The Apothecary's Daughter (37 page)

He stood before her, waiting.

‘You’re back, then,’ said Susannah at last.

‘As you see. Have you forgiven me yet?’

She stabbed the needle into the tiny shirt she was sewing and pricked her finger. Drawing in her breath in irritation, she
watched a drop of blood spread across the linen.

‘It’s not
my
forgiveness you should seek. I hope you can sleep at night when you think about how Emmanuel is suffering.’

‘I dealt with Emmanuel in the way I thought best.’

‘I wonder what gives you the right to believe you know what is best for him?’

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut again. ‘Susannah, I ask you to trust me on this. I have done nothing
to bring any harm to Emmanuel. Now let us speak no more of it. Besides, I have brought something for you.’

‘Another present? I do hope you’re not trying to bribe me with some trinket?’

‘Susannah! Will you never let it go? In any case, this present isn’t for you.’

‘Oh!’ Disappointment made her put down her sewing.

‘Wait here a moment.’ William went inside and reappeared a moment later carrying a large parcel wrapped up in hessian. ‘Open
it!’ he said, depositing the heavy bundle by her feet.

She pulled aside the sacking and revealed an oak cradle, carved with a twisting pattern of oak leaves and acorns. She stared
at it, at a loss for words. How could she possibly show her pleasure in this wonderful gift when she was so angry with him?
At last, running her finger over one of the carved acorns, she said quietly, ‘William, it’s exquisite! I had thought that
my baby would spend his first months in a rush basket but this will give him a splendid start in life.’

‘I hoped you’d like it. I collected it from the attics at Merryfields. I spent my first months tucked up in this cradle, while
my mother rocked it with her foot and sang to me.’

‘It was yours?’

‘And my sister’s and my father’s.’ He looked down at his feet. ‘Once I thought that I might have a son to sleep in it but
it was not to be.’

Susannah waited, wondering if he would tell her the truth now about Joseph, but he only said, ‘It seems fitting that Henry’s
child should use it.’

‘Thank you, William,’ she said, touched by his thoughtful act.

‘And now I’d better brave my aunt’s temper and go to see how she does.’ Swiftly he bent down and kissed the curve of her neck
before returning to the house.

Touching her neck, where she could still feel the imprint of his kiss, she watched him stride away. She bit her lip, wondering
if, by accepting the gift of cradle, she had condoned Emmanuel’s banishment.

That night, Susannah dreamed again that she was sitting beside her mother in the birthing chamber, waiting. It was dark, save
a candle flickering on the washstand and the fire glowing orange in the grate. The overheated air was so thick and still that
she could taste it and the sound of her mother’s laboured breathing filled her ears. Goody Tresswell stirred the fire and
sprinkled bitter herbs onto the embers. The resinous twigs caught alight and spat bright sparks up the chimney. Acrid smoke
drifted in a cloud across the room, making Susannah’s eyes water.

She started as the front door slammed. Voices. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door rattled open and Dr Ogilby’s shadow
loomed up to cover the wall.

‘Soon have it out!’ he said. He held up a boning knife so that it glinted in the firelight while he tested the blade with
his finger.

Mama struggled to sit, her fear as sharp as broken glass. ‘Don’t let him hurt my baby!’

Smiling, Dr Ogilby turned to her.

Sobbing, Susannah pinioned her mother’s arms.

‘Don’t let him hurt my baby!’

Her mother’s screams reverberated all around. Ogilby’s hot, rum-laden breath was moist on her cheek as he leaned over them.

Susannah awoke on a sob, her hand to her cheek. She had felt breath on her face. Hadn’t she? She lay with her eyes wide open,
staring into the threatening dark. Echoes of her mother’s screams ebbed and flowed in her head, filling her with terror. And
then she heard a regular, insistent creaking and shook off the last remnant of sleep.

Throwing back the sheet in fright, she sat up. Once her eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark she noticed the cradle.
It moved gently from side to side as if rocked by an unseen hand.

She blundered her way to the door and out into the passage. Leaning against the wall until her racing heartbeat had slowed
a little, she persuaded herself that she was only suffering from a night terror. She put her hand to her cheek again. Yet
it had felt so real.

She stood for some moments outside her bedchamber, too fearful to go back inside. At last she lifted the latch.

The first grey light of dawn filtered through the window onto the motionless cradle at the foot of her bed. She rested her
hand upon it, tracing the carved oak leaves with her fingertips. Had she only imagined that the cradle had rocked?

The week ended with a heavy thunderstorm which cleared the air for a few days before the humidity began to build up again.
The oppressive night air seemed almost to throb with heat, threatening to suffocate Susannah and, her belly as tight as a
drum at the end of her seventh month, she was only able to sleep fitfully. The most pleasant part of the day was just after
dawn; she treasured her early-morning walks in the garden before she was obliged to wait on Agnes.

