The Apothecary's Daughter Part 17

"But do you remember his name?" Mr. Bromley persisted. "I do so detest not remembering a name."

Lilly paused where she stood at her place. She glanced at her aunt, but Ruth Elliott looked away. There was nothing for it.

"His name is Charles Haswell, sir," Lilly said. "My father."

She glanced over and glimpsed Roger Bromley staring at her and Dr. Graves shaking his head.

At the conclusion of the unsettling evening, Lilly walked Dr. Graves to the door.

"Well, a night of surprises all around," he began. "An apothecary's daughter a" He took a breath. "It all makes sense now. Your actions with Mr. Price-Winters, your familiarity with Latin a Why did you not tell me?"

"My aunt prefers I not speak of it."

"Why? So you might capture a gentleman under false pretenses?"

She turned to look at him, anger and resolution kindling in her chest. "Please do not consider yourself captured, Dr. Graves. You are perfectly free."

He opened his mouth but closed it again, saying nothing. He seemed about to try again when Roger Bromley let himself from the dining room, quietly closing the door on the gentlemen still within. Her aunt and Mrs. Bromley were still in the drawing room, her aunt no doubt doing her best to minimize the damage.

Dr. Graves bowed stiffly. "Then I will bid you good-night. Miss Haswell. Bromley."

When the door shut behind Dr. Graves, Roger Bromley took her arm and gently led her to a padded bench near the stairs. Once she was seated, he sat beside her.

"Sorry about that. I don't think my parents meant to badger you. Big on pedigree, my mother. Father is actually impressed. 'The daughter of a real miracle worker,' he said. 'Handy to have one of those in the family.' " He glanced at her as the implication of his words registered. "I have to say I quite agree." He took her hand in his. "I don't care about any of it."

But he doesn't know it all, Lilly thought, or he might care a great deal.

"I like you as you are, Miss Haswell. So free from all the sn.o.bbery and airs of my set." He grinned. "And not a trial to look at either."

Her heart momentarily surged, but then she thought of her unspoken secrets, and his unresolved feelings for another. She smiled gently. "Mr. Bromley, thank you. But you said it yourself. You like me. And certainly I like you. But there is another, I think, whom you love."

"Miss Whittier, you mean?"

She nodded. "You cannot deny it. Your face gives you away whenever you look at her."

He grimaced. "But she will never accept me. She has already said as much."

"She might. You mustn't give up hope. She hasn't married anyone else, has she?"

He all but groaned, "No."

"You are a true gentleman, Mr. Bromley. Any woman would be blessed to own your heart."

"Miss Whittier would not agree with you."

"At least not yet."

She squeezed his hand before extracting her own. "Perhaps there is something we can do to help things along."

The recipient paid dearly a there was a fourpenny charge for the typical letter consisting of one large sheet of paper folded several times and sealed with wax.

-SHARON LAUDERMILK AND TERESA HAMLIN, THE REGENCY COMPANION.

CHAPTER 14.

er uncle came into the library the following Monday and sat in -the chair opposite her. His shoulders were hunched, elbows on his knees, and his face was wrinkled in deep thought.

She lowered The Family Robinson Crusoe, which she had acquired from the nearby circulating library, and steeled herself for another reprisal of Sat.u.r.day night's failures.

For several moments, he seemed to study his clenched hands. "Lillian, when we spoke about the necklace, you made it clear you would like to know everything possible about your mother, even if it were a unpleasant?"

"Yes." Lilly leaned forward. "Have you heard something? Did she contact you again?"

He shook his head. "What I have to tell you happened some three years ago now." He held up his hand, forestalling her protest before it could form. "I know but until the business with the necklace I never considered telling you."

He met her eyes directly. "I told you the truth, my dear. Your mother came to see me only that one time, but-"

"She wrote to you?"

"No, Lillian. If I had a letter from her in my possession I would not keep it from you. She did not write to me, but I did receive a letter concerning her. That is, concerning lodgings she was hoping to let. The landlord required a reference, and she must have given my name."

"Did you supply a reference?"

"I did. I made it clear I had no knowledge of her recent occupation or conduct, but that in her younger days she was a good girl from a respectable family."

"And that was all? "

He shrugged. "I a.s.sume she secured the lodgings but, of course, had no way of knowing."

"Have you the address of these lodgings?" Lilly's voice rose in excitement.

"I am getting to that, my dear. Before I brought this to your attention, I thought I had better see if I still had the letter. I could not find it, but my clerk did find, in an old ledger, a listing of the postage he paid to receive the reference request."

He handed her a slip of paper. "The street name and number of the lodging house."

