The Apothecary's Daughter

by Betts, Charlotte

  ‘You sad?’

  She swallowed, the child’s unexpected sympathy made her want to weep. ‘A little,’ she said.

  ‘Because I’m bad?’

  ‘You’re not bad, Joseph.’ He was an endearing child and she had no desire to make him fearful. ‘I’m hot and out of sorts. I do so wish I could escape this house.’

  ‘Why doan you go then?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? You not a slave. Mammy say you can go where you like.’

  ‘It’s not so simple.’

  Joseph shrugged and turned back to stoning the plums.

  Susannah gazed at the nape of the boy’s neck, his soft skin the colour of a walnut kernel. The silver collar which encircled his slender neck was finely crafted but must be hot and heavy to wear in this weather. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder if Phoebe saw the collars, expensive as they were, not as an adornment but as a symbol of their slavery. But if she and Joseph had not been found a home in the Captain’s House what would have become of them? Come to that, if Agnes had not taken her in she also would have died of starvation. Did that make her a slave too?

  A breeze lifted the hair on the back of her neck and the drying sheets suddenly billowed out like the sail of a ship. The sun still burned down but in the past few minutes the sky had turned an ominous shade of slate. Intent on the gathering clouds, she sliced the last plum in half and nicked her finger. A bead of blood grew on her fingertip and she sucked it away, the metallic taste mixed with the sweetness of plum juice.

  ‘It’s going to rain, Joseph. Fetch your mother to take in the washing.’

  He trotted back to the kitchen door and she wondered yet again what she would say to William when she saw him. It was unbelievable to her that he could have kissed her with such passion last evening and then have gone, so soon afterwards, to Phoebe’s bed. She would never have believed him so fickle and it undermined her very foundations that she had misjudged his character so badly. She toyed with the notion of confronting him but what good would that do? Even if he begged her forgiveness, she would never rid herself of the vision of that moment of intimacy when he had touched Phoebe’s cheek so tenderly.

  The rose bushes rocked in a sudden gust of wind, scattering petals on the gravel, while the sheets on the line flapped and snapped. A drop of rain fell with a plop onto Susannah’s knee, forming a dark circle on her skirt. Overhead a black cloud hovered, edged with brilliant light as dazzling as a hundred thousand candles. Another raindrop landed on her upturned face. All at once the wind dropped, the sun disappeared and the garden became deathly still. She held her breath, waiting.

  Then the rain came. It fell from the darkening sky just as if a giant hand had poured it through a sieve. Hissing straight down it bounced off the ground, soaking Susannah’s shoulders and splashing the hem of her skirt in seconds. She hurried to gather up the sheets. Fighting the bulky weight of the damp linen, she began to drag the sheets off the line and bundle them up into her arms.

  Phoebe, followed by Joseph, ran from the kitchen and snatched the rest of the sheets off the line.

  ‘Joseph, hurry! Fetch your slate and chalk before it’s ruined,’ said Susannah.

  ‘Leave it!’ Phoebe grasped the boy’s hand. ‘You doan need waste your time with letters.’

  Joseph looked uncertainly first at his mother then at Susannah.

  Susannah fixed Phoebe with a baleful stare, determined that in this, at least, she would have mastery. ‘Do as I tell you, Joseph!’

  All three stood for an endless moment while the rain cascaded over them and swirled around their feet on the sun-baked ground.

  Then, one by one, Joseph pulled free his mother’s fingers from his hand and set off, head bowed, to the bench where he had abandoned his slate.

  The desolation in Phoebe’s face made Susannah bite her lip. But after a moment the other woman turned and sprinted back to the house.

  Susannah followed more slowly, taking care not to slip on the thin mud that was forming on the ground.

  ‘Mercy! You’re soaked,’ exclaimed Mistress Oliver. ‘Phoebe, go and hang the sheets in the loft to dry. That’s a proper storm brewing, I do believe.’

  Susannah wiped the rain from her face with the corner of a sheet. ‘Perhaps it will clear the air. Joseph, take off your coat and Phoebe can put it to dry.’

