The Apothecary's Daughter Part 5

When they arrived, Sir Henry's butler, Mr. Withers, greeted them and took their coats. He then led them through the large manor and up the long curved staircase. Following her father, Lilly carefully carried the two pottery jars. At the far end of the corridor, Withers knocked softly on a closed door and then opened it to them.

They pa.s.sed through the outer dressing room and then entered the inner bedchamber. From the canopied bed, the baronet lifted his arm in a weak gesture of welcome.

"Haswell, good of you to come."

"Of course, Sir Henry. And this is my capable a.s.sistant, Miss Haswell."

Even in his pain, the grey-haired man smiled politely to her, the expression lifting the bushy silver sideburns. She knew the baronet was in his fifties, yet he looked older. "Ali yes, your daughter. How do you do?"

Lilly dipped an awkward curtsy.

"Very pretty," Sir Henry said, then shifted his gaze to her father. "More and more like her mother, is she not?"

Her father looked at her, then quickly away. "Yes, rather."

Sir Henry studied her father's averted face. "Still no word?"

Setting down his case, her father drew himself up briskly. "No word. Now, let us see what we can do to alleviate your discomforta."

Lilly waited at a polite distance from the bed while her father questioned the baronet in low tones about his symptoms. Twice at her father's bidding she retrieved vials or instruments from his case and once filled a water gla.s.s at the bedside table.

When her father began lifting the blankets from the man's legs, he paused.

"Lilly. I think you've done all I need. Perhaps you might take yourself to the kitchen and wait for me there? If Mrs. Tobias is still awake, she might offer you a cup of chocolate. And if not, at least the fire will keep you warm."

"Very well, Father."

"Take a candle."

Nodding, she took the candle holder and let herself from the room.

She did not admit she did not know the way to the kitchen from Sir Henry's room. She had been to Marlow House before but had always waited in the kitchen while her father went up to see Sir Henry, or Lady Marlow, before her pa.s.sing.

Lilly held the candle high and started down the dark, broad corridor. High upon its walls were formal portraits of Marlows past men in coat and cravat, or military regalia; ladies in fine gowns and jewels as well as paintings of the hunt, rearing horses, hounds with bared teeth, and foxes with hideous wide-eyed expressions of pain and fear.

In the light of the candle, those eyes seemed to glare at her. The dogs, to growl at her. She shivered.

She pa.s.sed the main staircase and continued to the corridor's end, a.s.suming she would there find the servants' stairway down to the kitchen.

Suddenly she heard a noise behind her. She spun around, holding her candle before her like a sword. But the corridor was empty.

She continued on until she heard footsteps to her left. She whirled. But her candle only illuminated more paintings and tapestries upon the wall.

She walked faster.

Nearby she heard a sc.r.a.pe, saw a dark stab of movement before her, then felt a rush of air. Her candle was out before her mind could identify what she had seen. And then she saw nothing at all. Nothing but blackness.

"Who is there?" she demanded in an airy croak.

She took a tentative step backward, toward her father and safety, but an arm grabbed her from behind and a hand cupped her mouth, catching her cry and rendering it useless.

"Shha" a male voice whispered. "Did you hear something?"

For one tense second, the arm remained clasped about her waist and the other hand covered her mouth, but then, as quickly as it came, the contact was broken, the hands gone from her.

Indignation chased away fear. Those had not been phantom hands touching her. "Yes. I heard something. You, no doubt. You enjoyed frightening me, did you not?"

A door opened nearby; footsteps receded and promptly returned. Roderick Marlow appeared in a doorway, carrying a glowing candle lamp he had apparently retrieved from the nearby room. With it, he lit a wall sconce. In its light she could see that he was taller and broader than he had been when she had last seen him. His hair and brows just as dark. How old was he now three and twenty? Four?

"Why are you wandering about in the dark? " He c.o.c.ked his head to one side, regarding her. "Are you lost?"

"No. Merely on the way to the kitchen."

One dark brow rose. "And where you live, the kitchen is abovestairs?"

She exhaled sharply. "Of course not. I was on my way down."

"You pa.s.sed the staircase."

"I was looking for the servants' stairs "

"Are you a servant?"

"No. The apothecary's daughter."

"Ah, I remember. The bran-faced thief."

Irritation surged at this ungentlemanly reference to her freckles.

Before she could respond, he continued. "That explains why you are sneaking about. Perhaps I shall have to search your pockets." He took a step closer. "See if you have helped yourself to any valuables."

