The Apothecary's Daughter (38 page)

Mistress Oliver had loosened her bodice and sat overflowing on a stool, wriggling her toes in a basin of cold water. She made
no attempt to stand up when she saw Susannah, merely saying, ‘You might like to try this. Very soothing for swollen ankles.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ replied Susannah. ‘Next time you could put in some mint leaves to increase the cooling effect. Meanwhile,
may I have a glass of ale?’

‘Peg, fetch it, will you? And you might as well bring the pike for dinner. It’s gone a bit ripe in the heat and I need to
soak it in vinegar.’

Susannah followed the kitchen maid down the corridor to the storerooms.

‘You’re very pale, Peg. Are you not sleeping well?’

‘It’s too hot to sleep.’

In the pantry Peg handed Susannah a jug of ale. ‘Mistress Oliver will take a glass, too, I expect. I’ll fetch the fish.’ She
picked up a platter covered in a muslin cloth and pulled back the covering to look at the pike.

A strong smell of ammonia rose from it, making Susannah cover her nose with her hand. Peg turned as green as a new leaf and
burst into noisy sobs.

‘What is it, Peg?’

‘I’m so unhappy, ma’am! I don’t want to be in the city no more! Everything smells bad and I’m frightened of the plague and
it’s too hot and, oh, I do miss Emmanuel so much that I think my heart will break.’

‘What Emmanuel did was wrong, Peg.’

‘He didn’t do nothing wrong! I never let him, even though I wanted him to. And now I don’t sleep for thinking about him on
that boat, kept below decks in the dark and the heat, soaked in his own filth, just like Phoebe and Joseph. And if he doesn’t
die on the journey, they’ll beat him to death him on the plantation.’

‘Not if he behaves himself.’

‘I might as well throw myself in the river.’ She looked up at Susannah, her eyes drowned in tears. ‘I’ll never be happy again.’

‘Don’t say such a wicked thing!’

‘But ma’am, it’s true. And everywhere I look I see something to remind me of Emmanuel. I hate London! Especially I hate this
house; I’d rather be in Cock Alley. All the bad things happened here. I want to go back to the country.’ Her voice ended on
a wail.

Susannah handed her a clean handkerchief to dry her eyes. ‘I’ll see if I can think of something.’

‘Oh, please, madam! I knew you could help me.’

Peg’s faith in her was completely unfounded, thought Susannah a few days later. She’d racked her brains trying to think of
someone who might take the girl in and give her a home in the country but in the end she put aside her pride and went to find
William in his study.

‘I don’t know what to do for the best but I don’t want it on my conscience if the poor child throws herself into the river.
She’s grown so thin and she’s still pining for Emmanuel.’

‘It’s a predicament, isn’t it?’ said William. ‘Peg and Emmanuel are barely more than children but they do seem to have formed
a deep attachment for each other. I’ll make enquiries to see if I can find her another situation in the country.’

‘I’ll miss her if she goes.’ Sadly she said, ‘Everyone is deserting me.’

William nodded and turned his attention back to his books. Susannah waited for a moment but he appeared to have forgotten
her. Did she mean nothing to him? Or had he changed his mind and decided to avoid her? At last, heavy with despair, she left
the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Susannah was woken early by footsteps in the corridor. She recognised the sound of William’s boots as they clipped along the
oak boards and thought that it must be Joseph’s feet she could hear skittering along behind him. She experienced a twinge
of jealousy that William had found time to spend with his son while she was ignored. The baby stirred in her belly, stretching
and putting an intolerable strain on her bladder. Time to get up.

Once dressed, she went down to the kitchen for an early breakfast.

‘Peg’s overslept again,’ grumbled Mistress Oliver. ‘In my day Cook would have given me a good thrashing if I was late. I wanted
her to go to the market early; it’s hard enough to find what you need these days without leaving it too late. I’d use the
butcher’s on the other side of the street but the meat’s always covered in flies and that wife of his is a slattern and never
washes the blood off the floors.’

‘Couldn’t Phoebe go instead?’

‘She’s no use, neither. No idea how to choose a decent bit of mutton.’

