The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

There was no time to discuss the matter. Aunt Hester was wanted in the kitchen and Annie had her bottles to finish counting. She changed out of the blue muslin gown, and went dutifully down to the cellar again to complete her task. Then there was an errand for her uncle, and then dinner, with the children’s noisy presence. Only after that could the ladies settle to the agreeable task of discussing Mr Huntly, his person and manners and intentions. Annie said nothing, but when the two older ladies settled it between them that a summer wedding was very probable, she could not disagree.

  Annie’s uncle had gone out to a patient, but when he returned, the supper tray had been brought in, and his end-of-the-day claret had been poured, he said, “Well, Annie, so you have an admirer, it seems. What do you think of him, this Huntly fellow?”

  “He is a pleasant sort of man, Uncle. Very well-spoken.”

  “True enough. He asked me very politely if he might call upon you and your mother. I trust I did right in telling him to come back in an hour?”

  “Perfectly right, Mr Perkins,” his wife said. “Annie had time to put on one of her good dresses. She looked very well, I thought.”

  “Annie always looks well,” he said. Turning to Annie’s mother, he said, “What say you, Mary? Will he come up to scratch, do you think?”

  “What a vulgar expression, Tom! But it did seem… one would not wish to raise expectations too soon, but he did seem to speak in a most particular way.”

  “And to come all this way solely on Annie’s account suggests the strongest attachment,” Aunt Hester said.

  “Do we know that?” Uncle Tom said. “That he has come here solely on Annie’s account?”

  “He said he was here on personal business,” his wife said triumphantly. “And then he looked directly at Annie. What could be clearer?”

  “Hmm.” Her uncle looked at Annie thoughtfully. “He wished to pay his addresses to you once before, I believe, Annie, but your father sent him away. Were you… disappointed about that?”

  “Oh no, Uncle. Papa knew best, and Mr Huntly had no great income then. It would have had to be a very long engagement.”

  “We don’t know what his income is now, come to that. You send him to me if he starts talking about marriage, and I’ll have it out of him. No point tying yourself to a man with the appearance of a gentleman unless he has the means to keep you respectably. I know a man in Salisbury who might tell us something about the family. I’ll write first thing. But don’t you go rushing into anything, missy.”

  “No, Uncle.”

  As she went to bed that night, Aunt Hester whispered, “Oh, Annie! Just think, you’ll soon be married.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling.

  She was still smiling as she climbed into bed and blew out the candle, for the glow inside her would not be extinguished. She would be married! What more could any woman want?

  2: An Offer Of Marriage

  Mr Huntly called the next day, precisely at the appointed time, and this time he stayed for an hour. Uncle Tom was there, too, and admitted cautiously that he seemed like a respectable sort of man. The next day, Mr Huntly hired a barouche and took the ladies out for a drive in the countryside. In return, he was invited for dinner. The following day, with Uncle Tom squeezed into the barouche, too, they took a longer drive, with a stop at an inn for a light repast. The day after that was Sunday, so Mr Huntly accompanied the family to church, and then joined them again for dinner.

  On Monday morning, he asked Uncle Tom for a private interview, and talked to him for more than an hour before leaving without seeing the ladies. Then Uncle Tom called Annie, her mother and her aunt into his office. He had no desk, so they sat around the battered old table where he worked, piled high with his records of medicines to be prescribed, bills to be sent, prescriptions from the physician, and lists of ingredients to buy on his next visit to London or to be collected from the herbarium. On the shelves were stacked his ledgers and boxes of patient notes, all muddled up with the learned tomes he occasionally referred to, which he allowed Annie to read in the evenings when she had no sewing to be done. The room smelt of dust and old leather and, very faintly, of snuff which her uncle liked to pretend he never used.

  “Well, Annie, it is true, he wants to marry you,” her uncle said. “He has never forgotten you, and now that he has come into an independence, here he is come looking for you. He spoke rather eloquently, I must confess. He seems a solemn sort of young man, not a one to harbour an attachment of such strength, I’d have thought, but he spoke of you with great feeling.”