She backed away again. "I have never stolen anything in my life!"

"Except a peony?"

"Except a peony," she allowed.

He parted his lips, then paused. "What is your name? I forget."

"Lilly Haswell."

"Ali. Haswell. Of course."

He continued to step forward while she backed away, as if in some slow, inelegant dance.

"And do you do miracles, Lilly Haswell, as your father supposedly does?"

She hesitated, shook her head. "No."

"You do not believe in miracles?"

"I do."

"Why? Have you not prayed for your mother's return?"

She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "Yes."

"And has she? "

"Not as yet."

He barked a laugh. "Still hoping?"

"Every day."

He stopped where he was. "Such faith a such fervency. And yet, nothing. Is it any wonder I do not believe? "

"No wonder. But sad if true." She ceased moving as well.

"I prayed for my mother, too, you know. But that did not stop her from dying. Where were your father's miracles then?"

"I am sorry," she whispered. "We can only do so much."

"Which is why we must take what we want in this life, Miss Haswell. Make our own way. Not wait for some fat, hairless angel to deliver our whims on a silver platter." He lifted the candle lamp and peered at her. "Do I offend you?"

"Yes. As you no doubt intend to."

He laughed again. "True, I am a skilled offender. Whereas my father is a skilled a ingratiator. And yours a healer or pretender -I am not certain which. And you, Miss Lilly Haswell, what are you?"

When she hesitated, he smirked and turned away dismissively, clearly not expecting an answer from a frightened girl.

"A rememberer."

He turned back to her, studying her face in the flickering light. Surprised, perhaps, to see how serious and somber she was.

"How so?" He asked, his smirk gone.

She swallowed and answered quietly, "I remember everything. Whether I wish to or not."

They stared at one another. He took another step closer. Suddenly a door opened far down the corridor from which she had come. He grasped her wrist and pulled her through a narrow door she had not even known was there. She gasped, but did not scream.

"This old place is full of secret pa.s.sages and trapdoors," he whispered, leading her along a dark narrow pa.s.sageway, holding the candle lamp to light their way.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You said you sought the kitchen."

He pushed open a timbered door and paused to light the lamp at the top of a steep set of stairs. Growing anxious about being alone with him, Lilly stepped around and preceded him down the narrow stairs, even though her own shadow made it difficult to see. When she reached the bottom door, she lifted the latch but could not make it release. When she turned, he was right there.

"It sometimes jams." But he made no move to open it. He brought the light closer to her face. His eyes glinted oddly in the candle's glow, the right eye appearing a deeper shade than the left. "You know, Lilly Haswell," he said in a low voice, "freckles or no, you might be handsome one day."

He reached around her to give the latch a sharp jerk, the action bringing his hand close to the small of her back and his face near to hers.

Feeling the door give behind her and imagining the safety of a bright fire and no-nonsense Mrs. Tobias beyond, she smiled sweetly up at him and said, "Well, that makes one of us."

She pushed her way backwards into the kitchen. Her smile of triumph immediately fell away. The kitchen was empty, the fire but embers.

In two strides he was before her, anger in his eyes. She took a step back. He, another forward.

"Lilly?" Her father came into the kitchen and Roderick stopped midstride.

"Oh! Father! You frightened me."

"Did I? " He looked from her to Roderick and his brow furrowed at seeing the young man looming so close.

"Are you a all right?"

She swallowed. "I am perfectly well. My flame blew out, but Mr. Marlow kindly lit another and showed me the way."

Her father looked at her, then turned to scrutinize the young man. "Did he indeed?" He held Roderick Marlow's bold stare a moment longer, then clasped Lilly's hand. "Come, my dear. It is time we took our leave."

On the ride home, her father was quiet but obviously not at peace. The wind had died down, but she still had not found the courage to bring up her aunt and uncle's offer.

"The Elliotts," her father said suddenly. "They want you to go to London?"

Nerves quaking, she forced her gaze to meet his and nodded solemnly.

But instead of the arguments and cautions she expected, he returned his eyes to the road. He drew in a long breath and said, "Perhaps it is well that you leave for a time after all."

She studied his profile for several moments, but he did not explain further. Giving up, she laid her head on his shoulder for the rest of the journey home.

DALBY'S GENUINE CARMINATIVE Superior to all other remedies for the winda . This invaluable cordial medicine is prepared by Frances Gell, daughter of the late Mr. Joseph Dalby, apothecary.

THE EDINBURGH EVENING COURANT, 1815.