The Apothecary's Daughter (16 page)

‘Indeed I have. I, too, own a copy of this book. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a woman such as you would find it
interesting.’

Susannah was unsure if this was a compliment or not. ‘Father and I often went to the lectures at Gresham College.’

‘Then it is my misfortune we never met there. I did meet your father there, once. We saw one of Boyle’s experiments with an
air pump. He demonstrated that a dog could be kept alive with its chest opened, provided air was pumped in and out of its
lungs.’

‘The poor dog!’

‘I tried very hard not to think of the dog but only about what use the experiment could be put to in the saving of human life.
Your father and I had a prolonged discussion on the subject.’

‘Father loves a good argument of that kind, taking first one side and then the other.’

‘And he has passed on his love of learning to you.’

‘He always says knowledge is strength.’

Downstairs, the front door slammed and booted feet clattered across the hall and then up the stairs.

Susannah recognised Henry’s footsteps and suppressed a pang of disappointment that he had arrived to interrupt such an interesting
discussion.

The drawing-room door opened and Henry strode in to clap his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Will! What brings you here?’

‘I came to call on you and since you were not at home your wife has been entertaining me with a drawing of a louse.’

‘Oh that! She showed it to me, too. Makes me itch just to look at it.’

‘Curious, though, don’t you think?’

‘I’ve just come from a cock fight in Shoe Lane. That’s much more my idea of entertainment!’

Susannah was in the garden folding the washing when she saw her father come running up the path towards her.

‘This is a pleasant surprise!’ she said.

‘Oh, Susannah, a terrible thing …’

Cornelius’s wig was awry and his face was wet with tears.

‘Whatever is the matter?’ she asked. She clasped her hand to her breast. ‘Not Arabella?’

‘No, no. Not that, thank the Lord. It’s Richard.’

‘Richard Berry?’

‘My dear old friend …’ His face crumpled and suddenly he looked every one of his fifty-six years. ‘I went to call upon him
this morning but as I drew near to his house I saw the cross on the door. I shouted up at the windows but they were tight
shut. And then a woman in the house next door called out to me. They took Richard and Bridie away on the dead-cart last night!’

‘Oh, no!’

‘My oldest friend … gone! I can hardly believe it to be true. And poor Bridie, as true a wife as any man could wish for.’

He began to shake with the shock of it and she took him inside to warm him by the kitchen fire and make him a calming draught
of camomile tea.

‘It’s a dreadful thing,’ she said, hardly able to believe that it was true. ‘Richard was always like an uncle to me, full
of tricks and games. And Bridie was so kind after Mother died.’

Cornelius sipped the hot infusion. ‘Your dear mother was fond of Richard and Bridie, too. We had some fine times together
when we were all young.’

Later, when he had talked at length about his recollections of the youthful pranks they had played upon each other, he was
calm again.

‘I must go home. Arabella will be worried.’ He sighed. ‘But I confess I am enjoying the tranquil peace of your kitchen. There
is nowhere to escape the constant clamour at home. I had not realised how much disturbance three small children can make.
You and your brother were biddable children, always able to amuse yourselves.’

‘Modern children are allowed more latitude, I think.’

‘But is that a good thing?’ asked Cornelius gloomily.

‘I shall walk home with you,’ said Susannah.

‘I would be glad of your company.’

‘Then you shall have it.’ She tucked her father’s hand into the crook of her arm and they set off.

Ned opened the shop door for them when he saw them coming.

‘How are you, Ned?’ asked Susannah.

‘Well, thank you, miss.’ He coloured beetroot and stuttered, ‘Sorry … madam.’

Susannah stopped inside the door, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. How she had missed that aroma! Amongst the multitude
of mingled scents she could recognise wintergreen and oil of cloves, sulphur and turpentine, lavender and liquorice. A fire
flickered in the grate to dispel the autumn chill and the great pestle and mortar was in its usual place next to the jar of
leeches. The apothecary shop was exactly as she remembered it.

‘Let us find Arabella and tell her the sad news,’ said Cornelius.

They found her upstairs in the parlour, sitting on a new chair with
carved arms and a high back. Her hands were folded on the mound of her stomach and her feet rested on a footstool that Susannah
had not seen before.

‘Father has had a terrible shock,’ said Susannah. ‘So I brought him home.’

‘Richard Berry, my old friend …’ said Cornelius, barely able to speak again.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s dead!’ said Cornelius in tragic tones. ‘Visited by the plague. Carried Bridie off, too.’Arabella drew in her breath
sharply. ‘I trust you didn’t go near them? I cannot have you in the house if you are infected. Thank goodness I told the nursemaid
to take the children out for the afternoon!’

‘Of course he isn’t infected,’ said Susannah. ‘Richard and Bridie were taken away before Father even arrived at their house.’

‘Still, I’ll thank you not to come too close, sir! I will not risk my health.’

‘There is no risk, Arabella,’ said Cornelius, sitting down heavily.

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes, my dear, I’m sure.’

Arabella sniffed. ‘I never did like that Richard Berry. He played a terrible trick on us at our wedding with that pie full
of birds. Most unseemly. He was a bad influence on you, Cornelius.’

He bowed his head and said nothing while Susannah gritted her teeth and resisted the impulse to slap her stepmother’s face.

‘Well, Susannah, what do you think of the changes I’ve made?’ said Arabella.

Susannah glanced at her father who sat with his eyes closed. ‘Changes?’

‘Really, even you must have noticed the improvements I’ve made to this room!’

