The Apothecary's Daughter Part 10

"He might have died."

"Do not be so dramatic. It was only a peppermint, for goodness' sake."

"Probably choked on it when that soprano hit her high note," Uncle Elliott said dryly. "I know I almost did."

"Mr. Elliott. There is nothing amusing about this. All the dressmakers and dancing masters, all the hours of language, drawing, and deportment. All our efforts, ruined."

"Dear lady, now who is being dramatic? It cannot be as bad as all that. Our Lillian will be a heroine, at least among those with brains in their heads."

"You don't know what you are saying, Mr. Elliott."

"Come now. Even if a few mavens look down on her actions of one evening, they shall forget soon enough."

"I would not depend upon it." Her aunt's voice was haughty and defeated at once. "In that regard, society and Lillian have much in common. They both remember everything."

The art of medicine consists of amusing the patients while Nature cures the disease.

VOLTAIRE.

CHAPTER 8.

I ^) n a fine afternoon two days later, Lilly Joined Christina PriceWinters for a drive through Berkeley Square in a sleek open landau. Tall trees stood sentry around the square, their trunks ringed by daffodils. The air was filled with low laughter and birdsong.

Christina joked and shared confidences as though the coachman were deaf, or as intelligent as the two horses he reined. Lilly shifted uncomfortably on the fine leather seat.

"Look!" Christina pointed across the square. "There's William!"

Christina waved and, beside her, Lilly followed suit. William came jogging across the green toward them. She was surprised to see Mr. Graves striding more sedately several yards behind.

"Hold there, Barker! " Will called to the driver, who halted the pair of bays. Reaching them, Will grasped the landau's door and beamed up at them. "I told Graves we'd find you two trolling the park for admirers."

"We are doing no such thing," Christina snapped playfully.

Mr. Graves joined them and appeared decidedly uncomfortable. Will looked at Lilly and teased, "Or has Miss Haswell been saving lives again? "

Lilly glanced at Mr. Graves, then away. "No, nothing of the kind."

Will did not seem to notice her discomfort. "We've just come from Father, who, I am happy to report, is in excellent health and spirits."

"Yes," Lilly said. "I paid a call this morning and was relieved to find him so."

Will grinned. "Checking on your patient, were you?"

Again she glanced at Graves, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.

"No. Simply to a.s.sure myself he is well."

"And he is, thanks to you." Will slapped the edge of the landau. "He confided he was perfectly able to be up and about, but was enjoying Mother fussing over him too much to make the effort. If Father's throat is sore, it is because he cannot cease singing your praises."

Lilly felt her cheeks flush.

"Do come down, and let us go into Gunter's for an ice," Will urged. "What do you say? Perfect weather for it."

Christina looked at Lilly, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"As you like."

Will opened the carriage door and offered a hand in helping the ladies down.

"Wait for us, Barker," he instructed the coachman. "We shall want the carriage for the return home."

"Very good, sir."

Mr. Graves stood awkwardly silent. Will glanced at him, then offered his arm to his sister. "Come, Chrissy. Let us you and I go in and purchase an ice for each of our friends here."

Lilly began to object. "You needn't-"

"The least we can do," Will a.s.sured her. "That is, unless you plan to send us a bill?"

Lilly again felt her cheeks burn. "Of course not."

Brother and sister left Christina sending a look over her shoulder that was part confusion and part speculation over her brother's maneuverings.

Lilly prepared for an awkward wait.

"Shall we walk, Miss Haswell?" Mr. Graves asked suddenly.

She inhaled, relieved. "Thank you. Yes."

Carefully skirting parked carriages and sidestepping horse droppings, they left the paving and walked into the square's central garden. There they strolled under the scant shade of young maple trees, hands behind their backs.

After several minutes, Mr. Graves said, "You are to be commended for your quick actions the other night, Miss Haswell."

She looked up at his handsome, unreadable profile. "Thank you.

"May I ask how you knew what to do?"

Lilly hesitated. Her aunt had long counseled her not to offer details about her upbringing nor her father's trade. And who knew how this Oxford-trained physician would view an apothecary, let alone his daughter. Besides, her actions during the concert were not informed by her life as an apothecary's daughter. At least, not directly. Had the man's heart seized and she'd had to administer digitalis, that would have been another case entirely.

