The Apothecary's Daughter Part 20

f Lilly expected things to be the same as ever in Bedsley Priors, she was much mistaken. During the year and a half she had been gone, the village as well as neighboring Honeystreet had grown with the boom of ca.n.a.l traffic. New businesses and thatched cottages had been built to accommodate additional sawmill workers, barge builders, and their families. Huntley's Yard, bordering the ca.n.a.l, was now a bustling enclave of saw pits, paint shops, and even a cobbler and undertaker. The two villages had developed and spread until all that divided the once separate communities was the narrow Sands Road.

All this Lilly took in from the coach window, the startling scene narrated by a kindly pa.s.senger who introduced herself as the proprietor of a new millinery shop in town.

Lilly was too stunned to say much of anything. Was this why her father had not answered recent letters? Had his shop become so busy that he simply had no time to write?

Stepping down from the coach in front of the Hare and Hounds, she waited until the coachman handed down her valise and carpetbag. Then she walked around the tall coach, her eyes hungry for the first sight of her father's shop, the Haswell sign, the many-paned window. Eager, too, for the smells and sounds, the pleasant hum of cures discussed and remedies heeded. She walked quickly across the green, and there it was. The bowed window, flaking white paint, the sign hanging from one chain. She wondered when the other side had fallen. She hesitated at the window, noticing the display inside was spa.r.s.e and dusty. Her brow furrowed. Where were all the customers, all the new villagers she'd heard about? It was not Sunday why was the place empty?

Concern filtered through her mind. Her hand on the door latch, she breathed a prayer and then pushed the door open and closed her eyes to absorb the jangle of the bell. Same as always. She breathed in. Smells flooded her senses all right, but something damp and foul overrode the dried flowers and herbs.

"h.e.l.lo?" she called tentatively, and then more loudly, "Father? Charlie? "

No answer. Alarm began pulsing in her veins.

She walked through the shop, noting with dismay the soiled dispensing counter, and the back counter cluttered with pill dust and used mortars, tools and tiles all in need of a good cleaning. What on earth? Why had Charlie let off with the sweeping and dusting?

A mouse skittered somewhere in the corner. She shivered. With mounting fear and dread, she opened the rear door into the laboratory-kitchen and private quarters. A foul smell charged out to repel her. Dirty dishes, sc.u.mmy pots, dank mortars and funnels were piled in disarray on the sideboard. Had Mrs. Fowler given notice? Or been sacked? She had always kept their private rooms clean, if not orderly. She heard more skittering. Rodent or insect, she could not be certain.

"Fa-ther? " She tried again, her voice breaking. "It's LillianLilly."

She pa.s.sed the narrow chamber where Francis slept and peeked inside. Her heart lurched. The cot wore no bedclothes, the wall pegs were bare, as was the chest of drawers.

She called up the stairs but heard no answer. Remembering the surgery, she returned through the shop and pushed open the surgery door. Papers, bills, and parcels were piled high and obliterated the surface of her father's desk. Soiled plates and a half-eaten roll sat atop the highest stack.

Lilly stopped, hand over her breast. She had found her father at last. Lying on the surgery cot in shirtsleeves and rumpled breeches, jaw unshaven. His mouth hung open, drool forming rivulets at its corners. One arm was flung over his eyes, the other arm hung to the floor, hand clasping an empty bottle.

Dear Lord in heaven a "Father?" She tentatively touched his shoulder. She shook him gently, then with more urgency. "Father! "

He jerked. "What? What is it?" He wiped his mouth, then mumbled, "Be right with you."

His eyes were blurry slits, which opened wider at the sight of her. "Lilly? "

"Yes, of course it is me. What has happened, Father? Are you ill?"

He groaned. "Just a nap."

"It is more than that, clearly. Shall I call for Dr. Foster?"

"No. Not Foster." He rolled to his side and pushed himself up, only to fall back against the thin mattress.

Lilly's heart ached to see him in such a state.

"Just need to sleep."