  Annie’s mother and aunt twittered happily, but her uncle looked grave, so she waited for him to tell her the worst of it. There must be something worse, she was sure of it from his expression, for otherwise would he not be happy for her?

  “He has two thousand a year,” her uncle went on, and the two women gasped and exclaimed in delight. Still Annie waited. “A little more, he thinks, but he is not quite sure. There are some tenancies in dispute, and the rents are under review. But at least two thousand. He also has savings of four thousand pounds which he is prepared to settle on Annie for her pin money and jointure. He told me that he had saved all that over the last eight years, not even buying a new shirt or coat except when the old one fell to pieces, in the hope of having enough, one day, to marry Annie.”

  “He’s lucky she’s not already wed,” Aunt Hester said sharply.

  “True enough,” Uncle Tom said, “although he seems to have known she wasn’t. He still has friends here, I expect, who kept him informed.”

  “It says a great deal for his devotion to Annie,” her mother said. “To think of her for all those years, and to be saving every penny, all in the hope of one day having his heart’s desire — that is faithfulness indeed.”

  “And so romantic!” Aunt Hester said with a sigh. “It is a true love match.”

  “It’s not a match of any sort yet, and may never be,” Uncle Tom said sombrely. “That’s up to Annie.”

  “I shall not refuse him,” Annie said quietly.

  “Of course she will not!” her mother said. “Goodness, Tom, what are you thinking about? Her father would not have hesitated for a second to approve such a match. He would have been so proud of her! A splendid offer like this does not come along every day. It would be madness to refuse a man with such a good income. She will be a lady, as she was born to be.”

  “She will certainly have fine clothes and jewels enough, but still I would have her consider every aspect carefully before she makes her decision. Marriage is not to be undertaken without a great deal of thought.”

  “What is there to think about?” Aunt Hester cried. “He is respectable and rich and head over heels in love with her. No sensible woman would hesitate for a second.”

  Uncle Tom smiled. “Annie is very sensible, and I would have her hesitate for twenty four hours, at least. I have told Mr Huntly to return tomorrow at noon, and I shall permit him to see Annie alone, but if she takes my advice, she will ask him for a little time to consider his offer — a week or two, at least, just so that she can get to know him a little better. And now, Mary, Hester, let me talk to Annie alone for a while.”

  Grumbling, they went. Annie waited. Surely now her uncle would explain all the disadvantages of the match? He would tell her very gently that Mr Huntly was a gambler or had bad habits or there was some dreadful scandal in his past, perhaps.

  “Do you like him, Annie?” were his first words.

  “I see nothing in him to dislike,” she said cautiously. “He is clean and dresses suitably for his station in life. His manners are good, neither too reticent nor too forward. When he read from your book of sermons yesterday, he showed great sensibility, I thought, and his opinions are always well expressed.”

  “Yes, but do you like him? As a man, I mean… It is not for me to judge, but I presume his looks are such as would please a woman of taste. Do you feel a preference for him? Are you at all attached to him?”

  Annie frowned. “
Is that important? I see women marry all the time, and men too, who are not the least bit in love. I have no romantic notions, you know. To me, love is a poor foundation for marriage, if unsupported by more reliable sentiments. Respect is a much better guide, and I feel certain I can respect Mr Huntly. Unless you know of any reason why I should not?”

  He shook his head. “He is, so far as I have been able to ascertain, exactly what he appears to be — a pleasant young man with no vices or disreputable behaviour. No one has a word to say against him. The solicitor who had him in training here for several years regards him as a very worthy young man, and my acquaintance in Salisbury tells me that the family is a perfectly respectable one, and the estate exactly as he has described it. His offer is a generous one. He understands that you have no dowry to bring to the marriage, and will only have your mother’s three thousand pounds after her death. He cares nothing about that. I had hoped he would take your mother, too, for she would certainly be happier in a gentleman’s household than dwindling away above an apothecary shop, but he would not do it. He said it would be better for you to be mistress of his house right from the start, and not have anyone there to whom you might be tempted to defer. No one would blame him for that, for it’s not wonderful for a man to have his mother-in-law living under his roof. To speak truth, Annie, I cannot fault him.”

