It was while she was mulling over these worrying thoughts that she heard a footstep upon the flags and looked up to see William approaching. Still angry with him, she bent her head over her sewing without greeting him.
He stood before her, waiting.
‘You’re back, then,’ said Susannah at last.
‘As you see. Have you forgiven me yet?’
She stabbed the needle into the tiny shirt she was sewing and pricked her finger. Drawing in her breath in irritation, she watched a drop of blood spread across the linen.
‘It’s not my forgiveness you should seek. I hope you can sleep at night when you think about how Emmanuel is suffering.’
‘I dealt with Emmanuel in the way I thought best.’
‘I wonder what gives you the right to believe you know what is best for him?’
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut again. ‘Susannah, I ask you to trust me on this. I have done nothing to bring any harm to Emmanuel. Now let us speak no more of it. Besides, I have brought something for you.’
‘Another present? I do hope you’re not trying to bribe me with some trinket?’
‘Susannah! Will you never let it go? In any case, this present isn’t for you.’
‘Oh!’ Disappointment made her put down her sewing.
‘Wait here a moment.’ William went inside and reappeared a moment later carrying a large parcel wrapped up in hessian. ‘Open it!’ he said, depositing the heavy bundle by her feet.
She pulled aside the sacking and revealed an oak cradle, carved with a twisting pattern of oak leaves and acorns. She stared at it, at a loss for words. How could she possibly show her pleasure in this wonderful gift when she was so angry with him? At last, running her finger over one of the carved acorns, she said quietly, ‘William, it’s exquisite! I had thought that my baby would spend his first months in a rush basket but this will give him a splendid start in life.’
‘I hoped you’d like it. I collected it from the attics at Merryfields. I spent my first months tucked up in this cradle, while my mother rocked it with her foot and sang to me.’
‘It was yours?’
‘And my sister’s and my father’s.’ He looked down at his feet. ‘Once I thought that I might have a son to sleep in it but it was not to be.’
Susannah waited, wondering if he would tell her the truth now about Joseph, but he only said, ‘It seems fitting that Henry’s child should use it.’
‘Thank you, William,’ she said, touched by his thoughtful act.
‘And now I’d better brave my aunt’s temper and go to see how she does.’ Swiftly he bent down and kissed the curve of her neck before returning to the house.
Touching her neck, where she could still feel the imprint of his kiss, she watched him stride away. She bit her lip, wondering if, by accepting the gift of cradle, she had condoned Emmanuel’s banishment.
That night, Susannah dreamed again that she was sitting beside her mother in the birthing chamber, waiting. It was dark, save a candle flickering on the washstand and the fire glowing orange in the grate. The overheated air was so thick and still that she could taste it and the sound of her mother’s laboured breathing filled her ears. Goody Tresswell stirred the fire and sprinkled bitter herbs onto the embers. The resinous twigs caught alight and spat bright sparks up the chimney. Acrid smoke drifted in a cloud across the room, making Susannah’s eyes water.
She started as the front door slammed. Voices. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door rattled open and Dr Ogilby’s shadow loomed up to cover the wall.
‘Soon have it out!’ he said. He held up a boning knife so that it glinted in the firelight while he tested the blade with his finger.
Mama struggled to sit, her fear as sharp as broken glass. ‘Don’t let him hurt my baby!’
Smiling, Dr Ogilby turned to her.
Sobbing, Susannah pinioned her mother’s arms.
‘Don’t let him hurt my baby!’
Her mother’s screams reverberated all around. Ogilby’s hot, rum-laden breath was moist on her cheek as he leaned over them.
Susannah awoke on a sob, her hand to her cheek. She had felt breath on her face. Hadn’t she? She lay with her eyes wide open, staring into the threatening dark. Echoes of her mother’s screams ebbed and flowed in her head, filling her with terror. And then she heard a regular, insistent creaking and shook off the last remnant of sleep.
Throwing back the sheet in fright, she sat up. Once her eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark she noticed the cradle. It moved gently from side to side as if rocked by an unseen hand.