She settled for the most relevant truth. "My dearest friend suffers from falling sickness."

"Epilepsy?" His quick glance was grim. "I am sorry to hear it. Is she in an inst.i.tution?"

"Heavens no. Why should she be?"

"It is very common here in London, depending on the severity of the fits."

"Well, it is not common in Bedsley Priors to lock away a lovely, clever person just because she has been, on rare occasion, seized by fits beyond her control."

Mr. Graves had to hurry to catch up with her agitated strides. "I did not mean to give offense."

"How can I not take offense at such an idea? Mary Mimpurse is a blessing to all who know her. She helps everyone and hurts no one."

He asked gently. "No one but herself?"

Lilly sighed and forced herself to slow down. "On occasion she has fallen and sprained or bruised a limb. Or has been eating and had something lodge in her throat. Twice I've had to pry out obstructions when her mother was not at hand."

"I see. That explains how you knew what to do for Mr. PriceWinters." He paused. "But not why you did so."

Lilly was confused by the question. "My friend's father needed help."

He stopped walking, and she halted as well, turning to face him.

"I think, Miss Haswell, that any friend of yours is lucky indeed."

She studied his expression and found it sincere. With his pale hair, perfect nose, and golden-lashed eyes of delft blue, Mr. Graves had the face of an angel. The only flaw she noticed was a pair of vertical lines between his eyebrows. He evidently squinted or frowned a great deal.

"I would have done the same for anyone," she said.

"Even someone like me?" Dimples framed each side of his wry grin.

"Even you." Goodness. If not for the unfashionable moustache, he might have been prettier than she was.

They resumed their stroll, walking in silence for several moments, relishing the sunshine and the fairlike atmosphere of the popular park.

He cleared his throat. "You were kind not to expose me."

"You were kind to defend me."

He breathed in through his nose. "I am not kind, Miss Haswell. I felt morally compelled to speak. Still, I almost did not, fearing recrimination for my inaction. I believe Dr. Porter was too angry with you to realize."

Or too intoxicated.

"Why was he so angry?"

"I fear most physicians are defensive these days. You are not likely aware, but there is a great deal of contention between the various branches of medicine physicians, surgeons, apothecaries. Physicians are the most qualified to treat and prescribe, but that does not stop the others from horning in on physicians' rightful domain."

Lilly bit down on her lip, hard, to keep from speaking up, from defending her father's rights and skills.

"Even now," Mr. Graves continued, "Parliament is debating who should be allowed to do what. If men like Dr. Porter have their way, apothecaries will be able to do no more than fill the scripts given them by physicians. They can throw in their lot with the chemists."

Anger rose up in her, but she held it in check. "And do you agree with this a.s.sessment, sir?"

He lifted a shrug. "I am not yet certain what to think. Physicians alone are university-educated. Why, anyone with a mortar and pestle can hang a shingle and call himself an apothecary."

She shook her head. "But there are long traditions of apprenticeship, and training with a master at the Apothecaries' Society, which has its own laboratory and physic gardena."

He stopped walking and stared at her.

"Or so I understand."

Quickly, she walked on and changed the subject. "May I ask a why did you not act when Mr. Price-Winters fell?"

He sighed. "Fear again my old nemesis."

"Fear of what?"

He shrugged. "Fear of authority, fear of failing, fear of consequences a even fear of dancing with a beautiful woman."

Her stomach fluttered. "Goodness," she said breathlessly. "I wonder you want to be a physician at all."

"It is what my father wants. He determined each of our professions. My elder brother will take over the running of Father's estate, though he would have preferred the church. My second brother is a reluctant solicitor here in town. And I shall be a physician."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "I am not yet licensed, Miss Haswell. I resolutely grasp the hope that when that doc.u.ment is in my hand, proclaiming for all the world that I am a fully qualified, capable physician, I shall finally be just that."

Oh dear. She asked gently, "And if not?"

"It does not bear thinking about. My family, my father a No. I must overcome and succeed."

Dipping her head, she said, "Then I shall pray for you, Dr. Graves."

She saw him wince.

"Is it the prayer you object to, or the form of address?"

"Forgive me. You may address me as doctor if you like, but I fear it will be some time until I am accustomed to it."