The Apothecary's Daughter Part 51

"Now who's holding to the letter of the law?"

"It isn't right. In this case, the Haswells have done no wrong."

"Do you not mean she has done no wrong? I have not missed your interest in the Haswell girl. But perhaps I did miss some new law allowing women to diagnose and dispense physic?"

Adam turned toward the door.

"Hold there, Graves. I advise you do nothing to interfere. I promise you a bleak future if you do."

Adam Graves reached for the door latch, and felt its cold metallic reality in his hand.

Lilly opened the door to Shuttleworth's and leaned across its threshold. The surgeon-apothecary was alone with his ledgers.

"Mr. Shuttleworth, do you know where Francis might be? I have not seen him these two days gone."

He looked up at her blankly. "Do you not know?"

Her senses became instantly alert. "Know what?"

"Mr. Baylor has taken his leave. Quit my employ."

She was stunned. "But why? "

"He has other plans. Did he not tell you?"

"He told me nothing."

"Wella" Mr. Shuttleworth awkwardly straightened his cravat. "They're not my plans to tell."

"Lilly! " Charlie ran up Milk Lane toward her, arms windmilling. "Francis is leaving." He paused when he reached her, bending over and panting to catch his breath. "I just seen him a carryin' his bag to the ca.n.a.l."

Lilly stared at her brother, yet hardly saw him nor her surroundings as he spoke.

Charlie straightened. "Remember when he first come *ere? And spoilt Father's shoes?"

Lilly ran.

She arrived at the ca.n.a.l, out of breath, lungs heaving, as much from emotion as the exertion of the run. There was Francis, stepping down onto the stern of his cousin's narrowboat, moored near the Honeystreet Bridge.

" "Francis.

When he saw her, he left his valise and hat on the deck and climbed back up the bank to where she stood, still trying to catch her breath.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"London."

"London?" She stared at him in confusion, her mind whirling. Had he told her and she'd forgotten? Was this what it felt like to forget something? This disorientation, this disturbing, irrational dread?

He continued, "It is my turn to see something of the world, I suppose. Learn a few things. Better myself."

"Without saying good-bye?"

He nodded, sheepish.

"But I've wanted to talk to you, to thank you." She swallowed a rising wave of panic. "How long will you be away?"

His grin was rueful. "Do not fret, Lilly. You've not seen the last of me."

She thought of her mother's vain promise to Charlie. She thought of Mr. Lippert, the apothecary from Little Bedwyn, who had stayed in London where the opportunities were too great to give up for village life. "You cannot know that, Francis."

He tilted his head to the side, studying her.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. "If you are determined to go to London, I should like to give you the name of a kindly apothecary I met there."

"An apothecary? At one of your fine London b.a.l.l.s?"

"No. In Bucklersbury, where every other shop is an apothecary's or chemist's."

Again she felt his inquiring look.

"I went there a few times, when I was feeling lonely, I suppose. Missing home."

"I am surprised you had the time to miss Bedsley Priors."

"Well, not only the village itself, but my father, of course. And Charlie and Mary and a you."

Eyes intent on hers, he took a step forward. "Lilly-"

"Mr. Baylor!" a feminine voice called. Glancing over, Lilly saw Miss Robbins smiling and waving from the lawn of Mill House. "Bon voyage!"

He waved back quickly before returning his attention to Lilly. It stung to realize he had shared his plans with Dorothea Robbins instead of her. Had the two an understanding? She felt her chin begin to tremble.

"In any case," she hurried on, determined not to cry, "the apothecary's name is Lippert. He and his son were very generous when I needed advice on reviving the shop." Lilly darted a glance at the retreating figure of Miss Robbins. "And he has a charming daughter as well."

He raised a skeptical brow. "What is that to me?"

"She is a lovely young woman who adores everything about an apothecary's shop. There is no place she would rather be."

He frowned. "And you wish me to meet her? "

Do I? Lilly hesitated. "Well, if you are ever in need of a friendly face in London."

He looked at her, slowly shaking his head. "Is that what you really want, Lilly? For me to find myself a charming London girl and never return? "

"No. I a" She faltered, confused. Of course she wanted him to come back though not for Dorothea Robbins. Have I mistaken the matter? Did Francis not renew his attentions to Miss Robbins after I refused him? Tentatively she asked, "Do you plan to return?"

He expelled a dry puff of air, a bitter pull at his lips. "I don't know. Not until you a That is a" He ran a hand through his hair. "This is why I thought to leave without trying to say good-bye." He cleared his throat. "Lilly, I know Dr. Graves is a physician, and that he-"

"Come on, Francis!" his cousin called up from the narrowboat. "Must shove off and sharpish. The lockkeeper Reading way goes to bed at eight bells."

Francis lifted a hand to the man, then looked once more at Lilly. "I've got to go."

"But-"

"Francis! We can't wait any longer!"

Francis took Lilly's hand and pressed it with his larger one. "No matter what you decide, I hope we shall always be friends." He turned away and jumped aboard. The crew immediately began casting off.

"Write!" she called as the boat moved away from the bank.

But Lilly knew Francis had never been one to write. His poor mother had received a letter at Christmas and another on her birthday only when Lilly had been there to remind him.

