Passing as Elias

“
Heterosexuality has been forcibly and subliminally imposed on women. Yet everywhere women have resisted it, often at the cost of physical torture, imprisonment, psychosurgery, social ostracism, and extreme poverty.”
Adrienne Rich

Chapter One

The Captain

Elizabeth Searson ran along Baggot Street, her dusty green dress hitched above her ankles, and her elbows pointing outward absurdly. A redheaded child laughed and pointed at her as she sped past. Elizabeth rounded a corner onto
Eastmoreland Place
and sent pebbles showering over a small, portly man in a sweeping blue cloak.

“Apologies, Sir!” she yelled over her shoulder, waving a hand frantically. She could hear him cursing and coughing as he inhaled the dust.

Elizabeth grasped the bonnet on her head as it flapped about while she ran down the gentle slope. Her hair had come loose from its bun, and was now flying behind her like dancing flames. She was running out of breath, but had to make it to the apothecary before the eighth hour or there would be hell to pay. As this thought entered her mind the tower clock that loomed above the town chimed, signaling the arrival of the eighth hour.

She was only around the corner now. So very close. Perhaps Professor de Bard would not be too displeased if she were only a minute late.

The little wooden sign that hung above the door loomed into view.  It read “De Bard’s Apothecary” with a picture of a mortar and pestle underneath. The tower clock had not yet reached its final chime. Perhaps she would make it.

Elizabeth hurtled through the apothecary doors as the tower gave its final chime. The bell above the door clanged loudly at her entrance.

“I made it! I am here!” Elizabeth panted, her face flushed, and her bonnet askew.

Bernard de Bard did not look up from the papers that littered the shop counter. She stood there, silently for a few moments, before he clucked his tongue and looked up at her. Elizabeth gave an apologetic smile.

Bernard was not frightening by any means, and was usually good-natured. He was an older gentleman who had once been handsome in his youth. Now however, his face was lined, his hair graying and frazzled, with an air of eccentricity about him. The one thing Professor de Bard could not tolerate was tardiness.

“When you make a commitment to another human to show up for work at eight o’clock in the morning, you are telling them – ‘yes … I shall be present at the pre-arranged time.’ By showing up late, whether one minute or fifteen minutes, you are - purposefully or not – conveying that the other persons time is not valuable to you.” Bernard looked back down  at his paperwork.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and gave an inward sigh, “I do apologize Professor, really. I meant to be here ten minutes ago to help you set up. But honest sir, I was on my way here when –”  She ceased talking for Bernard had held up a bony white hand to indicate that he wished for silence.

“I do not care for excuses, Betty.” He sighed lightly. “You are in luck, for our appointment appears to be running late himself. I have prepared the vials and paperwork already. Go and clean yourself up, girl.” He looked upon her disheveled state momentarily before he waved her away.

“Yes, sir.” Elizabeth excused herself and made her way past the multiple shelves of potions and powders behind the shop counter to the laboratory beyond. She eyed her reflection in the small dusty mirror that sat upon her workbench. Small corked vials, and large ornate jars consumed much of the surface. Removing her bonnet, Elizabeth attempted to fix her  hair, pinning up the fire red tendrils that had become loose in her haste. She attempted to flatten the top, yet to no avail, for her curls always won. Heaving a sigh, she abandoned the hopeless attempt at taming her hair, and began dusting off her dress and boots. She must look at least presentable for their client, who was due at any moment.
Her face was still pink from the dash she had made from home, a mile away. The mad rush had taken her fifteen minutes, and now her feet ached in her heeled boots.

At that moment the doorbell clanged loudly, and Elizabeth made a start. Hurriedly, she stuffed her bonnet out of sight, brushed down her dress, and made haste to the shop front.

“Ah, Master Larson! Welcome, welcome my good man!” Elizabeth heard Professor de Bard exclaim as she ducked into the front of the shop. A man in a midnight cloak, with a cream waistcoat, and tan breeches stood in the doorway looking rather harassed. Elizabeth cringed internally.

“Good morning, Professor de Bard,” the man said, stepping over the threshold, and allowing the door to swing shut behind him, with another tinkle of the bell. “I trust you are in good health?”

“Naturally, naturally,” Bernard said, patting his round protruding belly with a smile. “Nothing ails me that a quick brew will not fix.”

“Most excellent.” Master Larson took a step toward the counter and laid his eyes upon Elizabeth. He seemed to recognize her as the one who had showered him in pebbles not minutes before. “I do not believe we have been introduced,” he said as he removed his hat, and gave a nod in Elizabeth’s direction.

“Ah, this is Elizabeth Searson, my apprentice,” Professor de Bard explained quickly, waving a hand in Elizabeth’s direction. Elizabeth smiled politely.

“Do you not mean
assistant
, Professor?” said Master Larson without a hint of a greeting towards Elizabeth.

“No, Master Larson,” Elizabeth piped up, “I have been studying under the Professor for three years, sir. Another two years and I shall be a qualified Apothecary.” She smiled toothily, hoping to receive one in return.

“A woman?” Master Larson narrowed his eyes and turned his attention back to Professor de Bard, “A
female
become a qualified apothecary? Nonsense Professor.” He gave a chortle, “You can not expect someone of the female gender to fully comprehend the science of medicine, surely.”

Elizabeth’s smile faltered momentarily, but she recovered swiftly, “Some would believe a woman’s brain is as large as a man’s, Master Larson,” she said as she folded her arms across her chest.

Professor de Bard cleared his throat loudly, and put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, “I have had many apprentices in my time, Master Larson,” he said with a small squeeze to her shoulder, “I think you will find Miss Searson as capable as any man, I assure you.  She is one of the most skilled apprentices I have had the pleasure of teaching. She has demonstrated her skills well, I think you will find, in the elixir you have commissioned from us.”

