The Apothecary's Daughter (58 page)

“Mr. Haswell.” He shook her father’s hand. “Welcome. And Miss
Haswell.” He bowed, then faltered. “I … trust you are well.”

She nodded. “I am. And you?”

He pursed his lips, considering. “Like a fish tossed back in the
pond.”

She opened her mouth to reply but hesitated. Did he mean that he
was relieved to be back in his element, or that he felt rejected? Before
she could fashion some suitable reply, he returned his attention to
her father.

“Dr. Bromley has been called away, I am afraid. But I have agreed
to oversee your case until he returns.” With that, Dr. Graves excused
himself, saying he would see if the bed for Mr. Haswell was ready.

Francis appeared along the corridor. His pace hastened to a nearjog at seeing them, and he smiled broadly. Reaching them, he shook
her father’s hand vigorously. “Mr. Haswell, I am so glad you’ve come.
You’ve arrived just when you wrote you would.”

“Yes, we made good time by post.”

He turned to Lilly, suddenly more reticent. “Miss Haswell.” He
bowed, and she curtsied stiffly, surprised at his cool greeting.

Graves rejoined them, and Lilly saw Francis hesitate. “Ah, here’s
Dr. Graves.” She noticed him glance from the physician to her and
back again.

“Dr. Bromley has quite a schedule of tests and treatments in store
for you, Mr. Haswell,” Dr. Graves said. “I trust we shall have you
stronger very soon.”

Her father nodded. “Excellent. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow morning. Let’s get you settled into a room for a good
night’s sleep first.”

Her father turned to her and said warmly, “I will bid you farewell
here, my dear. I am sure you will not want to venture into the men’s
ward.”

“Indeed no.” She received her father’s kiss and embraced him in
return. She whispered, “I shall pray for you every day.”

“I count on it.” He held her at arm’s length and looked directly into
her face, as though committing her features to memory. As though
in final farewell. Lilly felt her lips begin to tremble and forced them
into a smile.

“Never fear,” Francis assured her. She felt the barest graze of his
hand at her elbow. “He will be in excellent hands with your Dr. Graves
here.”

She felt her smile falter and her brow pucker at his final words.

“Well,” Dr. Graves said to her father. “Why don’t I show you the
way.” He glanced back at Francis, brows raised. “Mr. Baylor?”

Francis was still looking at Lilly. “I shall be along directly. I shall
just see Miss Haswell out. Hail a hackney for her.”

Dr. Graves nodded, stiffly resigned. “Very well.” And led her
father away.

With a sweep of his hand, Francis gestured Lilly toward the
entrance and walked beside her. She was filled with nervous anticipation at being alone with him. Would he say anything? Should she?
Her palms were damp, while her mouth felt suddenly dry.

“Staying with your aunt and uncle?” he asked.

“Yes. In Mayfair.”

He nodded. “How does Mrs. Mimpurse fare?”

“As well as can be expected. Still wearing her mourning,
though.”

Somberly, he reached over and pressed her hand. Her whole arm
tingled. “Again, I am sorry I was not there.”

She nodded her understanding, disappointed he had released her
hand so quickly. An awkward silence followed, broken only by the
sound of their echoing footfalls. They had never been so stiff and
formal in one another’s company before. Had it been too long? Were
things irreparable between them?

As they emerged through the columns into the courtyard, Lilly
asked too brightly, “And how are the Lipperts?”

He pursed his lips. “Fine, last I saw them.” They reached the
gutter and Francis hailed a hackney carriage approaching from up the
street. “I am afraid I haven’t visited of late. I’ve been busy preparing for exams.” He turned to look at her, hesitated, then said, “Your Dr.
Graves has never given his reason for leaving Bedsley Priors. I admit
I wondered. When I received your letter, I deduced it was something
to do with Foster and the fire. I suppose he is waiting until he fully
establishes himself here before-“

The hackney driver reined in his horse beside them, the sound of
hooves and his “Whoa now” interrupting their conversation.

The jarvey leapt down and opened the carriage door. Francis gave
the driver the direction and handed him Lilly’s valise. Francis offered
her his hand.

She accepted it and stepped up into the carriage. She held on tightly
for a fleeting moment, then let go. “Thank you,” she murmured. Why
could she not find the words? Tell him she’d been wrong?

The driver climbed back to his perch as Lilly took a seat and
looked down at Francis from the open window.

Last chance, Lill, she thought. Say something. Say something now.
Heart hammering, she opened her mouth and managed two breathless
syllables. “Francis?”

He lifted his chin to meet her gaze, his brown eyes expectant.

She spoke the words before she lost her courage. “He isn’t my Dr.
Graves.”

His eyes searched hers. The jarvey cracked his whip and the
carriage lurched away.

When they reached Mayfair, the driver handed her down on her
aunt and uncle’s street. She tried to pay the jarvey, but he waved her
away, saying the gentleman had already done so. Francis, who had
always been so careful with his money. Now she realized he had been
saving for his education all along. She picked up her valise and paused
to take in the tall facade of the building. The stately white townhouse
was still familiar, of course. Yet how long ago it seemed since she had
thought of it as home.

She walked up the steps and was let in by stony-faced Fletcher, who
barely concealed a smile at seeing her. Dupree dashed down the stairs
and seemed about to embrace her, then thought the better of it and curtsied instead. Her aunt and uncle did embrace her and welcomed
her warmly. How good it was to see them all again.