  Joseph pulled off the blue velvet jacket and handed it to his mother, who took it without looking at him. She gathered up the wet linen and left the room.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Mistress Oliver. ‘Face as thunderous as the weather.’

  ‘She disapproves of me giving Joseph lessons.’

  ‘Who can blame her? What will a slave do with learning? In my opinion …’

  The front-door knocker sounded, once, twice and then in a great tattoo.

  ‘Mercy me!’ Mistress Oliver wiped her hands upon her apron and set off down the passage. ‘It must be someone for the doctor.’

  Susannah wrung the water out of her hair and was on the point of going upstairs to change into dry clothes when she heard raised voices in the hall. Surely she recognised that voice? She hurried along the passage.

  ‘Oh, Miss Susannah! I’ve come straight away. It’s terrible …’

  ‘Jennet, what is it?’ Alarm made Susannah’s voice sharp with foreboding.

  ‘It’s Mr Leyton, Miss.’ Jennet was trembling uncontrollably, the rain dripping off her sodden skirt and making a puddle on the Persian rug.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The master woke up a-coughing and a-sneezing and now he’s burning with the fever and the mistress is having a screaming fit.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘He’s got the black boils.’

  A shard of terror pierced Susannah’s insides. ‘Sweet Lord, not the plague!’

  Mistress Oliver shrieked and scuttled back to the kitchen.

  Susannah sank onto the hall chair. When the faintness had passed she struggled to her feet. ‘I must go to Father at once!’

  ‘You can’t, miss! You’ll catch it yourself.’

  Heedless, Susannah pulled open the front door and stood for a moment in the doorway before plunging out into the teeming rain.

  Whyteladies Lane was swirling with water from the overflowing drain, the cobbles slippery underfoot. Susannah hurried along as fast as she could, the mud ankle-deep in places. Almost blinded by the hammering rain, she skidded on something unpleasantly soft, tripped, righted herself and then lost her balance again. Gasping, she braced her hands forward to protect her unborn child as she began the inevitable tumble to the ground.

  Strong hands grasped her from behind and pulled her up. ‘Slow down, Miss Susannah! It won’t help your father if you miscarry.’

  Susannah found herself in Jennet’s broad arms. She let out one sob and then took a deep breath while she willed her racing heart to steady. ‘I’m all right now. Come on!’

  Jennet linked arms with her and they stumbled up Whyteladies Lane together, slip-sliding through the mire.

  The first slow rumble of thunder began, rolling around the sky like a wagon wheel on the loose. Lightning flickered. A coach splashed past, throwing water up high in its wake.

  The two women flattened themselves against a wall to avoid the spray just as the thunder cracked. Hands clasped, they stepped over the swirling torrent of rainwater that ran across the top of the alley and turned onto the main thoroughfare. A stream of carriages, on their way to the Bolt and Tun, swished past, splashing pedestrians and buildings alike.

  At last they reached the sign of the Unicorn and the Dragon. A small crowd had gathered, taking shelter from the rain in the doorway of the glovemaker’s shop opposite. A watchman stood on the step of the apothecary shop and Susannah gasped in horror when she saw that already a painted red cross glistened on the door. She pressed her face against the window. Inside all was as usual; the pestle and mortar sat on the counter next to the jar of leeches and the cone of sugar, in comfortable
familiarity. Except that her father and Ned weren’t in the shop.

  ‘Let me in!’ she called to the watchman.

  He shook his head. ‘No one’s to go in or out.’

  ‘But my father and his wife are in there and my baby brothers!’

  ‘You can’t go in.’ He folded his arms and scowled at her.

  ‘Have you no pity?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you no pity for the child you carry?’

  Jennet took hold of her arm. ‘Come away, Miss Susannah.’

