The Apothecary's Daughter (21 page)

The following afternoon Doctor Ambrose called again.

‘Open the door,’ he said.

‘But …’

‘It’s been three weeks now. Are you still well?’

‘Yes.’

‘I shall come in, then.’ He stood in the doorway with a bag in his hands, frowning at her. ‘You’re too thin. Haven’t you been
eating?’

She shrugged. ‘Peg has brought me food but I have no appetite. Everything turns my stomach. I can’t help thinking about Henry.’

‘Lift your hair so that I can see your neck.’

Obediently she held up her curls while he examined her neck. She trembled at his touch as he turned her to the light. His
fingers were cool upon her skin and she was very conscious of his proximity. It had been a long while since she had been touched
by anybody with such gentleness.

‘And you have no plague spots on your body?’

She shook her head.

‘No swellings?’

‘None.’

‘Good.’ He opened his bag and took out a chessboard.’

‘Chess! I used to play with my father. He said I was a better player than he is.’

‘Then I shan’t have to explain the rules to you.’ He put the board on the small table in front of the fire and set out the
pieces. ‘Another week and we will declare your quarantine over. Meanwhile, I’ll decide for myself how good you are.’

He played in silence, concentrating on the board and only occasionally lifting his gaze to see if her face gave away her strategy.

‘Checkmate!’ he said, at last.

Susannah sighed and stretched. ‘Look, it’s dark! I was trying so hard to beat you that I didn’t realise how much time had
passed.’

‘I have patients to visit.’ Dr Ambrose swept the chess pieces into his bag. ‘Before I go I shall tell Peg to make you a nourishing
broth. Be sure to drink it.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’

He glanced at her to see if she was mocking him. ‘I’m off to lay a poultice on one of my patients. I’m so late he’ll probably
either have died or recovered by himself. Either way my reputation is lost.’ His dark eyes gleamed.

‘I’ve been very glad of your company.’ Depression and loneliness settled upon her again at the thought of his leaving.

‘One more week and you’ll be able to go out again.’ He picked up his bag and left.

Six days later, Susannah was curled up on the window seat wrapped in a blanket and keeping an eye open for William Ambrose’s
dark-cloaked figure crossing the courtyard on his afternoon visit. He had come every day, setting up the chess pieces after
enquiring about her health and then making his moves with silent absorption. At the end of each game, which he invariably
won, he left with hardly a word except for reminding her to eat. On one occasion he brought her an orange, an unaccustomed
luxury at that time of year. After he had gone she peeled it, sniffing at the sharply aromatic oils that were released as
she dug her thumbnail into its waxy skin. She ate each segment slowly, catching up the last drops of the juice with the tip
of her tongue.

A carriage swished through the slush in the courtyard below and drew up at the front of the house. Rubbing a circle in the
frosted window pane, Susannah peered down and watched the portly figure of a man descend from the coach and hurry up the steps
to her front door. She heard Peg’s footsteps crossing the hall as she went to answer the knocker and then raised voices. Opening
the bedchamber door a crack, she listened to the argument going on downstairs.

‘No, you cannot!’ said Peg. ‘My mistress is resting.’

‘Then we shall have to wake her, shan’t we?’

‘She is not to be disturbed!’

‘We’ll see about that!’

‘Sir, I beg you …!’

Heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs and Susannah closed the bedchamber door and leaned against it, her heart thumping. Almost
immediately there was a peremptory knock and then the door was flung wide. A middle-aged man in a green travelling cloak with
a feathered hat over his full-bottomed wig stood there, breathing heavily. Peg hovered behind him, wringing her hands.

‘Sir, what do you mean by this?’ asked Susannah, fear making her bold.

‘Where is Mr Savage?’

Susannah stood her ground. ‘And who might you be, to so rudely enter my house and accost me in my bedchamber?’

‘
Your
bedchamber, is it? I am George Radlett, as you must know. I ask you again, madam, where is your husband?’

‘What is that to you?’

‘A pile of guineas, that’s what! I want the money he owes me for the rent. And I didn’t receive the case of rum he promised
me, either.’

Susannah frowned, bewildered. ‘What rent and what rum?’

‘He promised me a case of rum once the
Mary Jane
docked. As to the rent, he sweet-talked me into agreeing to let him rent my house at a preposterously low sum while I retired
to the country, my wife having no mind to be struck down with the plague. Savage persuaded me that it would be preferable
to have a tenant rather than leave it prey to looters in the emergency but I’ve never seen a penny of the rent we agreed.’

Susannah stared at him, anger and confusion churning in the pit of her stomach. Henry had lied to her!

‘Well?’ he demanded, bright spots of magenta burning in his florid cheeks. ‘I will have my money and then you can both pack
your bags and get out immediately. I ask you again: where is Mr Savage?’

‘I know nothing of this,’ she said. Her vision wavered and she leaned against the wall, suddenly faint. He spoke again but
she couldn’t hear him for the roaring in her ears. She took a deep breath. ‘Sir, my husband is dead.’

‘You need not think you can lie your way out of your difficulties, madam.’ He took a step nearer, pushing his face threateningly
close to hers so that she could smell his rank breath and see the white bristles on his chin. ‘
Where is he
?’

‘In the plague pit.’

George Radlett froze, then backed away from her as if he’d been scalded. ‘You’re lying!’ he said but the expression in his
eyes was uneasy.