  “But?” she said quietly.

  He exhaled slowly, then leaned across the table, setting a precariously balanced pile of papers wobbling, to take her hand. “My dear niece, let me speak plain to you. I would not have you marry out of any misplaced sense of obligation or duty. You do not have to marry Mr Huntly, or any man. You will always have a home here, you and your mother, and you will always be cherished and valued members of my household. Even if I should be carried off by a seizure tomorrow, know that I have made provision for you both.”

  “Uncle, I—”

  “No, do not thank me or speak of gratitude, for the boot is entirely on the other foot. When your father died, I offered you a home here from affection and family ties, and should always have done so, were you the most troublesome pair imaginable. But I have been repaid a thousand fold for my charity, Annie. Your mother brought a degree of refinement to the house that Hester, much as I adore her, was never able to do. The servants are in better order, the children are better taught and even the linens last far longer with Mary’s dainty ways. And you, Annie… what would I have done without you, my little apothecary? You know the drugs and potions and illnesses better than any apprentice I’ve ever had, and you have a wonderfully careful hand with mixing and making. Your experiments are clever, your notes are detailed, and you have such a memory for the patients! You remember them far better than I do, and it is such a help to be able to discuss a difficult case with you. You can be so much more than a wife, my dear. You can be a scientist, learning about herbs and drugs for the benefit of the whole profession, improving the skills of every apothecary in the kingdom. There is so much you can do, but not if you are tied to a husband, and overwhelmed with children. So understand that there is always a place for you here, as my own little apothecary.”

  “But I am not an apothecary, uncle, and can never be. Only a man can have a profession. I cannot go out to the patients or even serve in the shop. I can never be more than your lowest helper scuttling about in the preparation room or the cellar, out of sight. The only way to disseminate the results of my experiments is for you to write about them, and present them to your peers. Whereas Mr Huntly offers me his name and wealth, an establishment of my own, a family, a respectable position in the world. It is every woman’s duty to marry, uncle. I have never wanted anything else but a large, happy family, just as you and Aunt Hester have. Believe me when I say that I have been entirely happy here, and my gratitude can never be too strongly expressed, but my life will always be incomplete without a husband and home and children of my own.”