“I do apologize, Professor de Bard, but I was under the impression that a
professional
would be handling the matters I put forth to your business, and not a woman who fancies herself as clever as a man,” Larson said coldly. “Never mind the fact that I expressly forbade anyone knowing of this purchase, apart from you and I. If I were so careless as to who
knew
of my commissions, then I would not have come to collect my elixir personally. I might have had a servant collect it for me.”

“Your potion will not disappoint you, Master Larson, I guarantee it,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, “and I will not tell anyone, sir. Honest.”

“We shall see,” Larson said taking another step towards the counter and rummaging in his pockets, “however, do not expect me to pay full price for the work of a woman who speaks so commonly. You will receive a fraction of the payment you requested Professor, and not a penny more.” He shook some silver pieces onto his palm and dropped them onto the counter.

Elizabeth looked down at the coins, and spoke not a word more.  Her heart thudded angrily against her rib cage, yet she dared not speak rudely to Master Larson, for he was a very rich, and powerful man.

Professor de Bard handed Larson a small leather pouch, which chinked merrily. It contained six tiny vials, each containing a liquid of different colour.

“Now, please, Master Larson, the instructions are inside the pouch. You must mix each component in the correct order.”

“Yes, yes.”  Larson did not bother to inspect the quality of the elixirs, but snatched it from Professor de Bard. “I will return if I am not satisfied. If you do not hear from me until the month is over, count yourself lucky. Or perhaps her concoction has killed me.” With that he swept from the room, his cloak whipping through the doorway.

As Larson marched up the street, Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed for control over her temper.

“Do not fret, my dear,” the Professor said as he stacked the papers on the counter, “he shall not be back until he is due for his next dose within a months time.”

“What if he returns to spite me?” Elizabeth grumbled, picking at a loose thread.

“He shall not. Your concoction was of excellent quality. He would not be able to tell the difference if I brewed it myself.  ”

Elizabeth smiled at the compliment and looked at her Professor, “What will I do when I complete my apprenticeship, Professor?”

“What do you mean? I should think the answer to that is quite simple. I would very much like you to stay here. You will be a qualified apothecary.”

“I know, I know. I would like that very much, sir. However, what shall people think of a woman brewing their concoctions? I fear they shall all despise the idea of me as their apothecary.” The words came forth rushed. Elizabeth had been biting back these fears since she had begun her apprenticeship three years ago.

The expression on Professor de Bard’s face was comforting. He looked at Elizabeth as though she were his own child that needed comforting.

“You will earn their trust,” he said as he gripped her shoulder, “that is why it is important we begin showing the townspeople what you are capable of. Do you not remember the point of today?”

“To be humiliated in front of Master Larson?” Elizabeth grumbled “Sir,” she added.

The Professor ignored this, “To get word out of your skills, Elizabeth.”

“Regardless of my skills, Professor, I shall only earn half of what a man does,” she said bitterly.

Professor de Bard gave her shoulder a light squeeze again, “I pay you based on your work Elizabeth, not your gender.”

“A generous pay it is too, sir.’ Elizabeth did not want to sound ungrateful, for Mister de Bard paid her as much as a man would earn in the same position.

“That is because you are the most clever young person I have met in a very long while,” he said as he smiled at her. Elizabeth noticed he chose to say “cleverest young person” rather than “cleverest young woman.”

“I only wish others had the same view. You saw how Master Larson reacted. He thought my time and effort worth only a fraction of a gentleman’s. How shall I earn a living if I were to ever open my own apothecary? The coin he paid does not even cover the cost of the ingredients we used to make it. Perhaps I should just dress as a boy, and be done with it,” Elizabeth muttered.

“I am afraid I do not have a potion for that.” Professor de Bard smiled warmly, “Come now, do not be silly. All you need to do is prove yourself of equal talent to a man. Yet, you and I both know that you are smarter than most. Your application proved that.”

Elizabeth shrugged. She had earned her position as an apothecary’s apprentice by solving a mathematical equation that had been posted on the town hall bulletin board. She had not known that it was a test for a job position. The flyer had merely stated that whomever could figure out the problem should present themselves to Professor de Bard by the aforementioned date for a prize. The answer to the equation was his home address. According to the Professor, many people had taken the flyers , yet Elizabeth had been the only one to appear on his doorstep. She had been offered the apprenticeship at once. Never had Elizabeth considered Apothecary as a career, however the idea grew on her over the days she considered the offer. A week later she returned to Professor de Bard to accept his proposition.

Elizabeth was a common girl. Her mother had taught her everything she knew, which was not much, though Elizabeth had always been described as a gifted child. She had been brought up under the impression that a woman’s role was to be a wife, and mother. At twenty, most would expect Elizabeth to be wed by now, however it did not interest her in the slightest. Her mother often complained that it was socially humiliating to be unwed at Elizabeth’s age. She had never been in love, not that love seemed to matter when it came to being married, it seemed. Her mother often nagged when it came to matters of marriage, however, Elizabeth just shrugged it off. No man had ever attempted to court her.  She supposed it was because her intelligence far outstripped any man she knew, which was considered quite unappealing to bachelors. However, there was one man who was quite persistent with his flirtatious advances on Elizabeth, though he had never officially sought to court her. Captain Greenwood of the Royal Navy was often at the apothecary when he was not at sea, but Elizabeth was extremely wary of him, for he was very handsome, and had a rather cheeky reputation. This did not bother Elizabeth too much, for she did not have any feelings for Captain George Greenwood.