The Apothecary's Daughter

by Betts, Charlotte

  Emmanuel and Joseph had a man pinned between them, his face pushed between the bars of the great iron gates. The prisoner fought furiously but he was no match for the sheer bulk and strength of the two black servants.

  ‘Let him go!’ William’s voice rang out over the shouts of the struggling man.

  ‘We found him climbing over the gate,’ said Emmanuel, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the lamplight.

  ‘Put him down!’

  Emmanuel looked at Joseph and winked. Slowly they lowered the intruder, chuckling as they held him so that his feet hung just above the ground.

  ‘Down, I said!’

  Emmanuel shrugged but did as he was told.

  William held up the lantern to study the trespasser, who straightened his travelling cape, adjusted the lace at his cuffs and turned to face them.

  The light illuminated a young man’s features, currently arranged in a scowl.

  ‘Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?’ A frosty cloud of William’s breath hung in the air between them but it wasn’t as wintry as the tone of his voice.

  Beth didn’t envy the intruder. It had been a while since Father had spoken to her in that way and she sincerely hoped it would never happen again.

  ‘Forgive me, sir.’ The voice was that of an educated man but he didn’t sound at all as if he was seeking an apology. He picked up his wide-brimmed hat, now severely trampled, dusted it off, tweaked the feather back into shape and replaced it upon his head. ‘I lost my way. The cart dropped me off in the village and some mischievous child thought it amusing to direct me to the wrong road. I walked a long way before I realised I’d gone astray and by the time I’d found someone to point me to Merryfields it was dark.’

  Beth was astounded at how unruffled he sounded. He certainly didn’t behave like a common thief.

  ‘I rang the bell’, the young man continued, as he stamped clods of mud off his high boots, ‘and called out but, as no one answered, I tried the gate. Since it was locked and the hour so late, I took the liberty of climbing over the top, intending to knock on the door.’

  William frowned. ‘And the purpose of your visit?’

  ‘I have a letter for Mistress Susannah Ambrose.’

  ‘My wife.’

  ‘Ah. Then you must be Dr William Ambrose?’

  ‘Indeed. And the content of this letter?’

  The young man tilted up his chin. ‘I should prefer to speak directly to Mistress Ambrose.’

  Beth saw how the visitor, only a little older than herself she judged, met Father’s stare and couldn’t decide if he was fearless or simply arrogant.

  William grunted. ‘You had better come inside before we all catch a chill.’ He held the lamp up high. ‘Back to your duties, everyone.’

  Orpheus growled again. Beth pulled on his collar and dropped a kiss on top of his wiry head.

  William led the way up the steps and into the hall.

  Shivering, Beth closed the massive oak door behind them and shot the bolts.

  ‘Susannah, my dear,’ said William, ‘this young man brings you a letter.’

  Beth’s mother, her pretty face anxious, let go of Poor Joan, who had been weeping on her shoulder, and came forward. ‘A letter? But what was all the shouting about?’

  ‘The servants merely became overexcited when they thought our visitor was an intruder.’

  ‘Well, for goodness’ sake!’ Exasperation showed in Susannah’s green eyes. ‘What a fuss about nothing!’

  ‘Let me present …’ William turned to the visitor with an enquiring look.

  The young man took off his battered hat, exposing a fine head of wavy chestnut hair, and bowed low to Susannah.

  She gasped, her face turning as white as bone. ‘But …? It can’t be! Tom? Oh, Tom, is it you?’

  And then, almost before her husband could catch her, she fainted.