The Apothecary's Daughter (34 page)

“I did wonder how you must be feeling.”

“Did you? Well, then you are the only one considering my feelings these days.”

She took a tentative step closer. “You … did hope to marry her,
then?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.” He added acrimoniously, “I certainly
did not hope she would marry my father. Devilish humiliating.”

“I am sorry.”

“Never fear, Miss Haswell. I will forget by and by.”

“Will you?” she asked, studying his dull expression.

“Yes, with concerted effort and time, I shall.”

“Perhaps you might teach me that trick.”

She had only been jesting, but he looked at her quite earnestly.

“It can be learned. I am quite the master of forgetting unpleasant
things. When the memory raises its head, you force it down. It rises
again, you supplant it with new and more vibrant memories. It tries
once more, you intoxicate the mind, drown it out. You do not allow
such thoughts to revisit themselves upon you.”

“But then, do we never learn from our past mistakes? Is that not
one reason God gave us memory?”

“I do hope not. Pleasant memories are well and good, but I prefer
to banish the others. With practice and constant diligence, one may
train a memory to remain cowering in the dark reaches of the mind, where it can no longer prick one’s conscience. It may not be quite the
same as truly forgetting, I grant you, but a near enough imitation.”

“You sound as if you have had long practice. What is it you strive
so hard to forget, I wonder?” She nodded toward the church below.
“Besides recent events.”

He hesitated, and a shadow of remorse flickered and quickly disappeared, replaced by a cavalier grin. “I am sure there must be something,
Miss Haswell, but I do not remember.”

Lilly found herself wondering if she ought to attempt the same
method with her own memories that brought such disquiet. Of coming home and finding her mother gone, her father pacing and desperately pretending all would be well, that she would return in a few
days. Charlie sitting behind the draperies in Mother’s bedchamber,
running his small fingers over the roses in the pattern, mumbling
the same numbers over and over again-” Seventy four, five, six,
seven … ty four, five, six… “

“In any event,” Mr. Marlow continued, “I am certain there is a
woman out there who will not throw me over for a man twice my age.”

“I have no doubt there are many.” She had only meant to console him,
but a sudden gleam in his eye sent warning bells ringing in her mind.

He reached out and touched a tendril of hair against her neck.
“You are a balm, Miss Haswell. A sweet balm.”

She backed away. “I had better go.” She turned and made her way
down the hill at a rapid clip.

He jogged beside her. “May I walk with you?”

“I am on my way to visit a family recovering from the ague. I do
not think you-“

“How noble you are.” He captured her hand and tucked it beneath
his arm.

Once they reached the village, she pulled away gently, putting a
proper distance between them. As they passed the churchyard, now
deserted, he suddenly veered through its gate, pulling her in his wake
to stand behind the tall privet hedge. He pulled her close, one arm
draped diagonally from her shoulder to waist, his jaw to her temple.

He was tall and strong and wounded, and for one brief moment she allowed herself to enjoy the warm strength of his arm around
her, before pulling away once more. With his free hand, he tried to
capture her chin, to angle her face toward his, but she turned away.
“Mr. Marlow, please!”

“You are right. Forgive me.”

“I realize you feel betrayed. But do you really think toying with
a substitute will remedy your pain?”

“It would dull it, at least.”

“For how long? And at what cost to me? If someone had seen us,
just then-“

“Your brother, for example?”

She had been thinking of Dr. Graves. “Actually, I meant-“

“For there he sits.”

She turned and stared, and there was Charlie reclining against
Grady Milton’s headstone. “Hallo, Lilly. Hallo, Mr. Marlow.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Charlie shrugged casually. “Countin’ dead men.”

Lilly sighed and thought, It’s the live ones I have to worry about.

Still, she was relieved to see her brother there. Something told
her Roderick Marlow would not have been as easily dissuaded had
he not been.

True to his word, Dr. Graves returned late that afternoon to check
on her father, promising to stop in regularly and oversee her father’s
progress. In fact, he seemed to relish the prospect. She supposed if Dr.
Graves had come to Bedsley Priors to continue courting her, he could not
have invented a more plausible excuse to see her so often. In any event,
she was exceedingly grateful to him for taking over her father’s care.

Charlie came in from the garden, and Lilly introduced her brother
to the new doctor.

“Graves, is it?” Charlie repeated, confused. “I like graves. Queer
name for a doctor though, innum?”

She was relieved when Dr. Graves took no offense.

Afterward, Dr. Graves asked her to recommend a hostelry where
he might dine. She immediately suggested the coffeehouse, explaining
the proprietress was a dear family friend.

He hesitated at the door. “Perhaps you would be so good as to
show me the way? “

She bit back a smile. “Happily, sir.”

Even taking the time to tie on her bonnet and retrieve her shawl, she
stepped out onto the High Street as he held the door for her. He walked
beside her across the narrow mews and progressed several steps before
realizing she had already stopped at the next establishment.

