The Apothecary's Daughter (18 page)

‘I sent her to the market. You must be feeling better if you’re hungry. Shall I heat some soup or muddle you some eggs?’

‘I could fancy some eggs.’ He pulled a chair up to the kitchen fire and watched her as she broke eggs into a basin.

Henry’s appetite had indeed returned and he demolished a plate of eggs and several slices of bread in no time at all. Since
his humour appeared to have been restored along with his health, she suggested they stay cosily by the kitchen fire and play
cards. The rest of the afternoon passed very pleasantly.

Later, as they undressed ready for bed, Henry put his arms round her and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re a good wife, Susannah.’

Lying next to him as he drifted off to sleep, she prayed that, in time, their marriage would become more than a convenience.
If Henry thought she was a good wife perhaps he would, at last, grow to love her? Even if what Arabella had said was true
and Henry had only married her as second best, at least it had saved her from a worse fate. After all, if it hadn’t been for
Henry, she might now be struggling to teach the pudding-faced Driscoll girls to dance the gavotte. As for Henry visiting houses
of ill repute, she dismissed that as pure spite on Arabella’s behalf. Besides, he appeared to have no strong need for a woman’s
attentions in the bedchamber. And if ever he did, he must know that she waited night after night for him to come to their
bed.

Christmas Day dawned fair and clear. Susannah scraped the ice off the inside of the bedchamber window to reveal the snow-covered
courtyard below. Frost had touched the trees with wintry fingers and the pale sun sparked diamonds off the tracery of branches.

‘Henry? Come and see! I hoped it would snow; the sky had that heavy, yellow look yesterday.’

Henry groaned and turned over. ‘Too much wine last night.’ He pulled the covers back over his head.

‘Come on, we have lain in bed far too long already. I still have preparations to make for the dinner and we mustn’t be late
for church.’

‘You’re always busy,’ Henry sighed. ‘What you need is some more help with the housework.’

‘I’ve been telling you that for weeks!’

‘In fact,’ suddenly his eyes were alight with enthusiasm. ‘What you need is a house slave.’

‘No doubt! Meanwhile, if you’d help to carry the coal upstairs once in a while I’d be happy.’

It took a great deal of chivvying to get Henry dressed but they arrived at the church in time to nod at faces they knew. The
young parson gave a very dull sermon and Susannah’s thoughts began to
drift. She had looked forward to this day all month, polishing the house from cellar to attic and planning the feast. The
jollity of the Christmas celebrations was exactly what was needed to dispel the winter gloom and it was to be quite a party.
Cornelius, Arabella and the children had been invited, along with Henry’s Aunt Agnes and William Ambrose as well as Martha
and her family.

Henry’s head began to nod as the sermon went on and on. Susannah prodded him every time his breathing threatened to turn into
snores and he shook himself upright again while she ran over in her mind the list of things she had to do before their guests
arrived. Peg had been left in charge of the spit and she hoped that she wouldn’t let the leg of beef or the capons burn.

At last the congregation filed outside. Already the snow was touched with black smuts from the soot-laden air. It was too
cold to linger more than a few minutes to wish the other churchgoers a merry Christmas before they returned home.

The house welcomed them with the smell of roasting beef and Susannah was relieved to find that Peg had managed to keep the
meat basted and that the plum pudding was steaming merrily away.

‘I’ve roasted the apples in ale just like you said and the jelly is setting outside on the windowsill,’ said Peg. ‘And before
you ask, I remembered to cover it against smuts.’

‘Well done, Peg! I can see that you have everything in hand.’

Upstairs, the great table in the dining room had been polished to a high shine and all the carved chairs would be used for
the dinner that day. Susannah had decorated the table with bunches of rosemary and berried holly and the best glasses and
linen. She had fixed beeswax candles into Agnes Fygge’s candelabra and had festooned it with trailing ivy.

She looked around her with satisfaction. Fires burned in every room in the house and a bunch of mistletoe hung in the hall.
The stairs were garlanded with greenery, which perfumed the air with a pleasant resinous scent. Everything was ready. Surely
Henry would be proud of her achievements? She smiled, imagining him taking her
in his arms and telling her that he loved her. She wanted that more than anything. At that moment the door knocker sounded,
heralding the first guests.

After they had rolled away from the table full of plum pudding and sweetmeats, they played blind man’s buff and then Martha’s
husband, Josiah, took out his fiddle and started to play a country dance tune. When Susannah’s foot began to tap Henry took
her by one hand and Martha by the other, calling to William to join them. Soon everyone, except Agnes who was too crippled
and Arabella who was too pregnant, had joined in. The children whooped in excitement as they became so giddy with twirling
around that they fell over into a tangled, screaming heap.

‘There will be tears if they are allowed to run wild,’ said Susannah. ‘I shall call for Peg to take them into another room
to amuse them for a little while.’

Once the children had gone, Josiah played a slower and more refined French tune. The men faced the women in a line and each
bowed, shook his dance partner by the hand and kissed her cheek before moving on to a new partner. Arabella allowed herself
to be led onto the floor by Cornelius and in spite of her bulk she swept across the floor like a stately galleon. The clip
and scrape of leather shoes upon the wooden floor and the swish of silk skirts was curiously soothing as the dancers concentrated
upon their steps. Susannah found herself facing William Ambrose, who moved more gracefully than she would have expected, barely
touching her fingertips as he shook her hand and turned her round.

‘I haven’t enjoyed a Christmas celebration as much as this since I was a child,’ he murmured. ‘And it was kind of you to ask
Aunt Agnes. She does so love a party. There is little enough fun these days.’

‘I miss going to the playhouse now that all the theatres are closed. My father took me to see Ben Jonson’s
Volpone
at Drury Lane last year.’

