The Apothecary's Daughter Part 41

Adam gently pulled her atop the mound. The wind, even stronger at this height, threatened to loose her hat. Tendrils of red hair escaped from under it, blowing across her cheek. She was beautiful, indeed. No wonder Marlow was perturbed. He felt that man's glare upon him and turned.

Marlow looked from the lady to him. "Careful, Graves. That woman can knock the life out of you faster than any fall from Adam's Grave."

"Pay him no mind, Doctor," Lady Marlow said with a casual smile. "Mr. Marlow enjoys playing the heartbroken lover. But if you were to examine him, you would find he hasn't a heart to break."

"If I did," Roderick Marlow said, eyes hard, "you can be certain nothing you could say or do would touch it."

She seared him with a look that belied her sweet tone. "Indeed? I shall remember that, Roderick. I suggest you do so as well."

AGAINST YE FALLING SICKNESS.

Take purple foxgloves and polipodium of the oak. Boil them in bear or ale and drinke ye decoction. One that fell with [this disease] 2 or 3 times in a month, had not a fitt for 16 months after.

-17TH CENTURY RECIPE, MYSTERY AND ART OF THE APOTHECARY.

CHAPTER 36.

t church a week later, Lilly sat with Mary and Mrs. Mimpurse. As usual, Lilly's father had not felt well enough to attend and Charlie was nowhere to be found, no doubt off on one of his wanders. Even had the male members of her family seen fit to join her, she thought the Mimpurse ladies might appreciate her company on this, the seventh anniversary of the death of Harold Mimpurse.

Mr. Shuttleworth, Lilly noticed, was seated on the other side of the church and often glanced their way. Mary's way, she corrected herself and secretly smiled.

As Mr. Baisley was winding down his sermon, Lilly noticed something unusual. Mary's posture, as she sat beside her, was erect yet unnaturally rigid. Even as those around her flipped pages to follow along in the Book of Common Prayer, Mary's book remained perfectly still in her hands. She stared ahead, pale blue eyes unblinking.

Lilly reached over and gently squeezed her wrist. No blink, no response. She squeezed again, harder. Nothing. Around them, people flipped pages to find the final hymn, cleared throats, and upon the vicar's signal, began to sing. Still Mary stared, unmoving. Lilly shuddered. How eerie those unseeing eyes were. As if someone had put out the candle behind them. She reached over Mary's lap to tap Mrs. Mimpurse, who was singing robustly. Mrs. Mimpurse glanced over and instantly became alert. She set aside her own book and gently removed the book from her daughter's stiff fingers. She sent Lilly a pleading look, and Lilly believed she understood it.

The song over, the benediction given, the congregants rose and began to follow the vicar down the aisle. She glimpsed Francis walking out with the Robbins family and Dr. Graves offering his arm to old Mrs. Kilgrove. Only Mr. Shuttleworth showed no sign of leaving, remaining no doubt to greet them. But Lilly knew Mary would not want him to see her in such a state.

She heard a long exhalation and felt Mary go limp beside her. Using her body, Lilly gently pushed Mary toward her mother, and Maude put her arm around her daughter and pressed her cheek close to hers as though deep in whispered conversation. Lilly rose and stepped across the aisle to distract Mr. Shuttleworth.

"Is Miss Mary all right?" he asked with concern.

"She will be. It is the anniversary of her father's death. I think they are both rather melancholy at present."

"I had no idea. I am sorry to hear it. Shall I ?"

"I think we ought to leave them for now."

"Very well. I am sure you know best."

Charlie burst through the doors at that moment, the door slamming against the rear pew like cannon shot.

"Sorry I'm late," he said.

Lilly noticed mud on his face and straw in his hair. "Church is over, Charlie. Perhaps you could show Mr. Shuttleworth where Mr. Mimpurse lies?"

Her brother didn't seem to find this request at all strange, and if Mr. Shuttleworth did, he was too polite to say so.

When they departed, Lilly hurried back to Mary and Mrs. Mimpurse.

She was relieved to see her friend had returned to her senses. "Are you all right?" Lilly whispered.

"I think so. Just tired," Mary said wanly.

Tears glimmered in her mother's eyes. "Oh, my dear girl."

Together they helped Mary to her feet and out into the churchyard.

"I'll be all right, Mamma," Mary said. "Am I not always?"

Lilly spent an hour with Mary in her bedchamber that afternoon. Mary leaned back against the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest, while Lilly sat in a chair near the window, reading to her from Byron. Finally Lilly could stifle her curiosity no longer. She lowered the book and regarded Mary until her friend's eyes rose to meet hers.

"What is it like?" Lilly asked gently.

"Hmm? "

"You know, when it happens?"

Mary fidgeted atop the bedclothes. "You have seen it yourself."

"I know what it looks like, but what does it feel like?"

Mary exhaled sharply. "Oh, I don't know." She looked down at her hands.

"Come on. I want to know."

Mary said brusquely, "Thank the Lord you don't." She rose and went to stare out the other window, posture rigid.

Taking in her friend's grim countenance, Lilly said, "I am sorry.

Mary stood there silently for so long, Lilly wished she had not asked.

On Tuesday Lilly watched as Mary swiftly chopped several carrots at once. The carrots lay side by side, like logs in a raft, and were each as big around as a man's finger, yet Mary cut them as easily as if they were fingers of dough.

"If I could cut pills that swiftly, my father would be rich indeed."

Mary barely seemed to look at the vegetables as she made quick work of reducing the roots into even chunks for stewing. And then her hands stilled. "You asked what it was like."