  “Then there is nothing more to be said on the subject,” he said sadly.

  ~~~~~

  Mr Huntly arrived as the town clocks were striking noon. Annie received him in the front parlour, the only room deemed grand enough to witness an offer of marriage. Her mother, Aunt Hester and Betty had spent the whole morning dusting, polishing and arranging flowers there, so that now it smelt of mingled beeswax, raised dust and sweet peas. Annie wore the blue muslin again, but her hair was curled to drape in short ringlets about her head, held in place by ribbons to match the dress. Her mother had lent her the plain silver cross she always wore on Sundays, and in which she had herself been married. It seemed auspicious.

  She heard the footsteps on the stairs, Betty’s lighter ones leading the way, and then Mr Huntly’s heavier, more measured tread. She was unaccountably nervous, for she had never been the recipient of an offer of marriage before. There had been admirers, for in her youth she had enjoyed a certain pale prettiness. Her eyes were her best feature, everyone said, large and dark. Hazel, her papa had called them, although they looked brown to her. Her skin was good, and Lavinia envied her long neck, but Annie knew she was too tall for beauty, her mouth too large, her nose undistinguished. Still, she had been admired, but either Papa had sent her admirers away disappointed, or they had drifted away of their own volition, to girls with greater fortunes or less choosy fathers.

  Now at last she would join the hallowed ranks of those who had been courted and had watched a man ask her for the honour of her hand in marriage. Would he kneel? Would he be ardent or prosaic? She hoped prosaic, for she was not sure how to respond to ardour. She had her little speech ready prepared in her mind, having spent much of the night and several hours this morning rehearsing it to herself. Honour and gratitude and humble acknowledgement of her good fortune… and more besides. I thank you for the honour you do me… No, it should be very great honour. Heavens, her mind was a muddle!

  The door opened. “Mr Huntly, Miss Dresden.” That was Betty’s acknowledgement of the solemnity of the moment, to accord her her full title.

  Annie rose, her knees quaking. “Mr Huntly.”

  “Miss Dresden.”

  She curtsied, he bowed, Betsy withdrew and the door closed behind her with a soft click.

  “Thank you for receiving me, Miss Dresden. I am sure your uncle has apprised you of the nature of what I wish to say to you.”

  “He… he has, sir. Will you sit?”

  She waved him to a chair and she herself sat on the sofa, but he merely smiled and paced around the room. He seemed not in the least nervous.

  “Do you remember when we first met, Miss Dresden?” She nodded, with a little smile. As if she could forget! “That moment… that precise moment when I emerged from the Angel Hotel and almost bumped into you… that moment when I first saw your face, I knew in that instant that one day I would make you my wife. It was our destiny. Naturally, I soon realised all the difficulties that stood between us — your youth, my own lack of a settled position and a steady income, the many years that must pass before I could hope to afford a wife. It was not to be thought of, not then, although I did think of it, naturally. For eight long years I thought of little else, all my energies bent on that one shining prospect. And finally, the time has come as I always knew it would. The manner of it is unexpected, and I would not have had my brother die for the world, but it means that we may now fulfil the destiny which was laid down for us outside the Angel Hotel all those years ago.” Abruptly he sat down beside her, startlingly close. “Miss Dresden… Annie… will you now honour me with your hand in marriage?”

  If his words bemused her, she tried not to show it. His nearness flustered her rather, but she managed to say, “Thank you, I… You honour me… do me great honour… I… I should be delighted to accept. Thank you.”

  He smiled, but he had not been in the slightest doubt of her answer. His confidence was not punctured by the least concern of a refusal, for it was his destiny to wed her. And hers to wed him, she supposed.

  “May I kiss you?”

  Th
at flustered her even more, but he had the right, now. She nodded, blushing, not quite sure how to go about it. Should they stand? Should she put her arm around his neck? Such odd questions that she had never wondered about before.

  But he knew what to do. He put one hand under her chin to raise her bashfully lowered face, and then he simply pressed his lips against hers. His lips were dry and warm. It was not an unpleasant sensation, and it lasted only a few seconds before he broke away, laughing.

  “You are mine at last, Annie Dresden,” he said exultantly. “Finally!”

  And then there was Betty to summon, and her mother and aunt and uncle to be sent for, and congratulations to be received, and a bottle of claret, brought up from the cellar the night before in anticipation, to be opened and poured and drunk, and not a moment to think about how her life had changed or what the future might be like.

  Mr Huntly stayed the whole day, and for dinner, and through the evening, talking happily of Willow Place and the wonderful life they would have together there. Annie’s mother and aunt talked of wedding clothes and boxes and the need for a lady’s maid. Her uncle talked of settlements and banns and journey times. Annie said nothing at all, watching her future husband covertly, and trying to guess, from the choice of one word rather than another, or the way his hands crumbled his bread, how happy she would be.

  It was not until long after she had climbed wearily up the stairs, undressed by the single candle and curled up in bed that she realised a strange thing — in all the talk of destiny, Mr Huntly had never once spoken of love.

  3: Willow Place (June)

  Uncle Tom had insisted on a betrothal of a decent length, with the banns called in what he called ‘the proper way’. Licences, he told Mr Huntly in no uncertain terms, were all very well for the nobility, but Annie was a clergyman’s daughter, and there should be a respectable interval between betrothal and wedding, for fear of creating unseemly speculation. Annie was old enough to know what that meant, but she was also old enough not to want any undue delay. Now that the decision had been made, she wanted to get on with the business of being a wife just as soon as the wedding clothes could be got ready. Mr Huntly already had a house and a carriage, so what need was there to wait? They settled on six weeks — long enough to suit her uncle’s notions of propriety, and still quick enough to satisfy the wishes of bride and groom.