The Apothecary's Daughter Part 21

She was taken aback by his dour demeanor.

Mrs. Mimpurse stood in the doorway behind her. "I've brought a nice chicken-and-leek stew for your supper."

"I've told you don't fuss over me, Maude." Her father's voice was rough and sharp. "I don't need your charity."

Maude sniffed. "Charity, indeed. I'd not waste it on a sour cabbage like you. The food is for Miss Lilly here, home after these many months. And if you were half a gentleman, you would come to the table and take a proper meal with your daughter to welcome her home."

"I've never claimed to be a gentleman."

"As well I know, and no wonder."

He looked up at her, irritation and pain in his expression. Still, when Mrs. Mimpurse came and took one elbow, instructing Lilly to take the other, he allowed the two women to help him up and into the laboratory-kitchen. He sat heavily in the chair.

"Happy?" he asked.

"Deliriously." Mrs. Mimpurse matched her father's sarcasm.

"Now will you be gone, you meddlesome woman."

"With pleasure, you ungrateful ogre."

Mrs. Mimpurse hesitated at the door, looking back at them, the pained concern in her eyes not quite concealed by her tart barbs.

All the bowls were dirty, but Lilly managed to find two mugs that would suffice for their stew.

"She wrote to you, did she?" her father asked.

"Yes, and I am grateful she did."

"What did she say? Must have been pretty bad to bring you home with the season still on."

"She only said that you were not yourself. Which appears to be the understatement of all time. What is wrong, Father? What has happened?"

"Food is getting cold."

They ate a few bites in a silence broken only by the ticks of the clock. Lilly glanced up at the old wall-mounted timepiece. "Where is Charlie? Why is he not home for supper?"

Even as she asked, she guessed there hadn't been much supper to come home to for some time. Was he eating with Mary and Mrs. Mimpurse?

"Charlie doesn't live here anymore."

Her father could hardly have stunned her more. "What? Where is he?"

"Gone to Marlow House. Works as an undergardener there."

Her spoon clanked against the mug. She shuddered to think of her sweet, simple brother under the power of Roderick Marlow or his rough, angry gardener.

"But why, Father? When you obviously need his help more than ever. Especially with Francis gone."

He shrugged and laid aside his spoon.

"Eat more, Father. You are as thin as I've ever seen you."

He shook his head, his thoughts clearly far from food. "I am sorry you ve come.

Her heart fell.

"Sorry and glad together," he amended. He reached across the small table toward her hand, then hesitated short of touching her. He pulled back and rose shakily from the table. She hurried to her feet and took his elbow to steady him, helping him back to his makeshift bed in the surgery.

"Father, I " She determined to leave any judgmental words unspoken. "I have never seen you like this."

"I wish you had not. Or anybody else for that matter." He sat heavily on the cot. "I shall master it by and by. I must."

"Is there anything you need?" she asked.

"Just quiet. And time alone."

Lilly went to the door, then turned back to look at him. She saw him bring a new bottle to his lips, recork it, and hold it close to his chest as he lay back on the bed. The terrible act sliced at her. He embraced that bottle like a treasure. While he had not embraced her at all.

The greatest pill taker on record appears to have been one Jessup, who died in 1814. He is stated to have swallowed 226,934 pills and 40, 000 bottles of mixture, all supplied by an apothecary of Bottesford.

C. J.S. THOMPSON, MYSTERY AND ART OF THE APOTHECARY.

CHAPTER TS.

illy tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep. At least her chamber was reasonably tidy, although she doubted anyone had dusted or aired the bed in some time. Still, she could not get comfortable. She had been spoiled, she supposed, by the high, luxurious feather bed she'd enjoyed in London. Or perhaps it was only that her mind could not rest. What was she to do about Charlie? About Father? About the shop her father's only livelihood? If she spent a fortnight cleaning and restocking it, would it only fall to shambles again when she returned to London? Even if Charlie helped and she somehow convinced Francis to return, could they compete with the new surgeon-apothecary and his modern, fully stocked shop?

She sighed heavily, overwhelming dread filling her. There was just too much too much uncertainty and too much to accomplish in too little time. A floor-to-ceiling cleaning of the shop and living quarters was needed, and who knew what shape the garden was in. There were many orders to be placed, but was there even money to pay for stock? Or had her father drunk it all away? It was too much for one person to manage. Too much for her at any rate. Finally, the heavy weight pressed down on her, and to escape it, she found sleep at last.

In the morning, she arose early, dressed in her simplest frock, pinned up her hair in a plain coil, and went downstairs. First things first. A great deal of hot coffee for her father and hot water for a bath and shave.