Stepping into her former room in the Elliotts’ home was like visiting a museum of the past. Her best ball gowns, slippers, and hair
ornaments were all as she had left them relics of another age -a day
back agone. On the dressing table was a clipping from the Times, which
announced the wedding of Roger Bromley and Susan Whittier. Lilly
grinned ruefully. She hoped Roger would finally be happy.

Before going to sleep, she slid to her knees beside the bed. Something, she realized, she had not done a single time while she had lived
here those eighteen months. Now she couldn’t imagine not doing so.

She prayed for her father, far from home, and for the doctors and
apothecaries who would endeavor to help him. She prayed for Francis
and Dr. Graves. She prayed for Charlie, Maude Mimpurse, and her
mother, wherever she was.

Then she climbed into the soft, lofty featherbed with a sigh of
pleasure.

Her aunt and uncle had planned a full week of events and outings.
Lilly would have liked to visit Guy’s again while she was in town, to
see how her father was getting on. But he had been adamant that she
not worry about him that she allow the doctors to do their work
while she enjoyed herself in London. She would do her best to honor
his request.

The dear Elliotts no doubt hoped Lilly would yet return to them
to stay. But Lilly knew then that she would not. Not for anything
longer than a visit. As much as she enjoyed London, Bedsley Priors
was, after all, home.

Remember, it’s as easy to marry a rich woman as a poor woman.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

I everal months later, on a wet day in late spring, Lilly stood upon
1_ I Grey’s Hill, taking in the damp vale, the canal and the village
her village below. The bluebells and plum trees were in bloom, and
the mist carried the honeyed scents of their blossoms.

She was mildly surprised to see Mr. Shuttleworth climbing the
footpath toward her. Reaching the summit, he paused to catch his
breath. “I’ve become too sedentary. This mound seems a veritable
mountain this morning.”

“Good day, Mr. Shuttleworth.”

He bowed. “Miss Haswell. How fares your father?”

“He is doing quite well.”

“I am pleased to hear it.”

In London, her father had undergone several courses of treatment aconite inhalation among them and had returned home
greatly restored. The demise of Haswell’s had produced that silver lining at least. She returned her gaze to the village below, wearing a
veil of mist.

“A haypenny for your thoughts,” he said.

Quietly, she admitted, “I was thinking about Mary.”

He nodded, his features pinched as if in sudden pain. “You must
despise me, Miss Haswell. For I know I disappointed your friend.”

He picked up a handful of chalk and pebbles in one hand, and with
the other, tossed them as far as he could not far at all. “I suppose I
am a coward. But the thought of becoming attached to any woman,
dear though she may be, who might succumb at any moment … I
could not do it.”

Do any of us know the number of our days? Lilly thought, but
refrained from saying so. She watched as he dusted his hands, unaware
that he had gotten chalk on his usually immaculate coat. “I believe I
understand, Mr. Shuttleworth, and I know Mary did. But for my part,
I would give anything to have a little more time with her, no matter
the cost or risk.”

He looked at her, then away again toward the village. He inhaled
a long breath. “You were great friends.”

“More than friends. Sisters.”

He lifted his chin. “Ah. I heard the tale, but was not certain I was
supposed to know.”

“I am glad you know. Did you not once tell us we could be
sisters?”

“Yes, angels the both of you. Sisters in spirit.”

He was right in a sense. She and Mary had been like sisters even
before they knew they were related by blood.

“She was an excellent girl. Truly. I regret I did not tell her so
more often.”

Tears brightened his dark eyes, and Lilly felt answering tears fill
her own. Impulsively, she reached over and squeezed his hand. “So
do I.”

He looked down at their clasped hands, then turned his gaze to
the canal below. “I should tell you I am leaving Bedsley Priors.”

Lilly slowly shook her head. Must everybody leave? “I cannot say
I am surprised, but I am sorry to hear it.”

“Are you? Then perhaps you ought to come with me. See more
of the world, as you once longed to do. I feel the sea calling to me and
must visit her again. Why not come along? There is less to keep you
here now, is there not?”

An incredulous laugh escaped her. “Mr. Shuttleworth! I know
you have never concerned yourself with the rules of polite society, but
even you must see the impropriety of such a suggestion.”

He grinned ruefully, and she smiled in return.

“I do enjoy your company, Mr. Shuttleworth, and will miss it
more than you know. But …” She sighed. “This is my home. I am
at last content here. I wonder,” she asked kindly, “if you shall ever be
content anywhere? “

She spoke from genuine concern and was relieved when he seemed
to take no offense.

“I wonder that as well.” He looked out to the horizon. “But I cannot
help thinking I will find it. Someday, somewhere, beyond that hill, or
the next. In the next county or the next port….”

She nodded thoughtfully. “For my part, I would not wish to live
always on the move, a few years here and there. Perhaps once, but
no longer. I have become quite attached to Bedsley Priors since my
London days.”

“Yes, sometimes we must lose something … someone … before
we realize its worth.”

She remembered Francis once saying something similar. They
were silent several moments, each one thinking of his own losses.
Finally she asked, “How soon do you leave?”

“As soon as I can manage it. I’ve received an offer from the advertisement I placed in the Times. If all goes as planned, I shall be selling
out and moving on in no more than a fortnight.”