Lilly stared down at the few numbers and words inked on the page in her uncle's small precise hand.

Her own hand trembled and her heart pounded. Could she really go and knock on her mother's door? Pay a call as to an old friend? Would she even be received? Her hand began perspiring at the thought of it, and she laid the paper on the table to keep from spoiling it.

"Will you go with me?" she asked in a voice she barely recognized-the voice of a very young girl.

The address was in a court off Fleet Street, in an area of narrow, modest houses.

Her uncle used his umbrella handle to rap on the door, as if he feared touching the surface would soil his gloves. Lilly held her breath. After a few tense moments, the door opened and a woman with silverstreaked black hair answered, dressed in a gown that had once been fine but appeared to Lilly to be nearly a decade out of fashion.

"Yes?"

"Good day, madam. We are looking for a lodger of yours, a Mrs. Rosamond Haswell?"

"No one *ere by that name."

"Perhaps she used her maiden name, Elliott?"

"Look, this ain't no tenement slum, mind. We just has the one lodger at a time, see, in the rooms upstairs. Helps us live comfortable, now the children are gone."

"I understand, but you wrote to me and asked for a reference for Rosamond-"

"Oh, mayhap you mean Rosa? She is long gone. It's Tommy Baker now.

Rosa? Disappointment tinged with relief washed over Lilly. "How long ago did she leave? "

"Must be above two years now. Maybe more. Couldn't keep up with the rent, see. She took in pupils while she were here merchants' daughters and the like but the pay weren't much. She ain't in any trouble, is she?"

"Not that we are aware of. Do you know where she went? "

"Heavens no." The woman's brow wrinkled. "She got herself married, I believe. To some officer, I think it were."

Married? Then it cannot be her. Can it?

"This husband of hers," her uncle asked through gritted teeth. "Do you recall his surname?"

"I'm lucky to recall what I *ad for tea, let alone something what happened years ago."

"Was it Quincy, perhaps?" Lilly asked, avoiding her uncle's startled look.

The woman's eyes narrowed in thought. "Don't ring no bells, no."

"Here is my card," Uncle Elliott said. "Should something come to you, please send word. I shall reimburse you for your trouble."

Lilly thought the woman's murmur of agreement lacked conviction.

As they walked away, Lilly's mind was reeling. Her mother, "married" to another man? She could not credit it. Her uncle strode stiffly at her side, face grim. If this was difficult for her to believe, what a blow it must be for a man such as he to learn that his sister may have sunk so low.

"Perhaps the woman had it wrong," Lilly began. "She said it herself, she has a poor memory. Perhaps 'Rosa' wasn't Mother at all."

He shook his head. "Do you now see why I was reluctant to come? Why I have avoided involving your aunt in these affairs?"

"I do see. Still, I am thankful to you. Painful as it was."

"Shall we speak of it no further?"

"Very well."

His eyes fixed on a shop across the street. "I know. Let us stop in that library there. I think you've read every novel in the one near us. A new book might be just the diversion we need after today's errand."

Lilly nodded her agreement. She already had a new book but could always use another. She gathered her uncle needed this diversion as much as she did.

He opened the door for her and she stepped inside. The lofty room was filled floor to ceiling with books. This library was not as elegant as the one they frequented, but it certainly held a wide selection.

In her peripheral vision, she saw a clerk hail her. "Mrs. Wells! How good to- Oh, forgive me." The thin young man faltered. "I thought you were someone else."

Lilly was instantly alert. "Who? " she prompted. "A Mrs. Wells, I believe you said?" Who was Wells?

He shook his head, bemused. "You do look a great deal like her. Henry?" he called to an a.s.sociate who stood on a rolling ladder, replacing a book on a high shelf. "Come here, man."

The second clerk, somewhat older and rounder, clambered down and joined them.

"Does this lady not look a great deal like our friend Mrs. Wells? " the first asked.

"Indeed she does. Though younger to be sure."

Lilly met her uncle's gaze.

"Haven't seen that lady in some time, though," Henry said. "Have you?"

"No. Must be above a half year since I saw her. Thank you, Henry."

The second clerk returned to the shelves, and her uncle excused himself to peruse the history section.

"Now." The first clerk rubbed his palms together. "Is there something I can help you find, miss?"

Curious, Lilly asked, "What would your Mrs. Wells want?"

The young clerk thought. "f.a.n.n.y Burney is a favorite of hers. Though she has also borrowed every volume of Scott and Coleridge we've had in. Never knew a keener reader. I believe she is a schoolmistress of some sort."

"And have you records of what she last read?"

He looked at her, clearly perplexed. "We have records, of course, but-"