‘Do you not see that I am in mourning? And did my maid not warn you that I am still in quarantine? Or did you force your way
into my bedchamber without listening to her? You may wish that you hadn’t.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Not at all. But my husband has died from the plague and as I feel unwell it’s fair to warn you that you may become infected
too, if you remain.’ Susannah almost felt sorry for George Radlett as she watched the colour drain away from his face.

‘When did he die?’

‘A few days since,’ she lied.

He removed himself to the doorway, holding a handkerchief over his mouth. ‘I shall return in a month,’ he said, ‘and I do
not expect to find you here. The house is to be fumigated from the attics to the cellars.’

‘I will be gone by then,’ said Susannah, her mouth curving in a half-smile. ‘One way or the other.’

George Radlett turned and sprinted down the stairs.

By the time Dr Ambrose arrived, Susannah had stopped pacing the floor but she still trembled.

‘What has happened?’ he asked.

‘It’s such a shock,’ Susannah said, after she had explained. ‘I thought the house belonged to Henry. He implied that it was
his and he certainly never said anything to me about paying rent. Did you know about this?’

Ambrose shook his head. ‘He was full of how well he was doing in business and he always had plenty of money to spend in the
taverns and coffee houses.’

‘One thing is clear,’ said Susannah. ‘I can’t stay here.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘Thankfully, there’s still my dowry. I shall settle the debt and rent a small house.’

‘You would not return home to live with your family?’

‘I cannot. The house is too small, particularly since the twins were born, and Arabella would not like it. And to be truthful,
neither should I.’

‘No, I can understand that. Perhaps you’d like me to make enquiries about a suitable house?’

A little of Susannah’s worry lifted. ‘I must be gone in less than four weeks and I hardly know where to begin.’

Dr Ambrose frowned thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps the first thing is to ascertain your exact financial position.’

‘Would you …’ she hesitated, ‘I don’t like to ask my father to help me. His life is so taken up with his new family now and
he has no time. Would you help me to sort through Henry’s papers? Apart from keeping the apothecary shop books, I know little
about financial affairs.’

‘I’ll do what I can. As time is of the essence, shall we take a look in Henry’s study now?’

Two hours later, Susannah said goodbye to William Ambrose. She returned to her bedchamber and poked the fire into flames.
It was dark so she closed the shutters and went to light the candles but thought better of it. Chilled to the bone, she pulled
a blanket round her shoulders, drew a chair up to the fire and stared into the flames. Something akin to hatred for Henry
began to burn in her breast and she wrapped her arms tightly across her body in an attempt to stop herself shaking.

She hadn’t understood at first. William Ambrose’s expression had become even grimmer than usual as he picked up and read the
heap of papers he’d found in the cupboard in Henry’s study. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how much was your dowry?’ he asked.

‘Father never told me but I saw Henry counting it just after we were married. It was a great deal more than I expected. It’s
in that strongbox.’ Susannah went over to the box and tried to open it but there was a small padlock through the hasp. ‘Perhaps
there’s a key in the cupboard?’

‘I didn’t see one. Perhaps Henry had it on his person when he …’ He stopped. ‘Let me.’ Ambrose took a penknife from his pocket
and carefully forced the lock. He lifted the lid and took out a pile of papers. Quickly, he sifted through them. ‘More unpaid
bills. A butcher’s account, a brown velvet coat with gold lacing, an embroidered waistcoat, a dinner for four people at the
Stag Tavern, two diamond shoe buckles, coal merchant’s account, two dozen
embroidered handkerchiefs, one wedding ring, a pair of pearl earrings …’

‘Pearl earrings? He didn’t buy me any pearl earrings!’

‘ … hire of a coach and two horses …’

‘Give them to me. I’ll settle them,’ said Susannah. She lifted out a further handful of papers and then frowned as she inspected
the bottom of the box. ‘But this box was half full with golden guineas. Where are they?’ Somewhere deep inside icy certainty
was forming. ‘Henry must have hidden them away somewhere safe.’ She snatched open the cupboard doors and searched the shelves
one by one.

‘They’re not there, Susannah.’

‘They must be!’ She swept the remaining papers off the shelves and onto the floor, along with broken quills, bottles of ink,
a mouldy piece of bread and an apple core and ran her hands over the space behind. ‘Perhaps he’s hidden them under the floorboards?
That’s where they’ll be!’ She scrabbled at the matting, dragging it back and breaking her fingernails in the cracks between
the boards, searching for a secret hiding place.

‘Help me, can’t you!’ Frantically, she continued her search.

William caught hold of her elbow and pulled her to her feet. ‘Susannah, it’s gone.’

‘It can’t be! It was here only a few months ago.’

‘There are still enough unpaid bills here to swallow up a fortune. I should have guessed …’

‘Guessed what?’

‘He had so little when he arrived in this country and was so used to living a life of ease in Barbados; it must have been
difficult for him to understand how to manage his money. As it was, Aunt Agnes and I lent him a sizeable sum to get him started.’

‘But he worked hard at his new business! I hardly ever saw him because he was always out making new contacts.’

Ambrose sighed. ‘I wonder how much of his time was spent in building his business and how much in hiding from the truth? He
liked the company of those he met in the alehouses and taverns. He
was endlessly charming and generous to his new friends. I often saw him offering his hospitality to all around town with little
regard to the expense.’

‘But he couldn’t have drunk away my
entire
dowry!’ Outrage made her cheeks flame.