The Apothecary's Daughter (56 page)

Mrs. Mimpurse nodded her understanding. She looked exhausted
from the telling, eyes bleary and troubled. She glanced back at the letter, almost forgotten in her hand. “I always wondered if your mother
knew, or guessed, about your father and I. If it had something to do
with her leaving. But with so much time passing between, I hoped I
was not to blame.” She reached over and grasped Lilly’s fingers with
her free hand, eyes intense. “I promise you, Lilly, your father and I
were together those two nights twenty years gone, and never again
since.

Lilly nodded, feeling sick and dazed about the whole affair. “I
always feared I was to blame.”

“Oh, my dear, why?”

Lilly took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. “We
argued, you see, a few days before she left. She received a letter, which
was rare for her, but would not tell me who it was from. She became
angry when I kept asking her. Of course, now I wonder if the letter
was from a man. This officer.”

Mrs. Mimpurse considered this. “A letter might very well explain
why she left when she did. But it wasn’t your fault.” Again she squeezed
Lilly’s hand. “Why, if every woman left after an argument with her
daughter, there wouldn’t be a mother left at home in all of England.”
Mrs. Mimpurse glanced at Mary, and mother and daughter shared
a knowing look.

Lilly felt as if a stone had been lifted from her chest. She gently retrieved the letter from Maude’s hand and reread its few lines. “It is
as if she expected you and Father to marry. But how could you?”

Maude Mimpurse took a deep, shuddering breath. “How could
we, indeed.”

On a crisp autumn afternoon, Lilly saw Roderick Marlow standing
before his father’s grave, black mourning cloak about his shoulders.
They had buried Sir Henry a fortnight before. The villagers had turned
out in great numbers for his funeral, Lilly and her father among them.
She had already given her condolences, which were civilly if awkwardly
received. Still, seeing him standing there now, alone, she felt compelled
to speak to him.

When he glanced over and noticed her beside him, he acknowledged her with a silent nod.

She stood there with him for several moments, looking at the
freshly turned soil. The headstone would be several weeks or even
longer in the making.

“What will you do now?” she asked gently.

He wiped his nose with a handkerchief and inhaled deeply. “I
suppose I shall go forth and find a wealthy wife,” he said archly. “So I
can afford the widow’s jointure and somehow manage to keep the place
up. Father would no doubt haunt me if I let the place fall to ruin.”

“And what will become of-” she hesitated “the former Miss
Powell? “

He shrugged. “She was my father’s wife, no matter what else she
be. She will have a place at Marlow House for as long as she wants
one. Though I doubt it will be for long. Once she receives her portion, she will no doubt move on, perhaps even remarry. I wish her no
ill will.”

“You surprise me,” she said. “I never took you for a merciful sort.
Except when you secured my brother’s release, of course.”

He looked at her for a moment, then away, off into the distance.
“That was your clever Mr. Baylor’s doing. He brought to my attention how my old friend Ackers was having his ribbons yanked by Foster.
Never liked the man. I suppose Baylor knew that and used it to goad
me into action. Anything to put a fly in that man’s ointment.” He
looked at her again. “Though had I known you’d kiss me for it, I might
have done so anyway.”

Francis.

“Truth is, I owe Cassandra a debt. I wronged her long ago and
believe she married my father as revenge. She never admitted it,
but …” He left the thought unfinished.

“What happened? How did you-? “

He tapped a finger against her lips. “Tut, tut, Miss Haswell. Have
I taught you nothing? That memory is long gone, and I intend to keep
it that way.”

He glanced down once more at his father’s bare grave beside his
mother’s ornate headstone. “I still regret my bitter words to him. How
I wish I might see him again.”

She said quietly, “But you can see him again someday. After all,
you know where he is.”

He shrugged. “I confess I have never shared your faith, Miss
Haswell.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“I suppose I lost it when I lost my mother. Did not you?”

Lilly took a deep breath, considering. “For a time, perhaps.”

He turned to her and gently gripped her shoulders. “Still, might
we not share other things?”

Shaking her head, she pulled away. “Let me go, Sir Roderick. And
I will do the same of you.”

A week later, Lilly hatched her plan for a long-belated gift for
Mary.

“It is all settled,” she announced as soon as she stepped into the
coffeehouse kitchen. “You and I shall go to London. It isn’t right that
I have been while you have not.”

Mary’s lips parted, but she quickly resumed her work. She kneaded
the dough, turning the lump over and pressing it down with the butt
of her palm. “No, Lilly. I don’t need-“

“Yes you do. You deserve a holiday in London. My aunt has sent
a far too generous gift of funds which will see us there in fine fash. 11
ion.

“I don’t know. What about the coffeehouse?”

“Father is doing well enough and has said he will help, as will
Mrs. Fowler if need be. We have all conspired against you, Mary, so
further objections will only prove futile.”

As she separated and placed the dough in pans, Mary seemed lost
in thought and Lilly was afraid she was formulating another argument.
Instead she asked, “Could we eat somewhere very fine?”

Lilly smiled. “Of course.”

“And see a palace or two?”

“Or three! And anything else you’d like.”