Lilly had already determined not to raise the topic again and was surprised when Mary did. "I said I was sorry."

"Don't be. Only a I don't much like to talk about it." Mary paused, her eyes far away. "I feel as if to even speak the words might bring on a well, you know."

Lilly nodded.

Mary returned to her work, chopping in silence for several minutes until Lilly was sure she had said her final word on the subject.

"It is not always the same," Mary began abruptly. "At times, like on Sunday, I just a go away. I sit there, eyes open, but I am not there. I feel no pain, no sensation. It is as if I am watching myself from a short distance away. Then everything goes white. When I return to myself, I am left feeling weak and tired." Mary scooped up the chopped carrots and dropped them into a pot.

Tentatively, Lilly asked, "Do you never cut yourself?"

Her friend shrugged. "Rarely. I usually have a bit of warning."

Mary then moved on to a bunch of leeks. "Other times, like when Mr. Shuttleworth was here that day a my head begins to ache and my fingers to tremble or they might go numb. Either way, I usually have time to call Mamma or get to my bed so I don't fall and injure myself."

Mary leaned her elbows on the worktable. "But then, when that sort overtakes me, I feel as though I might be sick hot, then cold. Then everything starts clamping up, shutting down, and I find it difficult to breathe." Mary straightened and continued with her chopping. "Then my vision goes black and I wake up a quarter of an hour later to find Mamma or your father looking down at me."

"How dreadful," Lilly murmured, but she could not stop staring at the long, sharp knife so close to her friend's pale fingers. She said quietly, "I pray for you, Mary."

Mary winced. "For what?"

Lilly was taken aback. "Well, for you to be healthy healed, of course.

Mary shrugged. "You heard Dr. Graves. There is no cure. And Wiltshire has already had its miracle." A grin flickered across her face. "We needn't be greedy."

She chopped the leeks, then looked across at Lilly earnestly. "If you pray for me, pray that I would bear this cross cheerfully. That I would be a blessing to my mother and a everyone."

"You already are."

Mary acknowledged this with a nod. "I overheard Dr. Foster once tell Mamma she ought to send me to an asylum. Once. He has not been welcome here since."

"Your mother was right," Lilly said hotly. "You do not belong in an asylum you belong here, with those who love you."

"I know, but a" Mary set down the knife and wiped her hands on a towel. "There are times I think it would help to talk with someone who knows how it is. Is my experience the same as theirs, or different? Am I really as strange as I feel?"

Realizing she needed to return to the shop, Lilly rose from her stool. "I can answer that myself." She said mischievously, "You are strange indeed, Mary Helen Mimpurse."

Mary grinned and swiped at her skirts with the towel.

We must trust to the Great Disposer of all events and the justice of our cause.

ADMIRAL HORATIO NELSON.

CHAPTER J7.

ater that day, Lilly was busy in the laboratory-kitchen preparing a strong decoction of chamomile, which they sold as a hair rinse and, separately labeled, as a wash for ailing teeth and gums. She heard Charlie rattling around in the shop, playing with the cavy most likely.

"Charlie! " she called, opening the large pot on the stove to see if the water was boiling. "Remember to take Mrs. Kilgrove her tablets. They are on the front counter."

"All right, Lilly." A moment later Charlie called, "Cavy likes chamomile, does he not?"

"What?"

"The cavy. Likes chamomile?"

Replacing the pot lid, she called back, "Yes."

Just that morning, she had pressed a bottle of chamomile tablets for Mrs. Kilgrove-they soothed her stomach and helped her sleep. Most people made a tea of the herb for this purpose, but Mrs. Kilgrove could not abide the taste. "Smells like tobacco, tastes like fodder," she always complained. Lilly did not ask the old woman how she knew.

"Give him some?" Charlie called.

"Yes, all right. Only a few tablets. From the drawer."

Since she had used the last of the dried chamomile they had on hand, she and Charlie had harvested a batch of chamomile flowers from their garden early that morning. Her back still ached from the tedious ch.o.r.e.

Lilly checked the stove. She added more coals to the fire to keep the water steaming. Now she would allow the tiny blossoms to steep for half an hour.

Just in time to give over the stove to Mrs. Fowler to prepare their dinner. She was so relieved to have the dear woman back in service. She not only cooked but also took in the laundry and cleaned their living quarters.

While the blossoms steeped, Lilly spread the remaining flowers on stretched-linen screens. Then she carried the first of them up the three flights of stairs into the stifling hot herb garret, where the flowers could dry out of direct sunlight. Later, she would store the dried blossoms in tightly sealed jars.

As she came back down the stairs, she heard the shop bell ring. Wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, she stepped into the shop. Glancing around, she was surprised to find the place empty. That was not Charlie just leaving, was it? She had imagined him ten minutes gone. She checked her memory no, she had not heard the shop bell ring earlier. What had the lad been doing since she'd asked him to take Mrs. Kilgrove her tablets? Surely it hadn't taken so long to feed a bit of herb to a caged cavy.

Though she had not wanted the animal, Lilly actually enjoyed tending and feeding it. She grimaced wryly. Now she had three males in her care. Thinking of this, she turned and walked out the garden door, striding to the plot of carrots. The cavy would need more than a few bites of chamomile for his supper.

Francis's head and shoulders appeared over the garden wall. Eyeing the dirt-encrusted root in her hand, he asked skeptically, "Hungry?"

"I am, actually, but this is for that rodent you foisted upon me."