“Here it is.”

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. There were those dimples
she remembered so fondly and the blue, blue eyes brightened by the
afternoon sun.

She led him inside and introduced him to Mrs. Mimpurse and
Mary her friend studying the doctor with more than customary
interest.

Mr. Shuttleworth was enjoying an early supper, and Lilly introduced Dr. Foster’s new partner to him as well.

“Dr. Foster speaks highly of you, sir,” Graves said to him.

“I am much obliged.” Mr. Shuttleworth smiled. “He honors me
with his trust.”

Francis walked in, hat in hand. He drew up short at seeing the
well-dressed man beside her.

“Mr. Baylor, will you join me? ” Mr. Shuttleworth enthused. “You
come here far too rarely.”

“Many thanks, Mr. Shuttleworth, but I am only here to give you
a message. Mr. Robbins asks you to call when you can. One of his
workers injured his leg. May have broken it.”

“I shall go directly.” Mr. Shuttleworth rose, shook hands with Dr.
Graves, and turned toward Francis. “Have you met Mr. Baylor here,
my young right hand?”

Francis greeted the newcomer politely, but Lilly did not miss the
speculative concern in his eyes as he looked from the good-looking
stranger to her.

GOWLAND’S LOTION

Eruptive humours fly before its power,
Pimples and freckles die within an hour.

ACKERMANN’S REPOSITORY ADVERTISEMENT, 1809

he rain was relentless. A smoky grey sky poured leaden sheets
of water on Bedsley Priors for three days without ceasing. Dr.
Graves called on her father, who seemed to be steadily improving, but
otherwise the shop and High Street were silent but for the pounding of
rain on roof and cobbles. Rivulets streamed down the shop’s windowpanes, and only occasionally did Lilly see some brave soul dash past
on his way to the coffeehouse, where, by all appearances, half the men
of Bedsley Priors were taking refuge.

Late on the third afternoon, the shop door burst open, startling
Lilly as she sat at the dispensary counter reading a worn volume of
Sterne’s A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy. Francis
rushed inside, carrying a canvas-wrapped bundle. Water streamed
from his coat and the brim of his sodden hat.

“My goodness,” Lilly said, closing the book. “What has happened
to bring you out in this?”

Instead of answering, he asked, “Are we quite sure God has promised never to flood the earth again?”

She smiled. “Quite sure. Not the entire earth.”

“Only Bedsley Priors, it seems.”

Her father appeared at the surgery door and leaned against the
jamb. “Hello, Mr. Baylor. Communing with the ducks again, are
we? “

Francis held up the bundle. “I am returning the text you lent me.
I did not wish it to get wet.”

Charles Haswell’s face wrinkled in confusion. “And so you carried
it outside in this … ?

“It’s the roof, you see. Now I understand why the old haberdashery
remained vacant so long. The roof leaks during any hard rain. But
after this storm, the ceiling has more holes than a sieve. I’ve had to
roll up the carpets and pack away the bedding and all my clothes and
papers. Mr. Shuttleworth is doing the same.”

“And the shop?” her father asked.

“We’ve employed a score of basins and buckets abovestairs, and
so far the shop below is fairly dry.”

“Ah.” It wasn’t clear whether Charles Haswell was relieved or
disappointed. He said, “You must bring over anything else you don’t
wish ruined. And you are more than welcome to stay here tonight.”

Francis darted a look at Lilly. “I should not like to intrude, sir.”

“No trouble. Unless you relish the prospect of sleeping in a
puddle? “

Francis shook his head. “I was wondering how I would balance
the stew pot on my abdomen all night….”

“It’s settled, then. You shall spend the night here.” He hesitated, then added, “And do invite Shuttleworth as well. You are both
welcome.”

Three quarters of an hour later, both men rushed into the shop,
bumping into each other with cases and bundles in their arms, hat
brims pulled low and coat collars high. Their boots left a glistening
trail of water on the floorboards.

“Not fit for man nor water buffalo,” Mr. Shuttleworth panted.

Her father gingerly took the man’s valise. “Come, Shuttleworth,
bring your things up to Charlie’s room. He’s gone to Marlow House
to help batten down the place. Can’t say we’ve needed him here these
last few days. Sold two liquorice draughts and one plaster. How is
business for you?”

“Quiet as well.”

“Good, good,” her father said, leading the way with unusual vigor.
“I know a father-son from Alton Barnes who can put your roof to
rights at a fair price. Shall I give you their names?”

“Most obliging, Mr. Haswell.”

Lilly was surprised by her father’s warm reception. Was he so
pleased to learn his rival’s business fared no better than his own? He
turned back at the threshold. “And you may have your old room, Mr.
Baylor if you do not mind the tight quarters.”

“Not at all, sir.”

As the two older men disappeared through the door, Lilly smiled
up at Francis. “It will be just like old times.”