The Apothecary's Daughter (19 page)

A series of blood-curdling yells came from upstairs, arresting her father’s torrent of words.

‘She’s strong enough to shout, at least,’ said Susannah, her anxiety abating a little.

‘But how long can she go on like this?’ Cornelius drew a shuddering breath. ‘What if it’s like your mama? What if—’

‘Don’t!’ Susannah said, more sharply than she meant. ‘I’m sure all will be well. Have you tried dog mercury?’

He looked thoughtful. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Then I suggest you make yourself busy in the dispensary while I go up and see her.’

Arabella lay back flat on her back, red-faced and with her hair damp and tangled upon the pillow. Her hands clutched convulsively
over the mound of her belly. ‘What do
you
want?’ she asked. ‘Come to gloat? Does it please you to see me in my death spasms?’

‘I came to see if I can fetch you anything. Father is making you an infusion of dog mercury to ease the passage.’

‘Another of his foul-tasting concoctions! This is all his fault. If he didn’t keep pestering me for his conjugal rights I
wouldn’t be close to death now. Nevermore! If I survive this I shall never allow him into my bedchamber again. Now go away
and leave me to die in peace!’

Susannah’s old fears made her hands shake and she clasped them tightly together.

The midwife came forward with a basin of water to wipe Arabella’s face and Susannah was relieved to recognise Goody Joan.

‘Now then, Mistress Leyton, your friend is only trying to help you,’ she soothed.

‘She’s not my friend; she’s my husband’s daughter and I don’t want her here. Ooooh! Another one! Get her out!’ Arabella screwed
her face up tight and groaned.

‘Wait outside,’ whispered Goody Joan to Susannah. ‘I’ll come and speak to you after this pain passes.’

Susannah waited on the landing, pleating the curtain with restless
fingers and staring out of the window at Fleet Street to take her mind off what was happening.

The cry of the knife-grinder drifted up to her and she saw a chimney sweep with his bundle of rods and brushes carving his
way through the passers-by, leaving sooty footsteps behind him in the snow.

Another high-pitched scream came from the bedchamber and Susannah’s heart began to race again. What if Arabella did die? Perhaps
then she would be able to return to her beloved home and resume her work in the dispensary. Everything could be just as it
was and she would be happy again. Of course, there would be Arabella’s children but without their mother’s interference she
was sure she could discipline them into becoming respectful little citizens. Her mind ran on in this way before coming to
a sudden stop. Ashamed at her train of thought, she had entirely forgotten for a moment that she was married to Henry now.
She could never return to her childhood home.

A noise behind her caused her to turn and she saw Goody Joan closing the bedchamber door behind her.

‘I am concerned about Mistress Leyton,’ she said, anxiety wrinkling her pink cheeks so that she resembled a rosy apple stored
too long. ‘The baby is coming feet first.’

‘Oh, no!’ Susannah bit her lip as guilt overwhelmed her. Much as she wished Arabella had never come into her life she didn’t
want any harm to come to her; her father would be devastated. ‘Is she going to die?’

‘I certainly hope not,’ said Goody Joan briskly. ‘However, I’m not too proud to accept a physician’s assistance and I’d like
you to send for Dr Ambrose. I trust him and we have worked together before in instances like this.’

‘I know Dr Ambrose.’

‘Send for him straight away, then. And tell him I said he was to bring his special instruments.’

Susannah gripped the windowsill, suddenly faint. ‘You’re not going to cut the baby out?’

Goody Joan shook her head. ‘I’m not expecting to take such desperate measures. But Dr Ambrose has devised an instrument to
pull the baby out of the birth passage if it’s necessary. Then, will you go to the kitchen and heat some goose grease? Pour
it through a clean muslin cloth, cool it in a basin and bring it to me. I’ll use it to ease the passage.’

Dr Ambrose arrived in a flurry of snow.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’m half dead with worry.’

‘Did you bring your instruments?’ asked Susannah.

Ambrose nodded. ‘Take me to your stepmother, if you will.’ He briefly rested a hand on Cornelius’s shoulder. ‘I’ll do my best
for her.’

They followed the sounds of screeching and yelling up the stairs and Susannah stood in the doorway, dry-mouthed with fear.
Dr Ambrose washed his hands in a basin before gently palpating Arabella’s abdomen, all the while speaking calming words to
her.