‘I saw it too! Most amusing.’

As he kissed her cheek before moving on Susannah noticed that he carried with him the sweet scent of rosemary and freshly
ironed linen. She lost the measure of the steps for a moment and was relieved that her father was her next partner; he held
her steady until she found the rhythm again.

Darkness was falling when the sound of singing drifted up from below. The guests leaned out of the window to watch the carollers
stamping their feet in the snow while they sang and when they had finished, threw down apples, nuts and coins for them. Susannah
sent Peg outside to bid them come into the hall and warm themselves by the fire and take a glass of punch. Guests and carol
singers sang a round of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ and ‘I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In’ before the carollers continued
on down the street.

‘We must leave you too,’ said Cornelius. ‘The children are becoming fretful.’

One by one the guests left until finally only Susannah and Henry remained.

‘I am to be congratulated on having a wife who is such an excellent hostess,’ said Henry. ‘Even dour old Will managed to smile
a little and I didn’t hear any of Aunt Agnes’s sharp set-downs.’

‘She certainly enjoyed her dinner.’ Susannah swelled with happiness. ‘Oh, Henry, this house is made for parties, isn’t it?’

‘I liked hearing the sound of children’s voices.’ Suddenly Henry’s expression was almost unbearably sad.

‘What is it, Henry?’

‘I don’t suppose I will ever have a Christmas at home again.’

She bit her lip. ‘I have tried so very hard to make everything perfect for you; to make
this
your home.’

‘I know.’ His voice was flat. ‘But this is another place entirely.’

She swallowed, her disappointment threatening to engulf her.

‘I didn’t mean to make you sad,’ sighed Henry. ‘I can’t bear to have miserable faces around me. Come, give me a kiss!’

Susannah turned her face up to his and he pecked her on the lips.

‘Let me look at you!’ He studied her face as if he’d never seen it before. ‘You’re very pretty tonight,’ he said.

‘A little gaiety puts me in better looks.’

‘Then we shall have more of it.’ He wound his fingers through her hair and kissed her again, more lingeringly this time.

Susannah returned his kiss, happy that, at long last, he was taking notice of her. She had imagined so often being enfolded
in his arms that now it had happened, she felt as if she were in a dream. Henry’s lips were upon her own but, although it
was what she had longed for, it left her strangely unmoved.

Soon his kisses became more urgent and his hands roved over her hips and breasts. ‘When I hold you like this I can almost
imagine a happy future for us,’ he whispered. ‘I can and will bear this dismal country if you are by my side.’

Moved by this expression of sentiment for her, Susannah barely protested when he unlaced her bodice and laid her on the Persian
carpet by the drawing-room fire. She watched his face in the warm reflected glow of the flames and returned his kisses with
a passion that was almost real. She dared not speak, since that had caused him such a difficulty on their wedding night.

His mouth moved over her breasts, leaving little damp spots, which quickly turned cold. Shivering in spite of the fire, she
wrapped her arms round him.

She tensed for a moment when he reached down and slid his hand up inside her skirt, fumbling through her petticoats. He was
more gentle this time and she parted her legs a little to receive him. She began to feel again the languor that had overtaken
her before and she closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift away.

Henry’s face was buried in her neck and his breath quickened as he moved his hips against her leg. He suddenly withdrew his
hand from Susannah’s skirts and the abrupt movement caused her to open her eyes, jolting her back into the moment. Hurriedly
unbuttoning his breeches, he threw her petticoats up over her waist and climbed on top of her.

His entry made her catch her breath. As he moved within her
Susannah stared up at the ceiling; it was uncomfortable but not painful and not particularly pleasurable, she decided.

Henry pulled her arms above her head and held her wrists together as he began to thrust faster and faster. Susannah peeped
at him through half closed lashes and saw that his eyes were screwed shut and his teeth clenched.

It was all over very quickly.

He let out his breath suddenly, arched his back and then collapsed heavily onto her.

They lay still for a few moments, while Susannah heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Now that she was truly Henry’s wife their
love would surely flower. She experienced a sudden rush of tenderness for him and tentatively stroked his hair, waiting for
his words of love.

Then Henry glanced at her.

Susannah blinked, uncomprehending.

He disentangled himself from the sea of her skirts, stood up and hastily buttoned his breeches. He didn’t look at her again.
‘I’m going to my study,’ he said.

Susannah opened her mouth to speak but his grim face forbade it. He had looked at her as if she disgusted him.

Humiliation scalded her cheeks as she watched him stride away without giving her a backward glance or a kind word. The door
slammed behind him.

It was Twelfth Night and snowflakes drifted past the window from the leaden sky above. Susannah was taking down the Christmas
greenery in the hall when someone hammered on the door knocker and made her start so much that she nearly fell off the ladder.

Peg opened the door and Ned stood there, heaving for breath. ‘Miss Susannah, you must come at once!’

‘What has happened?’

‘It’s the mistress.’

‘The baby?’

He nodded.

‘I knew it! It’s early. Is all going well?’

Ned shrugged. ‘She’s screaming enough to turn your blood to ice. The children were so frightened Jennet’s had to take them
out, in spite of the snow.’

Susannah snatched up her cloak. ‘I’ll come straight away.’

Cornelius, unshaven and without his wig, was waiting on the doorstep of the apothecary shop for her.

‘How is she?’ Susannah asked, shaking snowflakes off her hair.

‘I can hardly bear it! She won’t let me see her and I’m mad with worry. Arabella is such a delicate little thing but her belly
is huge. How will she ever give birth to such a big baby? She’s been
labouring all night and she’s crying out so much it frightens me. I’ve sent up raspberry leaf tea but nothing seems to ease
her pains.’