The Apothecary's Daughter Part 49

Miss Haswell laid a hand on her father's arm. "We know the truth, do we not, Father? Perhaps it is time we admitted it."

Charles Haswell looked as though he might refuse, then sighed. "I don't do miracles. Never have."

"But word of it has spread as far as London and Oxford," Adam insisted. "It has become the stuff of legends. Dr. Thomas Bromley was here at the time, I understand, and witnessed the event. He attests the man was dead indeed."

Mr. Haswell nodded. "I tried everything I knew, but nothing had any effect. I devised no secret miracle cure. Rather, in desperation, I fell to my knees in this very room and prayed for his recovery." Haswell looked at his daughter, tears shimmering in his eyes. "My little girl beside me."

Miss Haswell took his hand, tears in her eyes as well.

"Perhaps that is what is needed again," Mr. Baylor quietly suggested.

Charles Haswell inhaled deeply. "I own it has been too long since I have done so."

Still holding his hand, Miss Haswell helped her father kneel beside the chair. Mr. Baylor joined them, and together the three bowed their heads.

Adam looked on, feeling sheepish. Beside him, Shuttleworth also looked uncomfortable. For an awkward moment their gazes met. Adam shrugged his response. He considered kneeling beside them, but felt too foolish at the thought. He noticed Shuttleworth had closed his eyes where he stood. He did the same.

Kneeling there beside her father, Lilly felt her legs begin to stiffen and guessed her father must be growing uncomfortable as well. She glanced over, but her father's eyes were still closed, his face wrinkled in concentration. On his other side, Francis also had his eyes closed, forehead resting on clasped hands. As if sensing her scrutiny, Francis looked at her. In silent agreement, they rose and, with a few whispered words, encouraged Mr. Haswell to rise and rest, and together they helped him regain his seat.

"What is happening here?" Lady Marlow asked, startling them all. She had entered without any of them hearing her. Wearing a reserved day dress, her red hair simply fashioned, she stood regally inside the dressing room door, looking from one face to another. Her gaze landed on Dr. Graves.

He cleared his throat. "We were each of us summoned by Mr. Marlow. To see what might be done for Sir Henry."

"Then what are you doing out here? "

When Dr. Graves hesitated, Francis answered, "Praying." He added gently, "I am afraid, Lady Marlow, there is little else to be done for your husband."

For a moment the woman froze, her mouth forming a pink oval of surprise.

"Mr. Marlow is in with Sir Henry now," Francis explained. "Saying his farewells."

Lady Marlow sighed as if suddenly weary, her face drooping into lines that added ten years to her apparent age. "Poor man," she murmured bleakly. And Lilly wondered which man she referred to.

The bedchamber door opened and, as one, they warily turned. Roderick Marlow appeared at the threshold, tears on his cheeks. Ignoring the others in the room, his gaze sought out Lilly's.

"I begged his pardon a and he a squeezed my hand." His face contorted with emotion. "He knew mea."

Tears of understanding trailed down Lilly's own cheeks as her eyes held his.

The rest of the a.s.sembly were equally moved, as well as relieved, to realize Roderick Marlow had returned to his senses. In a matter of minutes, he gave them all leave to go, visibly chagrined at his reckless and irrational behavior. Given the distress of his father's condition, all seemed ready to forgive the future Sir Roderick, Baronet.

Sir Henry did not regain consciousness.

There had been no miracle, no answer to their prayer.

Or had there been? Lilly remembered the look of wonder, and relief on Roderick Marlow's face when he said, "I begged his pardon and he squeezed my hand. He knew me."

So perhaps there had been a miracle, after all.

What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

CHAPTER 44.

n the busyness that followed, getting her father home to bed, telling Mary and Mrs. Mimpurse all that had happened, and checking on Charlie, Lilly did not see Francis again. She wanted to thank him for coming to Marlow House and to talk over the events of the day. She had hoped he would come by the shop that evening, but now it was late and he no doubt thought she had already retired for the night. Or had he stayed away in deference to Dr. Graves?

When Lilly finally slipped into her nightdress and into bed, she still could not sleep. Beyond the stress of the day, she could not stop thinking about Francis Baylor. Though the youngest man there, he had been the one to take charge, and the one to suggest praying together. She thought back to his quick actions after Mary's fall and his many kindnesses to her since then.

She thought, too, of his tall, athletic figure, his strong jaw and cleft chin, his chocolate-brown eyes. As she had come to realize, Francis Baylor had changed a great deal since her return to Bedsley Priors. Or was it she who had changed?

She now understood what Miss Robbins had long seen in Francis, and felt that same admiration herself. When she thought of how she had so soundly rejected him, she was filled with wistful regret.

Lilly rolled over in bed. Still, he was only an a.s.sistant -a journeyman in an apothecary shop. Dr. Graves was a physician and therefore a gentleman. Might he not move his practice elsewhere in a few years? Perhaps even return to London? Somehow, the inner arguments rang hollow now.

Even so, Lilly wondered why she should suddenly feel shy at the thought of seeking out her old friend. Francis would certainly come by the shop on the morrow, would he not? She would thank him then.