‘Perhaps they didn’t have mutton in Barbados?’ said Susannah. ‘Shall I wake Peg? Or shall I set off to the market? By the
time Peg is dressed I could already be there.’

‘That’s true enough. Fetch me some salad greens too if you can get them. And a block of salt and whatever vegetables you can
find.’

The market was even smaller than the last time Susannah had been, and the prices higher, but she was able to secure a leg
of mutton, a dozen eggs, a few withered carrots and a bunch of over-priced greens. At the last stall she found a box of sugar
plums and, on an impulse, bought them for Agnes. She knew her mistress had a sweet tooth and thought they might lift her spirits.

The scent of new-baked bread wafted from the kitchen as she returned home and Susannah’s stomach growled in anticipation.
She put the basket on the table and cut herself a spongy chunk from the warm loaf.

Mistress Oliver rummaged through the contents of the basket. ‘Where’s the salt?’

‘There wasn’t any,’ mumbled Susannah through a mouthful of bread.

‘No salt? What’s the world coming to? Carrots aren’t much good neither but that’s a fine leg of mutton. What’s this? Did I
ask you to buy sugar plums?’

‘No, you didn’t. I paid for them myself. They’re for Mistress Fygge.’

Mistress Oliver sniffed. ‘You’ll get heartburn if you eat that bread while it’s fresh.’

Agnes was pleased with her sugar plums and quickly forgave Susannah for going off without asking permission. ‘But I’ll not
condone laziness in the servants. Is Peg back at her duties now?’

‘I’m sure Mistress Oliver will have punished her by making her do the worst jobs she can find,’ said Susannah.

Later, after Agnes was dressed and sitting in the chapel with a pipe in her hand, a book of poetry on her knee and Joseph
at her feet, Susannah slipped away to the kitchen again.

Mistress Oliver and Phoebe were heaving a vast pan of stock off the fire. Phoebe burned her hand and started, causing some
of the stock to fall on the flames. A cloud of hissing steam enveloped both of them in its vapour.

‘Get out of my kitchen, you useless lump!’ shouted Mistress Oliver. ‘Go and scrub the cellar floor; the drain’s overflowed
again.’

Phoebe cast a resentful glance at Susannah and fled.

‘Is Peg here?’ asked Susannah.

‘No, she isn’t!’ Mistress Oliver wiped steam off her scarlet face with the back of her hand. ‘She’s only done a runner, hasn’t
she? No good will come of it, I can tell you.’

‘But where would she go?’

‘If I knew that I’d drag her back, kicking and screaming. For all her faults she’s the best kitchen maid I’ve had in years.
Ungrateful little madam! After all I’ve done for her …’

Susannah hurried upstairs to Peg’s attic room under the eaves. What if she had taken off and thrown herself in the river?
Heart thudding, she flung open the door. The bed had been stripped bare and the worn blanket folded. The hook on the back
of the door was empty and there was nothing at all on the chair or under the bed. It was as if Peg had never existed.

Susannah slumped down on the thin mattress, her knees weak with relief. Peg wouldn’t have bothered to leave everything neat
and tidy if she was going to drown herself. Silly, silly Peg! Why had she run away without even saying goodbye? But where
could she have gone?

During the afternoon, as she settled Agnes for an afternoon doze, she gasped as the answer to that question popped into her
head. Instead of retiring to her own bedchamber for an hour or two she picked a bunch of rosemary and sweet herbs from the
garden and twisted them into a nosegay. Holding this to her nose to ward off evil humours, she slipped out of the street door
and set off. Walking was becoming increasingly tiring for her and it was impossible to see all the potholes in the road due
to the bulge of her stomach. After she’d slipped twice, she hailed a hansom cab. ‘Cock Alley in Moor Fields,’ she said, ignoring
the driver’s raised eyebrows.

The driver stopped at the end of Cock Alley, it being too narrow for the cab to enter. She paid him off and lifted her skirts
out of the dust. Two men lounging in an alehouse doorway whistled at her and
then nudged each other, laughing coarsely as she drew closer and they noticed the swell of her belly. ‘Someone got there first
by the look of it!’

