The Apothecary's Daughter Part 23

He leaned in close across the table. "The bottle. I extracted a few remaining drops of liquid. Definitely contains alcohol."

Her heart fell. She felt shame flush her features.

"As well as laudanum."

She looked down at her plate, all appet.i.te fleeing.

"But I believe its primary purpose is not to intoxicate, but rather to tranquilize."

She looked over at the man.

"I surmise the bottle is your father's and is one of many?"

She darted a look at Francis, but Mr. Shuttleworth raised a hand. "Mr. Baylor did not tell me, but it seems fairly obvious. I have been aware of your father's reclusive state. Have even called in, only to have my concern rebuffed."

"I am sorry."

"Never mind." Mr. Shuttleworth dismissed her apology with a wave of his fork. "I saw him on the street several weeks ago, and his features were quite pinched. I wondered then if he was in a great deal of pain. And I am more convinced now. The mixture is a pain reliever to be sure, but what else it is, I am not completely certain."

"But it is physic, you think? Not simply a drink?"

"I believe so, yes. Perhaps some new patent medicine, or more likely, something of his own creation. You might look and see what simples he leaves about or is running low on." He leaned back expressively, "Or, you could simply ask him."

Lilly took a bite of chicken in lieu of answering. Mr. Shuttleworth did not know her father.

In the morning, Lilly observed her father carefully, more objectively, she hoped, now that the shock of so many changes had pa.s.sed. He was unshaven, his cheeks bristling with a few days' worth of grey and ginger whiskers. The skin of his neck hung looser than she remembered, his jowls more slack. His hair was somewhat thinner and in disarray, with new strands of silver at his sideburns. His eyes had lost some of their blue color, it seemed, and much of their light. When she looked at him, she felt repelled and tender all at once. Even though she had not seen him for over a year, he was still the only parent in her life her security, her constant. Her father had always been strong and capable. It unsettled her to see him seem so weak, so a diminished.

She approached and greeted him gently. She sat on the cot near his legs, so that she might speak with him nearer to his eye level.

"Morning." His voice was rough.

"And how are you today? " She found herself speaking to him in a calm, sweet tone one normally reserved for a child. He was no child. Neither was she, but still the thought of losing him filled her with the emptiest quiver of loneliness. She thought of the Chinese kites she had once seen in Hyde Park coming untied and floating away. Like she and her brother would. Oh, Charlie a What would poor Charlie do without Father?

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Are you very ill, do you think?"

He looked at her sharply.

"The bottles. I am ashamed to admit, but I at first believed you were foxed. And I doubt I am the only person in the village to think so.

"When have you ever known me to drink more than an occasional gla.s.s of port?"

"Never before. But a great deal has changed since I've been away.

He looked away from her, shaking his head despondently.

"What is it, Father? Do you know?"

"No. Some days I am nearly myself, and others I can barely rise. The latter have become frightfully frequent. But I know I have only to come up with the correct combination of herbs and elixirs, and I shall conquer this thing."

"Without a diagnosis? When have you ever been successful treating an illness that way?"

"Rarely, but it does happen. Sometimes we are not sure what the underlying problem is, but we stumble upon a remedy after much trial and error."

"But this is foolishness! When you have not even consulted with another medical man. Let me send for Dr. Foster."

"That man! He would be the last I would crawl to for advice. He would waste no time advertising my weakness and failure that I can tell you."

She knew old Dr. Foster had often resented her father for visiting and treating his patients. But bad blood notwithstanding, he was a professional, was he not?

"Mr. Shuttleworth, then."

"My new compet.i.tor? Shall I help him drive me from business once and for all? Shall I hand him the shovel to bury me?"

"I have met the man. He seems very decent. Besides, he is a fellow apothecary. He spent several months with the Worshipful Society, just as you did."

"I spent nearly two years there, between my time with the society and my summer working in the apothecaries' garden. Several months indeed."

"Father, please. I insist you see a doctor. If you refuse the two at hand, then I shall a I shall write to my uncle and ask him to bring a man from London."

"Your uncle? Who already believes me a useless failure? I'll not prove him right."

"You are not useless. Merely ill."

"Same thing."

"It isn't! Now, Father, I insist "

He pinned her with an ice-blue gaze. "I am afraid, la.s.s, that you have no right to insist upon anything."

"Do I not?" she asked, refusing to be cowed. "Is my father not acting irrationally? Damaging himself and his beloved shop, pa.s.sed down from father and grandfather before him? A shop he would once have done anything to protect?"

"I am trying to protect it!"

"No, you are trying to protect your pride. And it is too late for that. I am calling for Dr. Foster or Mr. Shuttleworth-you have your choice."

