The Apothecary's Daughter (28 page)

Phoebe was sweeping the floor when Susannah went down to the kitchen. She turned away without acknowledging Susannah’s nod
and carried on with her task so slowly that it appeared insolent.

Peg was at the sink scouring the pots with sand and singing a strange little melody to herself.

‘You sound happy, Peg,’ said Susannah.

She gave Susannah a smile which lit up her pinched little face. ‘Oh yes, ma’am. Emmanuel taught me a new song. His mother
used to sing it to him.’

‘I’m to make Mistress Fygge a poultice but first I wondered if you could find me a crust of bread? My stomach is growling
with hunger again.’

Peg nodded wisely. ‘It’ll be the baby. Mam was always taken by hunger when the baby began to grow.’

‘Is that what it is?’

Phoebe dropped her broom with a clatter. She picked it up with a stony face and then began to vigorously sweep the pile of
dirt towards the kitchen door.

Susannah sat at the table to eat her bread. It was true that she hardly ever resorted to the ginger cordial any more to settle
the nausea of her early pregnancy and mealtimes never seemed to come early enough. And the baby
was
growing. She’d tried to ignore it but she’d had to loosen her bodices already and would need to let out her skirts before
long. As usual, every time her thoughts touched upon the baby and the impending birth she spiralled into panic. Suddenly dry-mouthed
with dread again, she crumbled the remaining bread between her fingers and once more forced herself to suppress all thoughts
of the coming child’s existence.

Susannah had lit the candles and almost finished her supper by the time William arrived home. Her spirits rose unaccountably
as she heard his boots coming up the stairs but when he pushed open the door she saw that he was in one of his morose moods.

‘I didn’t wait for you,’ she said, passing him a platter of cold meat and cheese. ‘And Agnes’s joints were paining her so
I helped her to bed earlier on.’

William pulled up a chair and sat down without saying a word. Hunched over the table he began to pick at the piece of cheese
on his trencher.

Susannah waited for him to break the silence. ‘Did you visit the apothecary shop?’ she asked at last.

He glanced up. ‘What?’

‘I asked if you would visit my father’s shop and bring me some herbs to make a poultice for Agnes.’

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘William! It was only this morning, just as you were going out!’

He picked up an apple and began to peel it in silence.

Susannah watched candlelight glinting on the knife as the skin fell into a long red ribbon on his plate. Had he even heard
her? ‘Agnes is in a great deal of pain.’

William looked up at her and she was shocked to see how drawn and white he was. ‘I lost a patient in Long Acre today,’ he
said. ‘The plague again.’

Susannah tensed, suddenly fearful for him. For all of them. ‘Were you exposed to it?’

He shook his head. ‘I could do nothing but stand helplessly by while the watchman shut up the rest of the family. It’s an
almost certain death sentence for them.’

‘I hoped the long freeze would end the infection. I can hardly bear the thought of the coming summer, being trapped in the
city, never knowing which one of our friends and neighbours might succumb next.’ For a moment she remembered how fractious
Arabella had been during her pregnancy the previous summer and almost felt sympathy for her.

‘All my knowledge and training counts for nothing,’ said William, slicing his apple into pieces with brutal precision. ‘I
can do no more than make the sick comfortable until they die. I’ve tried cutting the buboes to allow the putrefaction to escape,
fumigating the sickroom and administering every combination of herbs known to man but in the end it’s still God’s will as
to whether a patient survives.’

Pushing her plate away, Susannah stood up so abruptly that her chair tipped over. ‘I thought you didn’t expose yourself to
infection?’

‘Most doctors and apothecaries have decamped and the sick need me.’

‘But you might bring the sickness home with you! William, you must be careful. What would Agnes do if you sickened? It would
break her heart. Aren’t you afraid?’

‘Of course I’m afraid! I lie awake in a cold sweat worrying about it but what else can I do? Not one of us is safe.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Her breath was tight in her throat. ‘I dream of escaping to the country before something dreadful happens
to us all. I want to breathe clean air and know that the pestilence is far away.’ She could hear the rising hysteria in her
voice.

William stared at her, his face expressionless. ‘It’s hard for you, being tied to Agnes’s apron strings, isn’t it?’

She shrugged, wondering at his sudden change of subject. ‘When I was working in the dispensary I was useful. Father allowed
me more freedom than most women dream of but everything is different now and I’m hardly in a position to complain. Agnes threw
me a lifeline and I shall never be able to repay her for that. I don’t know what would have happened to me if …’

‘Agnes is lucky to have found you. You are a worthy companion for her.’ William stood up. ‘I’m going to my study.’

Susannah stared after him, a flush of delight and astonishment warming her throat. A compliment from William was as rare and
precious as sunshine at midnight.

Two days later a messenger arrived bringing a note for Agnes.

‘It’s from my old friend, Mary Westacott,’ she said, her wrinkled old face wreathed in smiles. ‘She’s travelling up from Devon
to visit her son in Hatfield and will come and break her journey with me for a few days.’

Mary Westacott arrived in time for dinner the next day and she and Agnes chattered away together like a pair of magpies. Emmanuel
and Joseph crouched in a huddle at the other end of the chapel teasing Aphra with a pigeon’s feather and planning mischief.
Susannah sat on the window seat darning a worn Flemish-work cushion while the two old ladies appeared to forget her existence
as they caught up on all the gossip of the previous ten years. When they had run out of reputations to ruin they turned to
reminiscing.

