longer!”

Francis took Lilly’s hand and pressed it with his larger one. “No
matter what you decide, I hope we shall always be friends.” He turned
away and jumped aboard. The crew immediately began casting off.

“Write!” she called as the boat moved away from the bank.

But Lilly knew Francis had never been one to write. His poor
mother had received a letter at Christmas and another on her birthday
only when Lilly had been there to remind him.

She watched as Francis faded away. He lifted his hand in farewell,
and the sight of it caused her chest to ache and tears to burn and well
in her eyes. The canal had claimed another dear to her.

She felt bereft. Muddled. Aching. Was he implying what she
thought-hoped-he was implying? But why did she when she
never wanted any part of the life Francis would likely lead? But she
did hope. Too late, she realized she did. But what about Dr. Graves?
He had uprooted himself and come to Bedsley Priors to pursue her.
Had she not an obligation to him?

She groaned, her prayer inarticulate. She breathed in deeply,
exhaled, then breathed in again. She paused. Sniffed the air gently, critically. What was it she smelled? Something sweet and mildly familiar yet too complex to identify. She closed her eyes and breathed in
again, relishing the strange, sweet smell. But then something acrid
joined the wispy odor.

“Lilly!” Charlie screamed. “Lillllll-leeeee!”

She spun around, eyes scanning the village behind her. A narrow
spire of smoke rose above the rooftops, and below, Charlie bounded
wildly down the Sands Road toward her.