She watched as Francis faded away. He lifted his hand in farewell, and the sight of it caused her chest to ache and tears to burn and well in her eyes. The ca.n.a.l had claimed another dear to her.

She felt bereft. Muddled. Aching. Was he implying what she thought-hoped-he was implying? But why did she when she never wanted any part of the life Francis would likely lead? But she did hope. Too late, she realized she did. But what about Dr. Graves? He had uprooted himself and come to Bedsley Priors to pursue her. Had she not an obligation to him?

She groaned, her prayer inarticulate. She breathed in deeply, exhaled, then breathed in again. She paused. Sniffed the air gently, critically. What was it she smelled? Something sweet and mildly familiar yet too complex to identify. She closed her eyes and breathed in again, relishing the strange, sweet smell. But then something acrid joined the wispy odor.

"Lilly!" Charlie screamed. "Lillllll-leeeee!"

She spun around, eyes scanning the village behind her. A narrow spire of smoke rose above the rooftops, and below, Charlie bounded wildly down the Sands Road toward her.

Fire. Near the shop. Father in bed. Dear G.o.d, no. Lilly hurried to meet her brother.

"He's burning it, Lilly," Charlie cried. "Burning it all. Grandfather's pretty pots, all broken! "

Lilly ran.

Adam Graves turned the corner and dashed down the High Street. Smoke billowed from a mound in the street before Haswell's door. A small crowd of people had already gathered. Mortimer Allen stood on the opposite side of the High Street watching the proceedings with cool detachment. John Evans came out the shop door, heaved a crate onto the fire, then turned back and disappeared inside once more.

As Adam ran across the cobbles, he saw Mr. Shuttleworth cross the green in his odd upright trot.

Bill Ackers suddenly appeared before Adam, blocking his view and path. "Steady on."

He tried to step around the bulky man, but Ackers took his arm in an iron grip. "Stay back, Dr. Graves. Woe betide ye if Foster hears of ye meddlin' in this affair."

Ackers's bailiff, his brother in size and strength, held Shuttleworth as the surgeon, cravat askew, strained forward. His dark troubled eyes met Adam's over the bailiff's beefy shoulder. "Good heavens, man," he cried. "Do something."

"Nothin' he can do to puh a stop to it," Ackers said. "Haswell's in quiy' a lot of trouble. Gentlemen come down from London town with papers." He nodded toward John Evans, coming back out with an armload of dried herbs. "That man in the queer une-ee-form showed me. All legal an' so like."

"Foster paid you off," Adam said. "You knew what would happen today."

"I am only doin' my duty. Keeping the peace, innum? You'll keep yers, too, if yer a clever man."

Adam stopped resisting, stepping back from the constable's hold.

"That's it. Just go on to yer offices, now. Nothing to concern you here."

Adam stepped back, into the shadows beneath a lime tree on the green. Across the waves of heat and roils of black smoke he saw Miss Haswell, clutching a thick book in one arm, and with the other, holding her father back.

Their gazes caught, and for a moment hers alighted, but then, as he stood there, unmoving, her focus dimmed and finally fell away from him. Adam realized it was happening again. He was once more held in fear's grip. Frozen. He uttered a rare prayer, Lord in heaven, help me!

The beadle carried out a tall eighteenth-century jar bearing the Haswell crest, and seeing it sent a jolt through Adam's limbs. As if in boiled syrup, he strode heavily across the cobbled street and stood before John Evans. Recognizing him, the beadle hesitated. His hard eyes grew angry and his Welsh accent lilted his answer. "Not workin' fahst enough for you, is thaht it?"

"Please stop, Mr. Evans John. The charges Dr. Foster brought are unjust."

"Thought you worked for the mahn?"

"Yes. But I can prove that a person would have died if Haswell's had filled Foster's order."

"Show it to the Master, then." He jerked his head toward Mortimer Allen, across the street.

"No, John. I am showing it to you -a man of honor. Your master and mine are in league together. Would you destroy the livelihood the legacy of an innocent man? A n.o.ble apothecary?"

Evans hesitated. "I've a writ with two charges not just the one. Are you telling me there's no truth in either of them? Thaht a this" he nodded toward the pile of broken rubble "was unjust?" For a moment the man's green eyes looked bleak, urging him to deny it, to renounce his guilt.

"What other charge?" Adam asked warily.

"Thaht one Lillian Haswell, female, has been practicing as an apothecary, unlawfully diagnosing and dispensing physic without legal qualification to do so. Can you prove this charge false as well?"

Again Adam hesitated, held by the earnest, forthright eyes of the man staring back at him. "I a cannot."

Mr. Evans blinked.

"But this is a lesser charge, surely," Adam added. "Not requiring such a heavy toll. No charge of adulterated medicine, no harm done. Her father has been dreadfully ill she has been nothing but a credit to him."

Something in the man's eyes glinted, as if he understood Graves's reasons for interfering were not merely professional. Evans stared at him a moment longer, then shoved the tall jar into his arms and turned away.

"Why do you stop?" the Master of Wardens called after him. "Who told you to stop?"

"We are well beyond our jurisdiction here. I've done all I will."

"We are not finished here!"

"We are."