Susannah looked around her and her mouth fell open. She had been so concerned for her father that until then she hadn’t noticed
her surroundings. Everything was different. The old honey-coloured panelling that she used to polish lovingly with beeswax
had been
clumsily painted to resemble the now more fashionable walnut, a tapestry in crude shades of red and blue hung on one wall
and every piece of furniture that she had grown up with had been banished. The new furniture was in the Chinese style, lacquered
a bright red, and it sat awkwardly in the small parlour. ‘What have you done?’ she said at last.

‘If I am to be forced to live over a shop in cramped conditions, I will at least have some new furnishings. Just because you
live in an opulent new home don’t think that other people are inferior to you.’

‘I don’t!’

‘Arabella admired the tapestries in your dining room,’ said Cornelius. ‘And I promised her that she could choose new furnishings
to her own taste.’

Susannah swallowed. ‘Yes, I can see that. What happened to the cushion covers that my mother worked? And the samplers?’

‘I let the maids have the samplers in the attics. The cushion covers were shabby and I threw them away.’

‘I see.’ She looked at her father who stared at her, beseeching her with his eyes not to make a scene. She took a deep breath.
‘I can see that your new furnishings suit you perfectly and I hope they bring you joy.’ She stood up. ‘And now I think it’s
time I returned home.’

Home
, she thought, as she walked along Fleet Street. The word conjured up all the images of her childhood and the memories of
her mother and the scents of lavender and baking. Home certainly wasn’t the new house she lived in with Henry and it would
never again be the rooms over the shop that Arabella had made her own. Misery engulfed her. So where
is
my home? she wondered.

Something started Susannah awake in the middle of the night. She sat up in bed and stared into the darkness, listening. Someone
was sobbing. The door to the bedchamber was ajar and a candle still burned in the corridor, where she had left it to light
Henry to bed. Pulling her wrap round her shoulders she went to investigate. The door to Henry’s study was open and, following
the sound of weeping, she looked inside.

Henry sat in the shadows, his head down on his arms.

‘Henry! Whatever is the matter?’

He sat up and wiped his eyes on his cuff but didn’t answer her.

‘What is it?’

He looked at her, his bottom lip trembling.

She ran to him and took him in her arms. ‘Tell me!’

‘It’s nothing!’

‘Of course it is! You can tell me, I am your wife, after all.’ She kissed his forehead and was overwhelmed with a sudden tenderness
for him as she rocked him against her breast.

He began to weep again, his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair. Hot tears soaked into her nightshift.

‘I’m so homesick!’ he sobbed.

‘But you
are
home.’

‘No, my
real
home in Barbados!’

‘This is your home now,’ Susannah soothed.

‘This!’ His voice was full of disgust. ‘This damnable country is so damp and plague-stricken and the house so quiet and cold
that I cannot bear to spend time here.’

‘I thought … I thought you stayed away because you have to seek new business?’

‘This house chills me in spirit as well as body.’

Cut to the quick, Susannah defended herself. ‘I do my very best to make it welcoming for you.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He rubbed his face dry with the back of his hand. ‘It’s just so different from what I’m used to. I
wish I could take you to see the Savage Plantation so you could feel the heat soaking into your bones. It feels as if the
very sun is inside you. Then’, he drew a ragged breath, ‘in the evenings the whistling frogs fill the air with their song,
which sounds like the music of a thousand flutes. But most of all I miss hearing the slaves singing in the night. The men
have deep voices as rich as the molasses they make from the sugar cane and the women join in with such sweet harmony. When
I was a little child I used to sleep with my nursemaid and if I woke she would sing one of those plaintive melodies and rock
me until I fell asleep, my head pillowed on her warm breast. I miss it all so much!’

‘I had not realised you were so homesick.’

‘It eats into my very soul that I can never return.’

‘But why did you leave, if you loved it so?’

Henry hesitated. ‘My father and I do not see eye to eye. He will never understand …’

He looked as sad and lost as a small boy and Susannah wanted nothing more than to kiss his troubles away.

‘It’s impossible for you to imagine how it is at home,’ he sniffed. ‘The plantation has made my family rich but at such a
cost! At first my father used indentured servants from England but he soon discovered that if he used slaves from New Guinea
they could work in the heat of the fields for much longer. And they were cheap.’

‘I remember you said that they could be trained.’

‘Are they not people just like us?’

‘Like us? I don’t know. I never imagined …’

‘Neither did my father. But the slaves have souls, just as we do. He buys and sells them like animals but I
know
them. Not the men in the fields, perhaps, but the house slaves. Yes, of course there are some stupid or dishonest slaves
but you cannot tell me that there aren’t Englishmen like that too?’

‘Why, no, of course not.’

‘Some of the house slaves were my childhood companions. Erasmus learned his lessons at my side and can write as fair a hand
as my own. My father was angry when he found out, of course, and had him beaten. And his sister, Phoebe, sweet Phoebe, was
always full of laughter and song. I begged Father to free them both but he only laughed. Poor Phoebe and Erasmus; it wasn’t
their fault they were born slaves. And, oh Susannah, how I miss them!’ he whispered, his voice full of longing.

‘Perhaps I can understand a little of your distress. I too have left a home I loved.’

‘But that’s quite different! You can go back and visit whenever you want to.’

Cold fingers ran down Susannah’s spine as she remembered her stepmother’s refurbished parlour. ‘I cannot. The home I loved
exists only in my memories now.’

‘And mine.’

Henry’s misery added to her own and Susannah felt close to tears herself. But perhaps, in time, she and her husband would
be able to comfort each other?