She put her nose in the air and stepped carefully around a dog scavenging amongst potato peelings.

A girl sat on the sill of an open window, listlessly swinging her bare legs. A sailor walking from the other end of the alley
stopped to talk to her and she nodded at the open door of the house and he disappeared inside.

Susannah stopped and looked about her. Which house? There was no help for it; she’d have to ask for directions. She banged
her fist on the nearest door and waited.

After a few moments it opened a crack and a pair of eyes peered at her from the shadows. ‘What d’you want?’

‘Please will you direct me to Mistress McGregor’s house?’

The door opened a little more to reveal a woman of uncertain age dressed in a loose wrap, in spite of the time of day. ‘Mistress
McGregor? Not looking for a job, are you?’ The woman burst into gales of laughter, exposing a mouthful of bad teeth. ‘Bit
late for that, dearie, if you don’t mind my saying so. You look as if you’re fit to drop it any day.’

‘Please tell me, which is Mistress McGregor’s house?’ Susannah persisted.

‘Up the other end of the alley, dearie. The house with the red door.’

Susannah picked her way along the alley until she found a scarlet door with a brass knocker in the shape of a heart. She banged
it down a couple of times. The door opened almost immediately.

A strikingly handsome girl with black hair and her breasts almost exposed by her low-cut bodice stood in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m looking for Mistress McGregor,’ said Susannah.

‘Not at home.’

‘May I come in?’

‘Not sure about that …’

‘Please?’ Susannah rested her hand on her stomach. ‘I need to rest for a moment.’

‘Suppose it can’t do no harm.’

Susannah followed the girl into the parlour and sat down on a comfortably padded sofa piled with plump cushions.

‘What’s your business with Mistress McGregor?’

‘I wanted to ask her if she has seen Peg, my serving girl, today.’

‘Peg? There’s no Peg here.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘I’ve only just risen from my bed but there’s been no one here today.’

‘Have you lived here long?’

‘Six months, near enough.’

Susannah’s hopes were dashed. ‘Then you won’t remember Peg. She came here last September.’

‘Peg? Not little Peg?’ The girl put her hand over her mouth, her eyes alive with mirth. ‘I’ve heard about her! She bashed
a customer over the head with a candlestick and legged it out the window. Mother McGregor was that angry! She’d been paid
a hefty fee to find a young maid for the customer and instead she had to pay him to keep his mouth shut. Cracking bruise he
had.’

‘I thought you weren’t here then?’

‘Topaz told me.’ The girl called out of the door. ‘Tope! Tope, come on down. There’s a lady looking for that Peg.’

Topaz had black skin, handsomely set off by her ochre silk wrap. Her hair was wrapped in an exotic gold turban and she carried
with her a heavy, spicy perfume.

‘You lookin’ for Peg?’ Her voice was rich and melodious.

‘She’s my serving maid. I wondered if she might have come here.’

Topaz shook her head, the pearl drops she wore quivering from the lobes of her ears. ‘Are you Mistress Savage?’

Astonished, Susannah said, ‘How did you know?’

‘Henry spoke about you. He took Peg home with him after she ran away from Mother McGregor. Said you’d grown fond of her.’

‘Henry? I don’t understand.’

‘I was with him when he died. Thought I was for the pit, too, thanks to him! And then his cousin, the doctor, came and told
the
authorities there’d been a death in the house and we were all shut up. Cost Dorcas and Abigail their lives. Cost us all a
month’s wages.’

Susannah’s face flamed. ‘Henry was one of your clients?’

‘Certainly he was. Became uncommon fond of me.’

Susannah swallowed down the bitter bile that rose in her throat but before she could speak the front door slammed and footsteps
clattered down the hall.

‘Girls! Mother’s home!’

Mistress McGregor’s plump body was stuffed into a crimson taffeta dress with a great deal of black lace and knots of silk
ribbons. Her elaborately curled hair was an unlikely shade of red and matched her improbably rouged cheeks. ‘And who have
we here?’ she asked.