In the morning, someone did enter the shop and Lilly hurried out to greet him. But it was not Francis. Nor even Adam Graves. It was Dr. Foster.

He removed his hat and said, "I know it is early and you are no doubt recuperating from a trying day yesterday, but I am afraid I need you to dispense an order for me."

His tone was surprisingly polite.

"Of course." She moved to the dispensing counter and picked up her quill. "What is it you need?"

He fiddled with his hat brim. "A fortnight's worth of St. John's wort, powdered, five grains per day."

She nodded. "For?"

He looked up at her. "I am sure you, being a dab hand yourself, know what the herb is used for, Miss Haswell."

"I do, but-"

"Good. Now, can you figure the sum, or shall I?"

"I meant, who is the patient? For our records."

"My, my. Records too. Haswell's is better managed than I knew."

Was the man being sarcastic? She wasn't certain. "Thank you. We do our best."

He inhaled, then paused. "It is for Mrs. Chester Somersby of Honeystreet. Do you know the family?"

Lilly lowered her quill. "Indeed I do."

"She suffers from nerves, poor creature. Have you sufficient powder on hand, or shall I call round for it later?"

Lilly stared at the man. Did he really not know what he was asking?

"I don't mind stopping back," he said.

"You cannot."

"I can quite easily. It isn't far."

"I mean, you cannot give Mrs. Somersby St. John's wort. She had a violent reaction to it once before."

He regarded her placidly. "I know of no such reaction."

"I do. And Dr. Graves does as well. Ask him if you don't believe me.

His eyes met hers boldly. "Dr. Graves follows my directives and keeps me informed of all irregularities. You needn't trouble yourself, Miss Haswell. Shall I pick up the order at say, four o'clock?" He replaced his hat smartly, turned without awaiting her response, and strode from the shop.

She stared after the man. Anger and fear and dread balled in her stomach. He was either ignorant or pretending to be for his own ends. Either way, Mrs. Somersby was not the only person about to be hurt.

The shop had been so busy that, when four o'clock came, she'd had no time to ask anyone for advice. Now Dr. Foster again stood before her, the dispensing counter between them like a futile shield.

"Are you refusing to fill my order?" he asked.

"You have not had an opportunity to confer with Dr. Graves, I see. If you will only speak with him "

"Yes or no?" His voice rose. "Will you dispense my prescribed medicine for Mrs. Somersby or will you not? "

"I have no wish to quarrel with you, Dr. Foster. But I cannot in good conscience do what you ask."

"Once more, girl. Do you or do you not refuse to dispense the physic I ordered?"

She swallowed. "Yes. I refuse."

He nodded, clearly angry yet not surprised. And apparently satisfied as well.

Leaving the shop untended, though it was before five, Lilly hurried up the High Street and down narrow Milk Lane to Shuttleworth's. She wanted to make sure Dr. Foster did not turn there for the prescription he wanted for Mrs. Somersby. She found Mr. Shuttleworth standing at his large central desk, drying gla.s.s measuring jars with a clean white cloth. When she asked about Dr. Foster and learned he had not been there all day, she sighed with relief. She leaned her elbows on the high desk and confided her confrontation with the old physician.

Mr. Shuttleworth winced. "Oh dear. I am not certain that was wise.

She jerked back, stung. This wasn't the empathy she'd expected. "What was Ito do?"

"But to refuse him?" Lionel Shuttleworth whistled under his breath.

"I had no choice."

"Do you not read the newspapers?"

"I barely have time to read bills of lading and ledgers, let alone news.

"You have heard about the recently pa.s.sed Apothecaries Act?"

She frowned. "I believe Francis may have said something, but I own I paid little attention."

Mr. Shuttleworth leaned forward, sober concern in his dark eyes. "Among other things, a clause of this new act imposes severe penalties on any apothecary who refuses to dispense medicines on the order of a physician."

"You are joking."

"I am deadly serious."

"How long has this been generally known?"

"It's been before Parliament for quite some time, but came into effect the first of August."

How easily she had walked into his trap.

Adam Graves walked slowly down the High Street to Haswell's to pick up two prescriptions he had requested earlier. He knew Miss Haswell appreciated that he brought them to her though Shuttleworth's was nearer his offices. Normally he enjoyed the excuse to see her. But today he dreaded the coming encounter and the news he must impart.

When Adam had first learned of a possible partnership in Miss Haswell's home village, he had thought it a G.o.dsend. Now it was beginning to seem more like a test. One he appeared destined to fail.

He hesitated at the door to take a deep breath, then pushed his way inside. At the dispensing counter, Miss Haswell acknowledged him with a nod. He waited until Miss Primmel had paid for her purchases and said farewell to them both before approaching the counter himself.

Miss Haswell handed him his order without her usual smile, her features strained. She asked tensely, "Have you spoken to Dr. Foster about Mrs. Somersby? Tell me he did not procure the St. John's wort elsewhere."

"He has not. He pursued another course of treatment."

She released a breath. "I am relieved to hear it. He understood, then?"

"I would not say that." He found himself fidgeting with his parcel. "I did describe Mrs. Somersby's reaction, but he said it was more likely caused by the vervain you suggested for the a other complaint."

"But I asked Father, and he agrees. Vervain would not-"