  Susannah let Jennet lead her away and then stood in the road looking up at the windows. ‘Let’s try the kitchen door,’ she said. ‘I must see Father. What if he dies, Jennet, and I haven’t said goodbye to him?’ She set off down the road to the familiar passage between the buildings which led to the back of the yard. The rain fell harder still and the hem of her skirt was caked and heavy with mud. The key was in its usual hiding place; she unlocked the gate and splashed through the yard to the kitchen door. She turned the handle but then saw the shiny new nails hammered into the timber. Banging on the door, she screamed and shouted her father’s name, her voice drowned out by the thunder rumbling overhead and the water gushing from the roof onto the ground.

  Jennet pulled her arm. ‘It’s no use, Miss Susannah.’

  Defeated, Susannah sank against the yard wall, her face in her hands.

  Lightning fractured the sky and she looked up. Her father’s white face was at the bedroom window.

  ‘Father!’

  He looked down at her and mouthed something she couldn’t hear.

  Hope surged in her heart. ‘I’m coming, Father! I’ll bribe the watchman to let me in.’

  He shook his head and pressed his hands flat against the streaming window pane. Faltering then, he collapsed against the window, his palms sliding down the glass until he disappeared from view.

  Susannah stared upwards, willing him to reappear. She stifled a sob; if she gave in to tears she thought she might not be able to stop and there were still decisions to make. She turned to Jennet. ‘Were Arabella and the children well when you left?’

  ‘They were screaming and crying something terrible when I slipped out of the back door. You could hear the hullabaloo half way up Fleet Street. Either they’ve gone or they’ve fallen ill all of a sudden.’

  ‘What about Ned?’

  ‘He took to his bed with a rattling cough this morning.’

  ‘So Father and Ned may be on their own with no one to nurse them?’

  Jennet nodded, her face stricken.

  Susannah lifted her skirts out of the mud and started back to Fleet Street with Jennet trailing behind her.

  The watchman leaned on his halberd, his coat collar pulled up against the hammering rain.

  ‘Let me pass,’ said Susannah.

  ‘You want to die, do you? You and your babe?’ Water ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin in a continual stream.

  Susannah hesitated, torn between risking her baby’s life and the yearning to comfort her father.

  ‘Pray to the good Lord and hope he will be merciful. Go along home now, madam, before you drown.’

  How could she abandon her father? She made up her mind. ‘I’ll pay you to let me in!’

  ‘Trying to bribe me now, is it?’ Lightning flashed again and a second later thunder cracked and echoed around the sky. ‘How much?’ shouted the watchman over the clamour of the drumming rain.

  Susannah looked into his greedy eyes. Would it be so terrible to die and leave behind all her fears? William and Henry had both betrayed her. Who else loved her now but her father?

  ‘How much?’ shouted the watchman, again.

  She took a deep breath and tried to still her shaking hands. ‘Everything I have,’ she said.

  Another gigantic clap of thunder made her gasp.

  ‘Let’s see your money, then,’ said the watchman.

  ‘I’ll have to fetch it.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere.’ He folded his arms.

  Susannah had gone only a few steps when she saw a tall man hurrying towards the shop. His cloak flapped wetly around his knees and water funnelled off his hat onto the beaked mask below. Her heart began to race again. William. Only the day before she would have run to him but now she simply stood with legs as heavy as lead and watched him approach.

  ‘Susannah. I came as soon as I heard.’

  ‘Father has the pestilence,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes. ‘And Ned is sickening.’

  ‘Arabella and the children?’

  She shrugged, dashing the streaming water off her face with the back of her hand. ‘She ran away before the house was shut up. I saw Father …’ She broke down then, the memory of his white face at the window too much to bear.

  William caught her by the shoulders. ‘How bad is he?’

  ‘Very weak.’

  ‘My poor master has the black boils and a fever, sir,’ said Jennet, through chattering teeth.

  Susannah shook herself free of William’s hands. ‘I must help him!’

  ‘You cannot.’ His black eyes flashed above the white mask.

  ‘I can and I will. But first I have to go home and collect my savings.’

  ‘Your savings?’

  ‘I haven’t much but the watchman will let me in if—’

  ‘Susannah! What are you thinking of?’ He pulled off his mask. ‘You cannot put yourself at such risk!’

