The Apothecary's Daughter Part 50

"Yes, yes, I tried to explain that, but he would not hear me."

"You ought to have made him hear you."

He looked down at the counter. "Seems I fail at a great many things you believe I ought to do."

Her voice rose to a consolatory pitch. "Dr. Graves, I did not mean *

"In any case" he forced himself to continue "I am afraid he has written to your own society, reporting your refusal."

"To the Apothecaries' Society? " she said. "I can hardly credit he'd waste the ink, so little does he respect the profession."

"I believe there you are wrong, Miss Haswell. It is not apothecaries in general he abhors."

He saw her bite her lip, clearly apprehending his meaning. "Surely nothing will come of it. The last time we heard from the Society, we received nothing more than a warning."

He shook his head. Can she really be so native? "The law has changed since then."

"What can he hope to accomplish?"

"I should think that all too evident. He wants to see Haswell's put out of business."

She blanched. "Could you not do something?"

There it was again. It was his fault. His failure. "What would you have me do?" His voice rose. "Pilfer his letter from the post?"

A quick glance revealed her chagrin. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak calmly. "There is little I can do at this point. But I did want to warn you. And I shall apprise you of anything else I learn."

"Thank you," she murmured.

Feeling defeated and indignant both, he turned on his heel and left the shop. Why could she not leave the criticizing to Foster? It appeared neither of his provisional partnerships was working out as he had hoped.

On his way back to Dr. Foster's offices, he saw Bill Ackers leaving. What was the constable doing there? He then saw the man fold what looked to be several bank notes and tuck them into his pocket.

The following week, Dr. Foster brought two men with him into the office.

"Graves, come out here, man."

Adam did not appreciate the way the elder man ordered him about. Still, he put on his coat and stepped from his private office into the reception hall.

"Here you are." Foster addressed his guests, "This is Dr. Adam Graves, the young partner I was telling you about. Not quite seasoned, but working out rather well. So far."

Adam managed not to frown and bowed to the newcomers. One was a man near Foster's own age in dark double-breasted coat and pantaloons, his waistcoat festooned with a lacy cravat. His hair was far too black to be natural for a man of his fifty or more years. He affected both quizzing gla.s.s and walking stick.

"May I introduce Mortimer Allen, a very old friend indeed," Foster began. The man inclined his head but showed little interest in the introduction.

"And this is John Evans, his a a.s.sociate."

Mr. Evans was in his forties, Graves surmised, and wore a serviceable but plain coat and trousers. He looked exceeding fit, with a wiry strength rather than bulk. His tawny hair was thin on his forehead.

"How d'you do?" Evans said. This man took his measure, and Graves felt himself standing up the taller under it.

"What brings you gentlemen to Bedsley Priors?" Graves asked politely.

Mortimer Allen parted his full lips, but turned toward Foster in lieu of answering.

Dr. Foster said, "Merely a visit. They are on their way to Bath to take the waters. I don't credit the medicinal benefits myself, but I give you leave to prove me wrong, Mortimer."

"A rare pleasure it would be to accomplish that, I a.s.sure you."

"Well, do come upstairs for port and cigars. I have some good cheese and herring as well."

"Lead the way," Mortimer said.

"Thaht's all right. You gentlemen go on," John Evans said. "I'll leave you two to visit."

The man had a mild accent that Graves could not place after such a brief sampling.

"Are you sure, Evans?" Mortimer Allen asked.

"Indeed. I'll do on my own. I expect there's a public house nearby."

"Don't be out late. We've an early start on the morrow."

"I haven't forgotten."

The two older men went up the stairs together to Foster's private living quarters.

Evans looked at Graves. "If you would kindly point me in the right direction, I shall disturb you no more."

"Mind a bit of company?" Graves asked, curious about the man.

"If you like."

As the two walked the short distance to the Hare and Hounds, Graves. .h.i.t on the origin of the man's accent. The long vowels, the clipped staccato syllables, the r's, nearly rolled. "Wales?" he asked.

Evans smiled. "G.o.d's country, yes."

They entered the small, dim public house and took stools at the polished wooden counter. Two old men, one Adam recognized as Mr. Owen, sat in chairs near the fire, their dogs lying at their feet. He was relieved when the curs paid him no mind.