“I would dearly enjoy that, I think.”

“And I would dearly enjoy being there with you. Perhaps we might
take in a play, or visit the museums, or the shops.”

“And Francis?” Mary suggested.

The mention of his name turned Lilly’s stomach into a ten-stone
sack of wormwood and regret. “Oh. I am sure he is very busy … doing
whatever it is he went to London to do.”

“You’ve had no word? “

Lilly shook her head and forced a light tone. “I don’t even know
where his lodgings are. He did send Charlie a letter on his birthday,
but it bore no address.” Upon admitting she’d checked this, Lilly felt
her ears burn and fiddled with her gloves.

“Never mind,” Mary said. “We shall have plenty of other handsome sights to see, shall we not?” She grinned, and Lilly could not
resist mirroring the gesture.

They settled on Friday of the following week for their departure,
and Lilly posted a letter to her aunt and uncle, letting them know of
their coming visit and asking to call at their convenience. She went
through her wardrobe and pulled out two gowns she had barely worn since returning home, and two others she thought would do nicely
for Mary.

They visited the new village milliner for hats and gloves and
the dressmaker in Devizes for warm autumn cloaks. Together they
planned an itinerary and packed.

On the night before their departure, they sat down to supper
together. Her father looking younger than he had in months, Mrs.
Mimpurse, rosy-cheeked and cheery. And Mary pretty in a new frock,
her hair curled and pinned high on her head in a fashion they had seen
in La Belle Assemblee. Even Charlie came, late and mussed, straight
from the garden, and they had to send him to the well to wash.

“Goodness, Mary,” he said upon his return. “You’re as pretty as
the portraits hangin’ at Marlow House.”

Mary smiled with no hint of blush. She clearly felt as lovely as
she looked.

They dined on vegetable-marrow soup, fried soles, veal and ham
pie, and all manner of vegetables, breads, sauces, and jams. The
Mimpurse ladies had truly outdone themselves. But the biggest surprise came after, when Mary carried out a beautifully frosted Rich
Bride Cake. Or, Lilly mused, was it a Christening Cake?

“What’s this?” Maude asked, perplexed. “Is there something you
are wanting to tell us?”

Now Mary blushed. “No. I have not gone and got myself a husband. Or a babe.”

“Thank the good Lord for that,” her mother murmured.

Mary remained standing at the table before them, and made the
first speech Lilly could ever remember her giving. “But I do feel there
is cause for celebration. For thanksgiving. For God has added greatly
to my family, and I am thankful indeed.”

“Here, here,” Lilly said as she lifted her small glass. She glanced at
her father and glimpsed tears rising to fill his blue eyes. She saw him
glance at Maude, and answering tears brighten her eyes as well.

“I have always had the best of mothers …” Mary began.

Lilly found herself nodding to this. She too had gained the best of mothers. In many ways, Maude Mimpurse had long been a second
mother to her.

“But now I have a brother-“

“Now, Mary, I ain’t really.” Charlie could still not grasp the change
in their relationship, and Lilly could barely blame him, so recently
had the facts come to light.

“And sister.” She smiled at Lilly, eyes shining. Mary’s voice was
hoarse when she added, “And Father.”

Tears spilled down Charles Haswell’s freshly shaven cheeks. Lilly
was distracted by Charlie, however, his face bunched up into a grimace
of confusion and working himself up to a question. Hoping to divert
him from asking about Mr. Mimpurse, Lilly said to him, “You don’t
like cake, do you, Charlie?”

He looked nearly indignant at this. “Indeed I do. You know I do.
Father! Lilly forgot I like cake. Why, it’s my favorite.”

Sharing a knowing glance with Lilly, Mary said, “Then you shall
have the first piece, Charlie. Would you like a little piece or a large
one?”

“A gurt big one, Mary, if you please.”

The moment was saved.

The evening was the most delightful in recent memory. They all
stayed and did the washing up together, and then Mrs. Mimpurse
shooed the girls off to bed, saying she would finish putting the dishes
away on her own. She reminded them they had a big day ahead of
them, and the London coach would not wait, should they oversleep.
At the kitchen door, her father gently embraced Mary before bidding
her a good night. Lilly wanted to throw her arms around her friend …
no, sister … too, but Mary was already backing away, waving goodbye on her way up to bed. Ah, well. They would have a whole week
together in London.

The next morning, Lilly awoke early, taking a great deal of time
with her appearance. She felt unaccountably nervous about returning to London. Her gowns would no longer be the latest, and her hands
were calloused from long hours with the pestle. Thank goodness for
gloves. She wished she might have thought to ask Mary to come over
and help her with her hair. Not as a servant might, but as sisters might
help one another. She felt giddy at the thought, and at the adventure
ahead. She packed the items she had just used brush and comb,
tooth sponge and alum into her valise and checked once more to
make certain her money was in her reticule. Putting on her hat and
cloak, she slipped the reticule onto her wrist and left her bedchamber,
descending the stairs with no effort to be quiet. If her father was not
yet awake, he ought to be rising. He insisted he wanted to be there to
see them off. But it was not her father who stood in the laboratorykitchen, awaiting her noisy descent.