After a while, lulled by the sound of their voices, Susannah leaned her head back against the wall and dozed.

She awoke with a start when the latch clicked and felt a rush of pleasure when William pushed open the door.

‘You remember Mary Westacott, don’t you, Will?’ said Agnes.

‘Certainly I do,’ said William, bowing over Mary’s hand. ‘I’m happy to see you again. Aunt Agnes will be pleased to have your
company.’

‘We have a great deal to talk about. So many of my friends are dead that it’s good to be with someone of my own age for a
change.’

‘Since you are both so well occupied, Aunt, I wonder if you could spare Susannah tomorrow?’

‘Spare her? What did you have in mind?’

‘I prescribe some country air to bring the colour back into her cheeks. I have business at Merryfields and shall be making
a visit there.’

Agnes raised her eyebrows. ‘Would you like to accompany William on a visit to Richmond, Susannah?’

‘If you have no need of me, I should be glad to do so,’ said Susannah, her heart lifting at the very thought. She held her
breath while Agnes pursed her lips and thought about it.

‘It would not be seemly for you to travel alone with William,’ said Agnes at last.

‘Joseph can accompany us,’ said William. ‘The child would enjoy a boat trip.’

Susannah glanced at him, wondering if he was seeking an opportunity to know his son better. The thought troubled her.

Emmanuel, sitting by Agnes’s feet, stirred and stared at her with desperation in his eyes. ‘Perhaps I might take Emmanuel
with me?’ She was rewarded with the sight of Emmanuel’s face breaking into a wide grin.

Agnes nodded. ‘That is a better idea. I will spare him for the day but Joseph shall remain by my side in his place.’

Susannah tried to read William’s expression, to see if he minded not taking his small son with him; but his face remained
impassive.

‘Very good,’ said William. ‘Susannah, you had better be prepared to leave early in the morning as we shall be rowing against
the stream. You will excuse me from the dinner table today, ladies? I have several patients to see this evening as I shall
be out of town tomorrow.’ He bowed and left.

‘Well,’ said Mary, ‘your nephew has grown into a fine gentleman, Agnes.’

‘He’ll do well enough,’ said Agnes, unable to conceal the love she felt for him in her proud smile.

‘I am surprised he doesn’t take a wife.’

‘William has never been one to flatter the ladies and it would take an exceptional girl to capture his heart.’

‘He was perfectly charming to me.’

Agnes cackled. ‘Perhaps you’d better propose to him yourself, then!’

Mary laughed so much that she developed a fit of the hiccups and Susannah had to send Joseph to the kitchen to fetch a glass
of ale to wash them away.

Susannah was so excited at the prospect of the day’s excursion that she rose before first light. Outside her bedchamber window
the sun was peeking through pink clouds and she hummed to herself as she pinned up her hair. She wished she had something
pretty to wear rather than her usual mourning dress and then was overcome with guilt that the thought was disrespectful to
Henry’s memory.

William was already seated at the dining table in the chapel when she arrived.

‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?’ she said.

‘Not at all. Make a good breakfast; it may be difficult to find any dinner while we’re travelling.’

Phoebe carried in a tray and laid the table with the remains of the previous night’s pie, a loaf of bread, some apples and
a jug of ale.

Susannah followed Phoebe’s movements closely, wondering if anything in her behaviour would hint at the special relationship
she had with William. Her expression, however, was as insolent as ever when she glanced up to see Susannah watching her.

Eyes lowered again, Phoebe asked, ‘Anything else, sir?’ ‘That will be all.’

Susannah noticed that she was filling out with regular food and her skin now had the glow of good health. Phoebe left the
room, her hips swaying, leaving Susannah feeling vaguely irritated. William cut a large piece of the pie and placed it on
Susannah’s plate. ‘Eat up! You’re too thin.’

‘I’m hungry all the time.’

‘A good sign that everything is as it ought to be.’

William was in better spirits, Susannah thought. Perhaps the prospect of a jaunt to the country had put him in a holiday mood
too. ‘Where is it we are going to today?’ she asked.

‘I must visit my old family home. When my parents died I came to live with Aunt Agnes but I could never bear to sell Merryfields.
I have business there today with my tenant.’

‘Shall you ever return?’

He tore off a chunk of yesterday’s bread and dunked it into his ale. ‘There is much for me to do in London. Especially now
that the plague is gaining strength again. I consider it my duty as a physician to stay here.’ He drank his ale. ‘By the way,
I wanted you to know that I have agreed a good price for your rum. You should be able to settle some more of Henry’s debts.’

‘What a relief! I’m so grateful to you.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ William delved into his coat pocket and pulled out a leather purse. ‘I couldn’t have the family name
besmirched, could I? And Aunt Agnes has suggested that, since she’s so pleased with you, she will increase your salary a little.
I hope you will soon be debt free.’

Susannah took the proffered purse. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’

Emmanuel pushed open the door, carrying a basket and a folded rug.

‘We’re ready to leave whenever you wish,’ said Susannah.

William had arranged for a boat to wait for them at the public stairs at Whitefriars. He held Susannah’s arm firmly as they
went down the steps, worn and slippery with green slime, and settled her in the boat with the blanket tucked over her knees.
The river eddied around them in a froth of oily scum and Susannah saw a drowned rat, bloated to twice its normal size, swirl
past. She held a handkerchief soaked in lavender water to her nose to mask the stink.