To sleep it off? she wondered.

Her father had never been given to drink. What had happened to drive him to it? She hoped it had not been her long absence. But if so, why hadn't he written? Unbidden, she thought back to Mr. Bromley's declaration of "the Wiltshire miracle." Famed for having once raised a man from the dead, Charles Haswell could now not even raise himself from the bed.

"Where is Charlie, Father? And Francis?"

He mumbled something, his eyes halfway open and eerily unfocused.

"Where is Francis?" she repeated.

"Old tailor's shop."

"What? " Why would her father's apprentice be at the old haberdashery? It had been closed for years. Perhaps it had reopened during her absence. But even so, why would Francis be there?

Realizing she would get no more answers from her father for a few hours at least, she left him in the surgery, replaced her hat, and stepped back outside, careful to turn the shop sign to Closed.

She saw the coal monger walking on the green and hurried across the High Street to speak to him "Pardon me, Mr. Jones," she said. "Have you seen Francis Baylor? "

"I did. In the apothecary's."

He must be mistaken, Lilly thought. She had just come from there.

Dipping her head politely, she walked on across the green, pa.s.sed the coal merchant, and rounded the butcher's shop. Behind it, she turned down narrow Milk Lane, which housed the old haberdashery and stopped midstride. Hanging there on two st.u.r.dy chains was a shiny new sign declaring, Lionel Shuttleworth, Surgeon-Apothecary.

Heart pounding, she forced one foot in front of the other until she stood just to the side of the big front window. She felt like an awkward spy as she leaned and peered inside. The scene that met her was very like the one she had imagined seeing at Haswell's. Ladies reading labels on blue bottles and brown jars. Men standing around the center counter, waiting to be advised or bled. The shelves spotless, the displays overflowing with patent medicines. From the ceiling hung a shark and a blowfish, glistening in magenta and gold.

She saw the back of a tall gentleman wearing a green fitted coat and buff trousers. He wore his brown hair short at the sides and back, his sideburns neatly trimmed. He cut a dashing figure, this man, who must be the new surgeon-apothecary. He turned, and she saw his profile was handsome indeeda.

Lilly put a hand over her mouth, catching a gasp. For the man was Francis Baylor older and taller and better dressed helping a customer as though he were a doctor himself.

She spun around, but not before she saw him glance up and his eyes widen. She strode away even as she heard the shop door open and rapid footfalls follow her. "Lilly! Miss Haswell!"

She'd wanted to see him, had she not? But perhaps what she had seen answered her questions without a single word being spoken.

Still, she took a deep breath and turned to face him. "Francis," she said coolly.

"Thank heaven you've come. You've seen your father? "

"Yes."

"So you know."

"Know what, exactly? That the apprentice he mentored for years has abandoned him? Gone to work for his compet.i.tor? Put Haswell's out of business?"

"No! It isn't like that!"

"Then what is it like? Were you forced to come here? "

"In a manner of speaking, I was. Your father was unable to pay me "Fickle loyalty! You had a roof over your head, did you not? " She critically eyed the broad shoulders and chest beneath his fitted coat. "You don't look to be starving. Nor dressed in rags. Could you not extend a bit of grace? "

"I did. He hasn't paid me a farthing in six months. My apprenticeship is over. I am a journeyman now, ent.i.tled to wages. I stayed as long as I could, but I must have some means, mustn't I?"

"Why? Your mother makes a tidy living as tallow-chandler, I understand, and she and your sister must have got by well enough all those years you earned nothing as an apprentice."

A young lady in fine flowered bonnet and gown came out of the shop and walked past, a brown-paper-wrapped parcel in her gloved hand. Lilly recognized her at once.

"Mr. Baylor. You disappeared before I could thank you. Most helpful as usual."

He cleared his throat. "You are welcome, Miss Robbins."

My goodness, she's prettier than ever, Lilly thought, relieved to be wearing her nicest carriage dress and fitted spencer. The girl looked her way and curtsied. Lilly stiffly returned the gesture.