"Just a just give me a little more time. I know I can get back on my feet. Just another month. By then I shall figure out what treatment I've overlookeda"

"Two days."

"A fortnight."

"A week and no longer."

He sighed. "Very well."

"Good," she said briskly. But she wondered if they had that long.

J. @ A. PEPLER, beg respectfully to inform the Ladies of DEVIZES and its vicinity that J.P. is returned from London, where she has selected a choice a.s.sortment of MILLINERY DRESSES, Straws, @ Fancy Bonnets.

DEVIZES @ WILTSHIRE GAZETTE, 1833.

CHAPTER 20.

n the morning, Lilly was just making up a breakfast tray for her .-father when a rap on the shop door startled her, causing her to spill hot tea on her hand. Blowing on the scorched skin, she walked from the laboratory-kitchen through the shop. She was surprised to see Francis at the door. She opened it and saw that he carried a crate in his hands.

"This is heavy. Might I a ?

"Of course. Come in."

He carried the crate back and settled it gently on the counter.

"What is this?" she asked, eyeing the array of jars and packets.

"Bare basics. Hopefully enough to keep you going here until you can place and receive an order."

"But a how?"

"I made a second list for myself when I completed that inventory for you. I pulled this from Mr. Shuttleworth's stock."

"But we cannot accept this."

"This is not charity, Miss Haswell. It has all been accounted for. You will pay it back as you can."

"But I won't a" Why could she not finish the sentence, I won't be here? Dread and cold realization sifted through her. Orders to place, debts to pay, a shop to repair a but what of her plans for a stay of only a fortnight?

"Of course I shall see you are repaid," she said officiously. "Thank you." She turned abruptly and retreated to the laboratory-kitchen so he would not see her brave face fall.

The next day, Lilly and Charlie attended services together. How inviting the church looked that bright morning, sunshine streaming through colorful stained-gla.s.s windows, candles lit, happy voices filling the chapel. It felt good to be there, sitting in her old place, listening to the fine Kentish voice of Mr. Baisley.

During the singing of a hymn, Lilly was distracted by a deep male voice coming from somewhere nearby. The pleasing baritone filled in the reedy melody carried by so many women and old men. Lilly glanced discreetly over her shoulder and was surprised to see Francis Baylor two rows behind her, eyes on the vicar, singing intently and with feeling. His voice has changed as well.

After the service, many villagers made a point of coming over to greet Lilly and to welcome her home.

Undeniably handsome in his Sunday coat, Francis bowed briefly to her. "Miss Haswell. Charlie." He would have turned away without lingering had Charlie not called after him.

"I saw her again today, Francis."

Francis paused. "Who the red-haired angel?"

My hair is not red, Lilly thought automatically. Russet brown or even ginger the tawny brown spice but not red. A moment later her cheeks were no doubt the very color she despised, for they were not speaking of her at all.

Charlie nodded. "Up early she were. I hoped maybe she were coming here."

"Ah well. Plenty of other angels about the place, Charlie."

Francis did not walk out with them but instead turned to greet Miss Robbins and her parents.

Once outside, Charlie put on a dingy hat. "I'd better to get back to Marlow House."

"Charlie, wait. Sit for a minute, will you?"

He hesitated but allowed her to lead him to a bench in the churchyard and sat down beside her.

She asked, "Do you not wish to return home and help Father and me? "

He shrugged.

"What is it, Charlie? Are you afraid? Has someone at Marlow House frightened you?" She resisted the urge to put her arms around him, to protect him from would-be bullies, as she had when he was a child.

"No. I like it *ere, I do. Mr. Timms is a bit gruff, but I am learning ever so much from him."

"But Father needs you. You do want to help Father, don't you?"

"I do. But-" Charlie lowered his head. His wrists protruded from the sleeves of his old Sunday coat. Just as his ankles showed between trousers and boots. An overgrown little boy. But this streak of stubbornness was something new.

She forced a gentle tone. "I shall speak to Sir Henry, shall I? And explain?"

Again he shrugged. "He won't like it. And I don't like to break my word."

She hesitated. "You've an official agreement, then? A contract of some sort?"

"I'm an apprentice now, I am. Like Francis were." He sat up a little straighter, clearly proud of the fact.

Oh dear. That did complicate things.

She asked Charlie to come home for tea at least. He agreed, but as soon as they entered through the garden gate, he was distracted by a new hornets' nest hanging from the eaves near the back door. And there he sat. Lilly knew better than to try to cajole him while he was counting, especially objects in flight. She sighed. Maybe it was just as well. She could speak to Father alone first.