Before breakfast she went outside where the air was still cool and the reek of the Thames was almost drowned by the sweet
scent of roses and honeysuckle. She knelt awkwardly on the ground to tend the herb garden but the baby kicked her sharply
in the ribs as if protesting at its confinement. Then a movement in the cloisters caught her eye and she looked up but whoever
it was had disappeared. Pushing her garden knife into the ground to remove a dandelion she paused, feeling the back of her
neck prickle. She shot a glance behind her and caught a glimpse of Phoebe peering at her from the arcading. There was such
malevolence in her look that, all at once, Susannah gathered up her skirts and hurried from the garden as fast as her belly
would allow her.

The chapel windows were tightly closed and the trapped air, heavy with smoke from Agnes’s pipe, pressed down upon Susannah,
making her shift uncomfortably on her chair. Perspiration beaded her brow. Discreetly she eased her shift away from her underarms
and sat up straighter so that the bones of her bodice didn’t dig into her flesh more than necessary.

Where was William, she wondered? There had been a coolness between them over Emmanuel’s banishment but then he had given her
the cradle and kissed her neck. A sudden tremor ran through her groin as she remembered the feeling of his lips and the slight
roughness of his beard prickling her skin. He still seemed to care for her, even though she remained aloof, waiting for him
to apologise. But what if she was reading more into his interest in her than he really felt? He’d kissed her but it had hardly
been a declaration of undying love. Damn the man! Why did he have to be so elusive?

She stood up and walked to the window to look outside. If it became any hotter she felt she’d explode, like an overfilled
kettle on the fire. She sighed. A wasp buzzed against the glass, seemingly as desperate as herself to escape.

‘Why don’t you go and visit that friend of yours?’ asked Agnes. ‘You’re as fidgety as a rat caught in a drain.’

Susannah’s spirits revived at once. She’d be able to talk to Martha about William. ‘If you’re sure you don’t need me …?’

‘Need you? How d’you think I managed before you came? Run along with you, miss! And don’t go near any strangers; you never
know where the sickness lurks.’

Outside in the street the air was a little cooler, although there was a peculiar stillness everywhere. On the spur of the
moment, Susannah knocked on Jane Quick’s door, thinking to ask if she would like to go with her to Martha’s house. The sound
of the knocker echoed inside the hall.

An upstairs window scraped open in the house next door and an elderly woman leaned out. ‘She’s gone. Her husband sent for
her yesterday from Surrey.’ The window banged shut again.

Susannah stared at the door for a moment, saddened that Jane hadn’t come to say goodbye. But these were exceptional times.

Agnes needn’t have worried about strangers coming too close.
The streets were quiet and anyone Susannah met hurried past with their faces averted, just as keen to avoid contact as she
was.

Entering the court where Martha lived, Susannah was greeted by the sight of two men piling furniture onto a cart. Baskets
of household possessions stood on the dusty ground. The front door of Martha’s house was open and another man came out carrying
a chair with Martha’s familiar sewing box resting on the seat.

‘Where are you taking that?’ asked Susannah, anxiety suddenly twisting her insides.

‘Following the missus’ orders,’ he said.

‘Where is she?’

He nodded his head at the door and Susannah ran inside. She found Martha with her hair tied up in a duster, standing before
the dresser and handing down the plates to Patience. The smaller children ran in and out of the room and James gurgled in
his cradle.

Susannah sank down onto a chair and fanned herself with her hand, suddenly faint with heat and unease. ‘Thank the Lord that
you are well,’ she said. ‘When I saw your furniture being taken away I thought …’

Martha came and poured a glass of ale for Susannah. ‘You’ve saved me a visit. I was planning to see you before we go.’

‘Go? Where?’ asked Susannah, bewildered.

‘Kent. Josiah’s brother sent his cart for us and we’ll live with him until we find work and a place of our own.’ She tucked
away a loose strand of hair that had freed itself from the duster and stuck to the perspiration beading her brow. ‘Though
how we’ll all fit into his cottage I can’t imagine.’

‘But why?’

‘You of all people should know that! We’ll not stay here any longer to risk our children’s lives. Andrew Baker and all his
family on the other side of the court were stricken and passed away last week. I’ve known them ever since Josiah and I first
walked out together.’ Martha lifted a corner of her apron and wiped her eyes.

‘I thought you put your trust in the Lord?’

‘The Lord looks after those who look after themselves.’

‘Everyone is dying or leaving!’ Susannah heard the desolation in her voice. ‘What shall I do without you, Martha?’

‘You shall visit me when your baby is born and you have recovered strength enough to travel.’

‘If Agnes can spare me. And I’ll write and tell you all the London news.’

Martha smiled, just a little. ‘You forget, my dear. I cannot read.’ Susannah made her way back to the Captain’s House with
a heavy heart. She had never thought that her childhood friend would leave the city and the prospect of giving birth and tending
her baby without Martha’s patient guidance left her bereft. Overheated from the walk, Susannah went straight to the kitchen
in search of a drink.

Peg sat at the kitchen table, looking pale and wan while she picked slugs out of a bowl of salad greens.