Susannah had never noticed his hands before. His fingers were long and his nails well shaped with paler half moons. He had
rolled up his shirtsleeves and she observed the light covering of dark hair on his forearms. How gently he touched Arabella’s
pale skin and how very different it had been for poor mama with Dr Ogilby.

Dr Ambrose took the midwife aside for a whispered consultation. Then from his bag he took out an instrument shaped like two
large skimming spoons with long handles. ‘When you feel the next pain, Mistress Leyton, push down.’

Arabella groaned.

Susannah couldn’t bear to watch. She put her hands over her ears to shut out the screams and went to look out of the landing
window again.

A short while later she heard a baby’s high-pitched wail and let out a whimper of relief. She ran to the bedchamber, where
Goody Joan was wiping the infant’s face while he protested vigorously.

‘But he’s so tiny!’ said Susannah. ‘I thought the trouble was caused by a big baby?’

‘Mistress Leyton hasn’t finished yet. Here,’ she held the baby out to Susannah, ‘you wrap him up nice and warm while I assist
Dr Ambrose. There’s another one.’

‘Twins?’

‘I couldn’t be sure but I did wonder. That’s why I sent for the physician.’

Susannah stroked the baby’s cheek, marvelling at his tiny perfection, and he turned towards her finger, seeking her with his
mouth. She swaddled him in a cloth and held him to her chest, his little head nodding against her neck, while she blinked
back tears of relief and envy. Would she ever live through childbirth to hold a babe of her own in her arms?

Soon the cry of the second baby wavered in the air and Cornelius stood in the doorway, stunned. Wordlessly, he handed a beaker
of liquid to the midwife.

‘An infusion of dog mercury,’ said Susannah. ‘It will release the afterbirth.’

Goody Joan nodded and supported Arabella while she drank it.

Susannah put more coal on the fire, closed the shutters against the darkness and lit the candles.

A short while later Arabella, her hair combed and wearing a clean nightshift, sat up against the pillows with her husband
at her side and a swaddled baby on each arm.

‘Two sons!’ said Cornelius, shaking his head. ‘These are God’s riches indeed. But most of all you are safe, my sweet Arabella.
I don’t know what I would have done—’

‘Shhh! All is well, Cornelius.’ Arabella glowed with maternal pride. ‘I shall need special care for some time after my ordeal,
of course. And another nursemaid will be essential now.’

‘Anything you say, my dear. Anything at all.’ Cornelius shook his head again. ‘Two sons!’

Downstairs a door slammed. Thunderous footsteps clattered up the wooden stairs and Arabella’s three older children burst into
the room.

‘Gently!’ cautioned Cornelius.

‘Mama!’ Harriet flung herself at her mother and the two boys scrambled up onto the bed, exclaiming at their new brothers.

Susannah stood in the doorway watching the cosy domestic scene. A touch on her shoulder made her jump.

‘It’s dark and a blizzard is blowing up,’ said Dr Ambrose. ‘I shall walk you home.’

‘There is no need!’

‘I cannot imagine your husband would care for you to be out, alone, after dark.’

Susannah glanced again at the happy family scene, which no longer included her. Somewhere deep in her breast was an aching
hollow so deep she thought she might fall in and never climb out. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said, wondering if Henry would even notice.

She fetched her cloak and Dr Ambrose took her arm and led her outside into the darkness.

Later, Susannah wasn’t quite sure what sparked off the argument. They’d never discussed what happened between them on Christ
-mas Day but, strangely, Henry had been in a more cheerful frame of mind of late, going about his business humming to himself
and talking about the future as if it was full of interesting possibilities again.

‘In the spring, perhaps we’ll find a little house in the country,’ he said as he shaved that morning.

Susannah, sitting on the end of the bed, watched as he made circles on his cheek with the soapy shaving brush. ‘I thought
you needed to be near the docks and the coffee houses and the Exchange for your business?’

‘I do but you could enjoy good country air while I’m working in the city.’

‘I would love a garden,’ said Susannah, getting up to put more coal on the fire. ‘But Peg and I have enough to do trying to
keep the dirt down in this house without another one in the country to manage.’ Shivering in the chilly air, she hopped back
into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin again.