She blundered her way to the door and out into the passage. Leaning against the wall until her racing heartbeat had slowed a little, she persuaded herself that she was only suffering from a night terror. She put her hand to her cheek again. Yet it had felt so real.
She stood for some moments outside her bedchamber, too fearful to go back inside. At last she lifted the latch.
The first grey light of dawn filtered through the window onto the motionless cradle at the foot of her bed. She rested her hand upon it, tracing the carved oak leaves with her fingertips. Had she only imagined that the cradle had rocked?
The week ended with a heavy thunderstorm which cleared the air for a few days before the humidity began to build up again. The oppressive night air seemed almost to throb with heat, threatening to suffocate Susannah and, her belly as tight as a drum at the end of her seventh month, she was only able to sleep fitfully. The most pleasant part of the day was just after dawn; she treasured her early-morning walks in the garden before she was obliged to wait on Agnes.
Before breakfast she went outside where the air was still cool and the reek of the Thames was almost drowned by the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle. She knelt awkwardly on the ground to tend the herb garden but the baby kicked her sharply in the ribs as if protesting at its confinement. Then a movement in the cloisters caught her eye and she looked up but whoever it was had disappeared. Pushing her garden knife into the ground to remove a dandelion she paused, feeling the back of her neck prickle. She shot a glance behind her and caught a glimpse of Phoebe peering at her from the arcading. There was such malevolence in her look that, all at once, Susannah gathered up her skirts and hurried from the garden as fast as her belly would allow her.
The chapel windows were tightly closed and the trapped air, heavy with smoke from Agnes’s pipe, pressed down upon Susannah, making her shift uncomfortably on her chair. Perspiration beaded her brow. Discreetly she eased her shift away from her underarms and sat up straighter so that the bones of her bodice didn’t dig into her flesh more than necessary.
Where was William, she wondered? There had been a coolness between them over Emmanuel’s banishment but then he had given her the cradle and kissed her neck. A sudden tremor ran through her groin as she remembered the feeling of his lips and the slight roughness of his beard prickling her skin. He still seemed to care for her, even though she remained aloof, waiting for him to apologise. But what if she was reading more into his interest in her than he really felt? He’d kissed her but it had hardly been a declaration of undying love. Damn the man! Why did he have to be so elusive?
She stood up and walked to the window to look outside. If it became any hotter she felt she’d explode, like an overfilled kettle on the fire. She sighed. A wasp buzzed against the glass, seemingly as desperate as herself to escape.
‘Why don’t you go and visit that friend of yours?’ asked Agnes. ‘You’re as fidgety as a rat caught in a drain.’
Susannah’s spirits revived at once. She’d be able to talk to Martha about William. ‘If you’re sure you don’t need me …?’
‘Need you? How d’you think I managed before you came? Run along with you, miss! And don’t go near any strangers; you never know where the sickness lurks.’
Outside in the street the air was a little cooler, although there was a peculiar stillness everywhere. On the spur of the moment, Susannah knocked
on Jane Quick’s door, thinking to ask if she would like to go with her to Martha’s house. The sound of the knocker echoed inside the hall.
An upstairs window scraped open in the house next door and an elderly woman leaned out. ‘She’s gone. Her husband sent for her yesterday from Surrey.’ The window banged shut again.
Susannah stared at the door for a moment, saddened that Jane hadn’t come to say goodbye. But these were exceptional times.
Agnes needn’t have worried about strangers coming too close. The streets were quiet and anyone Susannah met hurried past with their faces averted, just as keen to avoid contact as she was.
Entering the court where Martha lived, Susannah was greeted by the sight of two men piling furniture onto a cart. Baskets of household possessions stood on the dusty ground. The front door of Martha’s house was open and another man came out carrying a chair with Martha’s familiar sewing box resting on the seat.
‘Where are you taking that?’ asked Susannah, anxiety suddenly twisting her insides.
‘Following the missus’ orders,’ he said.
‘Where is she?’