"Miss Haswell, h.e.l.lo. Do you know what a wonderful dancer Mr. Baylor has become?"

Lilly dumbly shook her head.

"I have never enjoyed a village fete as well as I did the last. Well, until next time, Mr. Baylor."

He bowed briefly before returning his attention to Lilly.

Watching Dorothea Robbins saunter gracefully down the lane, Lilly shook her head in disgust. Some things never change.

She said, "I see why, or shall I say for whom, you are acquiring means." With that, she turned and stalked away.

She hurried back up Milk Lane and followed the High Street to the coffeehouse, hoping desperately that it too had not fallen into disrepair. What would she do if it were abandoned? If Mrs. Mimpurse and Mary were gone? Please G.o.d, please G.o.d.

She turned the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. Old Mrs. Kilgrove and another matron were coming from the coffeehouse, and candle lamps glowed in the windows. Walking quickly to the door, she pushed it open and stepped inside. She savored the sight of tables filled with customers, the stoked fire, the hum of conversation, the smell of coffee and cinnamon and life.

"Lilly Grace Haswell!"

And suddenly Mrs. Mimpurse was there, ample arms around her, floured bodice pressing close, aromas of nutmeg, ginger, and woodsmoke enveloping her. Lilly embraced her in return, feeling tears fill her eyes.

"I knew you would come, Miss Lilly. I knew it. Thank the good Lord."

Mary came out of the kitchen and stood on the threshold, wiping her hands on a cloth. She hung back, eyeing her almost warily. Lilly disentangled herself from Mrs. Mimpurse and walked close to Mary. "I have missed you."

"Have you?"

Lilly nodded and opened her arms, and Mary accepted her embrace. "And I you."

"Mary, my lovely," Mrs. Mimpurse said quietly, "I am afraid I must ask you to mind the place alone for a few minutes."

Mary nodded in grim understanding. Mrs. Mimpurse took Lilly's hand and led her up the stairs into their small sitting room. She moved with youthful energy and grace, though she was a contemporary of her father. "Be seated, my dear. Can I get you something to eat? Coffee? Tea?"

Lilly shook her head, a lump rising in her throat and hands perspiring at whatever news Mrs. Mimpurse hesitated to impart.

"You've been home?" she asked.

Lilly nodded.

Mrs. Mimpurse gave her head a stern little shake. "I would have written sooner, but your father forbade it. Said to leave you be, and not to worry you. But a well, have you seen him?"

Again Lilly nodded.

"The shop has been all but closed these last days. If you don't put it to rights, I fear Haswell's will never recover."

"So this has been going on for some time?"

"I am afraid so."

"What has brought it on?"

"I do not quite know. He hasn't been himself for months. Then the new surgeon-apothecary came, and it seemed to lay him very low."

"But, is he a Is he really a ?"

"Tippling? I don't know what all ails him. He refuses to see Dr. Foster."

"I know. I suggested it also, but he was quite adamant against it."

"Such bad blood between the two of them."

"And now Francis has left him. How could he?"

"Do not judge him harshly, my dear. Your father was very cross toward the end. I think he wanted to be rid of him. Let Mrs. Fowler go as well, so he could sink and stew himself in private. Wouldn't let anyone help."

"I don't understand."

"Well, you're home now." Mrs. Mimpurse smiled bravely. "And if anyone can set Haswell's to rights, it's you."

Lilly did not share the woman's confidence.

Mrs. Mimpurse insisted on going home with her, carrying a pot of stew while Lilly carried two loaves of cottage bread. They crossed the narrow mews between the two establishments and entered through the garden.

"Good gracious," Mrs. Mimpurse said, as they stepped into the laboratory-kitchen. "It is worse than I thought."

Lilly took off her hat as she made her way to the surgery. Her father sat on the edge of the cot, head in hands, in the same wrinkled clothes.

"Father, are you feeling any better?"

"As I said, I am quite well. Why have you come?"