She walked quietly across the shop in the dim light of dawn. Again the enormity of the task ahead weighed on her. Hopeless.

She gingerly pushed open the surgery door. Her father lay sprawled on the cot, much as she had left him the night before. The bottle she had seen him clutch now lay empty beside him in bed. She crept closer. And in the light beginning to seep through the window, she noticed that the bottle bore no label. What is his poison of choice? she wondered. She bent low, gently tugged the bottle from his grasp, and brought it to her nose and sniffed. She knew little of liquor, but this biting acrid smell baffled her.

She heard a sound, the rattling of a door, and started. She was not ready to face any would-be patients yet and the embarra.s.sed explanations that would certainly follow. The door rattled again.

"Father? Father, wake up."

"Hmm? "

"Father, time to get up. Someone is at the door."

He did not respond.

Sighing, she stepped from the surgery into the shop, rehearsing the words to turn whomever it was away. Through the shopwindow, she saw Mrs. Mimpurse standing there. Why had she not come to the garden door as usual? As Lilly crossed the shop, she was surprised to glimpse two others, no three, no four others with her. Was Maude trying to help by bringing customers? Did she not realize neither the shop nor her father were in any condition to serve anybody?

She opened the door. Before she could say anything, Mrs. Mimpurse bustled in, followed by her kitchen maid, Jane, each carrying a mop and bucket. Behind them, Mary bore a basket of biscuits and m.u.f.fins. Then came sharp-tongued Mrs. Kilgrove; Mr. Baisley, the vicar; and old Arthur Owen with a hen under his arm.

"Put that bird in the garden, Mr. Owen," Mrs. Kilgrove ordered. "We are here to right the place, not foul it with fowl."

Lilly was too speechless to say anything at all.

Then came her brother, bounding through the door.

"Charlie! "

He stretched his arms as though he might embrace her, but ended by awkwardly patting her shoulders instead.

"Mrs. M. sent word you'd come home, Lilly. It's happy I am to see you.

"And I you, Charlie. How you have grown! "

" *At I have. And I am to see what I can do to right the garden. I've only my half day, but I'm a fast worker, I am."

There was so much she wanted to say to him, to ask him, but he was already walking through the shop on his way back to the garden. As he pa.s.sed, Mrs. Kilgrove greeted him, her voice full of rare warmth.

Lilly was about to shut the door when one more caller approached. It was a sheepish Francis Baylor, hat in hand.

"Might I help as well?" he asked.

Again she marveled at how changed he was. Gone were the wild waves of hair in constant need of cutting. Gone the gangly limbs, the ill-fitting clothes. In their place stood a handsome, well-turned-out traitor.

She asked in her haughtiest voice, "What about Shuttleworth's?"

"I've asked for the day off. Mr. Shuttleworth is very obliging."

"Is he?"

He bit his lip. "I am sorry, Lilly."

"It is Miss Haswell, if you please, Mr. Baylor."

He tilted his head in question.

"We are too grown for Christian names."

"I do not expect you to call me mister."

"Why not? Miss Robbins did."

"You are not Miss Robbins."

"I am quite aware of that." He had never treated her with such gentlemanly deference. Nor such foolish awe.

"I meant only that you and I are old friends. At least I hope we are.

"Yes, well," she huffed. "I am in no position to refuse anybody's help, so do come in."

They worked steadily for several hours, Maude directing and Lilly answering questions as best she could as to where things went and what could be salvaged and what must be thrown away.

At one point the vicar asked quietly, "Your father, Miss Haswell. Is he ill, I wonder? He a.s.sures me he is perfectly well whenever I call but we have not seen him in church these many months."

"I am sorry to hear that." Though who was she to judge when she and her aunt and uncle had rarely attended church either, save for holidays. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to pray for my father, Mr. Baisley."

"Indeed I have. Is he here that I might pray for him now?"

She hesitated. "Well a Let me pop in first, to see if he is a dressed for callers."

She walked to the surgery door, then paused to paste on a false smile. "Father! It's wonderful," she said as she stepped inside. "Several of our neighbors have come to help tidy the place. Charlie is working in the garden, and Mr. Owen has even brought us a hen!"

"Has he an outstanding bill he cannot pay with coin?" he asked dully.

"No. Just being neighborly. And Mr. Baisley is here and would like to pray for you. May I send him in?"

He pulled a grimace. "I don't need some cleric mumbling incantations over me. I only need a few more days to get my strength back."

"But-"

"No."

She bit her lip but saw it was futile to argue further. She took a deep breath and let herself from the room.

She stepped toward the vicar. "He is not dressed for callers, I am afraid. But please, do include him in your prayers."

"Indeed I shall, Miss Haswell." He looked at her kindly. "And you as well."