He nodded his head at the door and Susannah ran inside. She found Martha with her hair tied up in a duster, standing before the dresser and handing down the plates to Patience. The smaller children ran in and out of the room and James gurgled in his cradle.
Susannah sank down onto a chair and fanned herself with her hand, suddenly faint with heat and unease. ‘Thank the Lord that you are well,’ she said. ‘When I saw your furniture being taken away I thought …’
Martha came and poured a glass of ale for Susannah. ‘You’ve saved me a visit. I was planning to see you before we go.’
‘Go? Where?’ asked Susannah, bewildered.
‘Kent. Josiah’s brother sent his cart for us and we’ll live with him until we find work and a place of our own.’ She tucked away a loose strand of hair that had freed itself from the duster and stuck to the perspiration beading her brow. ‘Though how we’ll all fit into his cottage I can’t imagine.’
‘But why?’
‘You of all people should know that! We’ll not stay here any longer to risk our children’s lives. Andrew Baker and all his family on the other side of the court were stricken and passed away last week. I’ve known them ever since Josiah and I first walked out together.’ Martha lifted a corner of her apron and wiped her eyes.
‘I thought you put your trust in the Lord?’
‘The Lord looks after those who look after themselves.’
‘Everyone is dying or leaving!’ Susannah heard the desolation in her voice. ‘What shall I do without you, Martha?’
‘You shall visit me when your baby is born and you have recovered strength enough to travel.’
‘If Agnes can spare me. And I’ll write and tell you all the London news.’
Martha smiled, just a little. ‘You forget, my dear. I cannot read.’ Susannah made her way back to the Captain’s House with a heavy heart. She had never thought that her childhood friend would leave the city and the prospect of giving birth and tending her baby without Martha’s patient guidance left her bereft. Overheated from the walk, Susannah went straight to the kitchen in search of a drink.
Peg sat at the kitchen table, looking pale and wan while she picked slugs out of a bowl of salad greens.
Mistress Oliver had loosened her bodice and sat overflowing on a stool, wriggling her toes in a basin of cold water. She made no attempt to stand up when she saw Susannah, merely saying, ‘You might like to try this. Very soothing for swollen ankles.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ replied Susannah. ‘Next time you could put in some mint leaves to increase the cooling effect. Meanwhile, may I have a glass of ale?’
‘Peg, fetch it, will you? And you might as well bring the pike for dinner. It’s gone a bit ripe in the heat and I need to soak it in vinegar.’
Susannah followed the kitchen maid down the corridor to the storerooms.
‘You’re very pale, Peg. Are you not sleeping well?’
‘It’s too hot to sleep.’
In the pantry Peg handed Susannah a jug of ale. ‘Mistress Oliver will take a glass, too, I expect. I’ll fetch the fish.’ She picked up a platter covered in a muslin cloth and pulled back the covering to look at the pike.
A strong smell of ammonia rose from it, making Susannah cover her nose with her hand. Peg turned as green as a new leaf and burst into noisy sobs.
‘What is it, Peg?’
‘I’m so unhappy, ma’am! I don’t want to be in the city no more! Everything smells bad and I’m frightened of the plague and it’s too hot and, oh, I do miss Emmanuel so much that I think my heart will break.’
‘What Emmanuel did was wrong, Peg.’
‘He didn’t do nothing wrong! I never let him, even though I wanted him to. And now I don’t sleep for thinking about him on that boat, kept below decks in the dark and the heat, soaked in his own filth, just like Phoebe and Joseph. And if he doesn’t die on the journey, they’ll beat him to death him on the plantation.’
‘Not if he behaves himself.’
‘I might as well throw myself in the river.’ She looked up at Susannah, her eyes drowned in tears. ‘I’ll never be happy again.’
‘Don’t say such a wicked thing!’
‘But ma’am, it’s true. And everywhere I look I see something to remind me of Emmanuel. I hate London! Especially I hate this house; I’d rather be in Cock Alley. All the bad things happened here. I want to go back to the country.’ Her voice ended on a wail.