‘What you need are house slaves.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you remember? At Christmas I said we needed some. I’ve thought it all through. You shall have a woman to do the washing
and cleaning, a man to carry the coal and a boy to run your errands.’

Susannah laughed. ‘But, Henry, simply another housemaid will do.’

‘Nonsense! The slaves can stay to look after me in the city, while you go to the country.’ Henry smiled. ‘The perfect solution!’

‘I don’t want to live in the country on my own and I don’t want any slaves.’

Henry frowned. ‘I’ve already said you shall have three house slaves. I’ll not have any more turnip-faced little maids dragged
in from the gutter.’

‘Henry, that’s no way to speak about Peg! She’s learning fast and we manage very well.’

He shrugged. ‘Well enough, I suppose. But my mind is made up.’

‘But I don’t
want
slaves in the house. I should feel outnumbered. Besides, I’m not sure I like the idea of people stolen from their homes and
sold into slavery.’

‘You like sugar, don’t you?’

‘Who doesn’t?’

‘Well, then! You can’t have sugar without slaves. It simply isn’t economically possible.’

‘I still don’t want any slaves here.’

‘There is nothing more to discuss. Damnation! Now look what you’ve made me do.’ He wiped blood from his face onto the clean
white towel. ‘Besides, I’ve already arranged for them to be sent from Barbados.’

‘Henry! You might have consulted me.’

‘I’m telling you now …’

‘Exactly!’

‘And there is nothing more to be said on the matter. Why, even Aunt Agnes has a blackamoor to run her errands.’

‘I have Peg to run mine. We certainly don’t need three extra servants.’

‘I had not thought to find you so ungrateful. You’re always bleating on about how hard it is to keep house with only one.’

‘I am not!’ said Susannah, stung by the injustice of his comment. She threw back the blankets and stood in front of him. ‘I
won’t have them in my house!’

‘
Your
house?’ Henry’s eyes glittered and he dropped his razor into the basin with a clatter. ‘You forget yourself, madam. This
is my house and you live here only by my grace. Perhaps you should cast your mind back to a time you were glad enough to accept
my proposal as a happier alternative to working as a servant yourself?’

Susannah gasped. ‘I think it most ungallant of you to throw that back in my face. I have made every effort to be a good wife
to you.’ Then, before she could bite her tongue, she said, ‘And it isn’t as if my father didn’t pay you enough to take me
off his hands. You had yourself a very good bargain in me.’

‘Well,’ he said, staring at her with sudden animosity, ‘that’s for me to judge, isn’t it?’

Hurt and angry in equal measures, Susannah didn’t trust herself to speak. She dressed in silence, all the while replaying
the conversation in her mind and resentfully imagining the alternative responses she could have made. Meanwhile, Henry put
on his coat and left the bedchamber without even looking at her.

Sighing, Susannah followed him downstairs, having come to the conclusion that it was obviously going to be up to her to make
the peace. Perhaps she
had
been making a fuss about nothing. There was no doubt she had been so used to making her own decisions over household matters
for so many years that it had brought her up short to have to bow to a husband’s decree. Ah well, extra help in the house
might be a good thing. Maybe now she’d have time to learn to play the virginals after all.

The decision to placate Henry was taken away from her, however, since she had gone no further than the top of the stairs when
she heard his staccato footsteps across the hall, immediately followed by the slamming of the front door.

She stood in the silence of the hall, fury seething in her breast,then
marched into the kitchen where she made Peg’s life miserable for the rest of the day by commandeering her assistance in rolling
up the rush matting throughout the house and scrubbing all the floorboards.

Unsurprisingly, Henry didn’t come home for either dinner or supper. Susannah sat by herself in solitary splendour with the
grand table laid with a fine linen cloth and the best beeswax candles burning in Agnes Fygge’s grand candelabra. She was damned
if Henry would return to find her weeping over a bowl of gruel by the kitchen fire.

The candles burned down into their sockets and still she sat at the table. At last, tired and irritable and with her hands
raw from scrubbing floors, she went upstairs to bed.

The next morning Susannah woke to find that Henry’s side of the bed was still empty. She glanced into the other bedchambers
but he wasn’t there. Running downstairs she searched everywhere for him, even looking into the coal cellar, before accepting
that he had not returned. She dressed, cursing under her breath all the while at the selfish behaviour of men who thought
they owed no consideration to their wives.