  ‘What does that matter any more?’ She was too exhausted to argue about it. ‘All I want is to be with Father.’ Rain thudded down on Susannah’s head and her hair, escaped from its pins, clung like seaweed to her shoulders.

  Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the street with brilliant intensity.

  ‘And you are prepared to risk your baby’s life, too?’ William’s voice was cold. ‘I had not thought you so selfish.’

  A sudden flash of anger made her hold her head up high and stare him down. ‘And I suppose you are a model of perfection?’

  Thunder exploded and reverberated around the rooftops, louder than a thousand cannons.

  ‘Your father would not wish you and his grandchild to die in vain,’ shouted William as the heavens tore apart above them. ‘I shall go into the house.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Who better?’

  ‘Sir?’ Jennet caught hold of his sleeve, her chin trembling and her eyes wide with terror. ‘Let me come with you.’

  ‘You? Why would you want to return to a house of sickness?’

  ‘Where else can I go?’ Her voice quavered. ‘I have no family and this has been my home for more years than I can remember. Mr Leyton has always been so good to me and I can help to nurse him.’

  ‘You may sicken.’

  ‘Perhaps I am already infected.’ She stood up and braced her shoulders. ‘God will decide what becomes of me.

  ‘Then so be it. I shall be glad of your assistance. We must put a poultice on the boils and draw out the evil humours. Let us waste no more time.’

  ‘You cannot, William!’ cried Susannah, clutching at his sleeve.

  Ignoring her, he strode back to the watchman. ‘Stand aside!’

  The watchman barred the door with his halberd. ‘No one comes out. No one goes in. Those are my orders.’

  ‘And do your orders include taking bribes to allow people to leave the premises?’ William caught the watchman by his collar and roughly pushed him back against the wall. ‘Where is the lady of the house and her children? If they have been allowed to escape, possibly carrying infection with them, I can assure you the authorities will take such a matter very seriously.’

  The watchman shuffled his feet. ‘I can’t help it if madam escaped out of a bedroom window and across the rooftops, can I?’

  ‘This maid came from the house. She may already carry the sickness and I am sure you will agree that it is better for her to be confined inside? And as a doctor, I shall tend to the sick myself.’

  ‘If you go in and you d
on’t come out on the dead-cart, you’ll be quarantined,’ warned the watchman.

  William released him.

  ‘And I won’t take no bribes to let you out earlier, seeing as the authorities are so strict.’ The watchman grinned, showing the black stumps of his teeth.

  Susannah caught hold of Jennet’s arm, her sleeve sodden under her hand. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘I’m afraid of dying but I’m more afraid of being alone in the world.’ The maid struggled to find a smile. ‘Look after yourself and your babe, Miss Susannah, and I will help the doctor to tend your dear father.’

  Speechless, Susannah gathered Jennet into her arms and hugged her fiercely.

  ‘We have no time to waste,’ said William.

  The watchman unlocked the door. ‘Go on with you, then.’

  As lightning fizzled and spat, ripping across the leaden sky, Jennet bolted through the doorway glancing back white-faced over her shoulder before she disappeared.

  William wiped his dripping face. ‘I’ll do my very best for your father,’ he said. ‘Come at noon tomorrow and I’ll let you know how he fares.’

  Susannah fought to find the words to express her tumultuous thoughts. In the end, she only said, ‘You will do this, risk your life, for him?’

  ‘I will do this for you, Susannah.’ He looked at her for a long moment before he, too, went into the house.

  The watchman slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock.

  Thunder cracked again, the violence of the storm only matched by the desolation in Susannah’s heart. Soaked to the skin, she stared at the red cross on the door and then at the words painted below. Lord have mercy on us, she read.

  Chapter 24

  ‘Dammit, Susannah!’ Agnes dropped her pipe upon her lap, heedless of the tobacco stains upon her skirt. ‘He’s all I have left. How could you let him?’

  ‘You know better than I that William will always do as he pleases,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘I thought you had more influence over him.’

  ‘As you can see, I have not,’ said Susannah. But guilt and dread pricked her. Agnes was right; she should have tried harder to dissuade William from entering the house. But Father had been so alone and frightened.