Once Freddy McNeal had served them each a half pint, Graves asked Mr. Evans, "But you live in London now?"

"Had to find work, hadn't I?"

"And what is your work, if I may ask? "

The man paused, considering, an odd smile playing about his lips. "I serve a city livery company, like. But I work for Mr. Allen."

Before Graves could ask him to explain, Evans asked, "And you? Who do you serve?"

"I would like to say I serve my patients. But as you said, I work for Dr. Foster."

Evans nodded and took a sip of dark ale. "What's he like?"

"A man of strong opinions. An experienced physician."

Evans grimaced. "No offense, mind, but I've never cared much for physicians and thaht's the truth."

"May I ask why not?"

"Comes to this. In plague years, when the rich fled London for the country, every physician followed, leaving the poor to suffer and die without care. Surgeons followed. But apothecaries all stayed to a mahn."

"You admire them."

"I do. When a body's ailing, money or no, apothecaries turn up trumps. Which is why it rankles me to a"

"To what?"

"Never you mind. Thaht's the half pint of bitter talkin'." Evans rose. "I'm to bed now."

All doctors are more or less Quacks! a and what they talk is neither more nor less than nonsense @ stuffa .

THE FIRST DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

CHAPTER 45.

he next morning, Adam Graves jogged down the stairs from his third-floor rooms, but when he reached the ground floor, stopped, stunned. There stood John Evans. Gone were the congenial ale-warmed gaze and the unremarkable suit of clothes. In their place the man wore a gown of vibrant blue tufted with dozens of golden ta.s.sels. His eyes were stern, hard, and brooked no question.

What on earth?

Voices followed him down the stairs. There came Mr. Allen, dressed in an unadorned black gown. Dr. Foster followed him, breakfast teacup still in hand. Foster hesitated at seeing his young partner standing there, but the smile did not waver from his whiskered face.

"I shall bid you farewell here, Mortimer." Foster held out his free hand. "Thank you for coming to address the situation as only you can.

Mr. Allen shook his hand. "You are quite welcome. Again, I apologize for not being able to respond in person to your first letter. But I trust you will be more than satisfied by day's end."

What did it mean? Adam wondered, suspicion gnawing at him.

John Evans opened the door for Mr. Allen, but once they were outside, Graves saw that John Evans preceded the older man down the lane.

"It is going to be quite a day for medicine, Graves. Quite a day."

Adam turned from his place at the window. "How so?"

"Justice, my boy. Justice for the common man and the Royal College both."

"I have no idea what you mean, sir. Has this something to do with your friends?"

"Indeed. Though I count only one as friend. Mortimer and I have known one another since boyhood. His father would have gladly stood him at Oxford, as did mine. I suppose Mortimer had a taste for power enjoys being a big fish among small. One would think he knew all along he'd end as Master of those beetle crushers and potion pushers."

"What?"

"Yes. Mortimer is Master of Wardens for the Apothecaries' Society."

Adam felt his stomach clench as alarm pulsed through his body.

"We both have well-placed friends in Parliament," Foster continued, "and have helped one another over the years, when a letter to a friend might sway the vote on one medical issue or another. Very broad-minded the both of us, I'd say. That other man is only the beadle of the beetle crushers, who does my friend's bidding."

"Mr. Evans seemed quite well-spoken. A gentleman, I'd say."

"A gentleman? A hired henchman." Foster all but shuddered.

Adam swallowed, his mind reeling. "What are they about?"

"Oh, merely righting wrongs left too long to fester. Really, when one thinks of it the negligence, the arrogance. Refusing to dispense a physician's order? Unpardonable as the new law makes quite clear." He chuckled into his teacup.

"If you are referring to the Haswells and that order of yours, you know very well they were justified in not filling it."

"So you say."

"I have the patient record to prove it."

"I have the law. And the Master of Wardens of pompous Haswell's very own society."

"The letter of the law, sir, perhaps, but not the spirit. Does not our Hippocratic oath rank supreme? To save a life must be the primary mandate, not the law."

"That's radical politic, young man."

"You brought them here for this purpose, did you not? Journey to Bath, indeed. They stray quite far afield from their jurisdiction, would you not agree?"