Susannah handed her a clean handkerchief to dry her eyes. ‘I’ll see if I can think of something.’
‘Oh, please, madam! I knew you could help me.’
Peg’s faith in her was completely unfounded, thought Susannah a few days later. She’d racked her brains trying to think of someone who might take the girl in and give her a home in the country but in the end she put aside her pride and went to find William in his study.
‘I don’t know what to do for the best but I don’t want it on my conscience if the poor child throws herself into the river. She’s grown so thin and she’s still pining for Emmanuel.’
‘It’s a predicament, isn’t it?’ said William. ‘Peg and Emmanuel are barely more than children but they do seem to have formed a deep attachment for each other. I’ll make enquiries to see if I can find her another situation in the country.’
‘I’ll miss her if she goes.’ Sadly she said, ‘Everyone is deserting me.’
William nodded and turned his attention back to his books. Susannah waited for a moment but he appeared to have forgotten her. Did she mean nothing to him? Or had he changed his mind and decided to avoid her? At last, heavy with despair, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Chapter 21
Susannah was woken early by footsteps in the corridor. She recognised the sound of William’s boots as they clipped along the oak boards and thought that it must be Joseph’s feet she could hear skittering along behind him. She experienced a twinge of jealousy that William had found time to spend with his son while she was ignored. The baby stirred in her belly, stretching and putting an intolerable strain on her bladder. Time to get up.
Once dressed, she went down to the kitchen for an early breakfast.
‘Peg’s overslept again,’ grumbled Mistress Oliver. ‘In my day Cook would have given me a good thrashing if I was late. I wanted her to go to the market early; it’s hard enough to find what you need these days without leaving it too late. I’d use the butcher’s on the other side of the street but the meat’s always covered in flies and that wife of his is a slattern and never washes the blood off the floors.’
‘Couldn’t Phoebe go instead?’
‘She’s no use, neither. No idea how to choose a decent bit of mutton.’
‘Perhaps they didn’t have mutton in Barbados?’ said Susannah. ‘Shall I wake Peg? Or shall I set off to the market? By the time Peg is dressed I could already be there.
’
‘That’s true enough. Fetch me some salad greens too if you can get them. And a block of salt and whatever vegetables you can find.’
The market was even smaller than the last time Susannah had been, and the prices higher, but she was able to secure a leg of mutton, a dozen eggs, a few withered carrots and a bunch of over-priced greens. At the last stall she found a box of sugar plums and, on an impulse, bought them for Agnes. She knew her mistress had a sweet tooth and thought they might lift her spirits.
The scent of new-baked bread wafted from the kitchen as she returned home and Susannah’s stomach growled in anticipation. She put the basket on the table and cut herself a spongy chunk from the warm loaf.
Mistress Oliver rummaged through the contents of the basket. ‘Where’s the salt?’
‘There wasn’t any,’ mumbled Susannah through a mouthful of bread.
‘No salt? What’s the world coming to? Carrots aren’t much good neither but that’s a fine leg of mutton. What’s this? Did I ask you to buy sugar plums?’
‘No, you didn’t. I paid for them myself. They’re for Mistress Fygge.’
Mistress Oliver sniffed. ‘You’ll get heartburn if you eat that bread while it’s fresh.’
Agnes was pleased with her sugar plums and quickly forgave Susannah for going off without asking permission. ‘But I’ll not condone laziness in the servants. Is Peg back at her duties now?’
‘I’m sure Mistress Oliver will have punished her by making her do the worst jobs she can find,’ said Susannah.
Later, after Agnes was dressed and sitting in the chapel with a pipe in her hand, a book of poetry on her knee and Joseph at her feet, Susannah slipped away to the kitchen again.
Mistress Oliver and Phoebe were heaving a vast pan of stock off the fire. Phoebe burned her hand and started, causing some of the stock to fall on the flames. A cloud of hissing steam enveloped both of them in its vapour.
The Apothecary's Daughter Page 26