The Apothecary's Daughter (43 page)

Susannah, suddenly faint, leaned her hand against the wall to steady herself. ‘Not Father! Please say it isn’t so.’

‘Oh no, miss, not your father but poor Ned.’

‘Ned? But I’ve brought rosemary to make an infusion for his cough!’

‘Too late, Miss Susannah. The sickness came over him very sudden and he went into convulsions. All blotchy and burning up
with the fever he was and crying out for his mother.’

Susannah pictured the apprentice’s eager young face, his life so cruelly cut short, but she couldn’t help the unchristian
thought that she was glad it was Ned and not her father who had perished.

‘The cart came for him before light this morning,’ wept Jennet. ‘When the doctor and I carried him down the stairs I slipped
and nearly dropped him. His head banged against the wall with a terrible thump and I can still hear the echo in my ears, over
and over again. And the dead-cart was already overflowing with corpses and I keep remembering him being carried off.’

‘You’ve been very brave, Jennet.’

‘Now I’m praying for the master. He wouldn’t like the dead-cart at all.’

‘Does he suffer greatly?’

William’s face appeared at the window behind Jennet. She moved away and he leaned out over the sill. ‘Your father is very
ill, Susannah. We have bathed him in cool water to bring down his body heat and placed poultices on the buboes to draw the
poison to the surface. Some of the boils have burst, which is encouraging. I can do no more now than to make him comfortable.’

‘Will he live?’

‘I cannot tell and will not make you false promises, Susannah.’

False promises! She studied his face, his expression so concerned for her, yet he had led her to believe that he cared deeply
for her and still he had betrayed her with Phoebe. She hardly knew what to believe any more. ‘Can I fetch anything to ease
his suffering?’ she said, at last.

‘We have all the medicines we could need, here in the shop. All we can do now is to put our trust in the Lord.’

Susannah nodded, unable to speak for the fear that tears would overwhelm her.

‘I see you have been kind enough to bring us some provisions,’ said William. He disappeared inside for a moment and then lowered
a bed sheet out of the window.

Susannah tied a corner of the linen round the handle of the basket and watched as he pulled it up.

‘Come and see us again tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Susannah?’

‘Yes?’ She met his eyes, hope flaring in her breast again. Perhaps he would beg her forgiveness.

But all he said was, ‘Send my love to Aunt Agnes. And try to keep calm. The Lord will decide what is to happen and anxiety
will not help either you or your babe.’

Disappointment felled her hopes. She turned and stumbled away.

There was a sense of unreality about the next twenty-four hours. The routine of the day continued on almost as normal, while
terror gripped at Susannah’s insides with razor-sharp claws.

She moved slowly about her duties, hardly speaking unless Agnes addressed her directly, focusing only upon the moment when
it would be the time to go to her father’s shop for news.

Agnes’s fear for William showed in her temper and she brushed aside with irritation Susannah’s suggestion that she rest in
bed for the morning.

‘Don’t fuss over me, miss!’

Biting her lip, Susannah did as she was bid. Once the lacing of the bodices and the dressing of the hair had been accomplished,
she helped Agnes to the chair by the window with her book of poems by her side.

‘You are dismissed but be sure to come and tell me the news when you return.’

‘Yes, Agnes.’

‘And Susannah? Tell Will I am proud of him. I may think he has made a foolish decision but I would not have expected less
of him.’

Mistress Oliver tucked a jar of plum preserve into the basket. ‘The master’s favourite,’ she said. ‘And there’s the last of
the gammon for him. Phoebe will carry the basket to the end of Whyteladies Lane for you. I can tell your back is aching again.’

‘It does pain me and I’m tired of looking and feeling like an over-inflated pig’s bladder.’

‘Ah well, not long to go now till you’ll have that sweet babe in your arms and then you’ll know what tiredness is all about!
Phoebe, you can leave the pans to soak for now and carry the basket.’

‘Yes’m.’ Phoebe dried her hands on her apron and slid the basket handle over her arm.

The heat of the sun had turned the mud in the lane to dust again and two dogs fought over a bone unearthed from the refuse.
The swirling torrent in the central drain had subsided and Susannah found the way easier going than on the previous day.

At the end of the lane she took the basket from Phoebe. Her hand brushed accidentally against the other woman’s and as she
glanced up their eyes met.

Phoebe stared back, her brown-sugar eyes giving nothing away. She walked away without looking back.

Susannah had half expected her to send a message to William and
was astonished at the other woman’s passivity while her lover was locked up in a plague house. She lodged the basket into
the crook of her elbow and set off towards Fleet Street. Unaccountably her spirits lifted. The air was a little fresher than
in previous days and some of Father’s boils had burst, which was good news indeed. Some said that if the poisons were drained
from the pestilential risings, a patient might recover. Father was still vigorous for his age and his health had always been
good so surely the outlook was promising? No doubt he would continue to improve a little, day by day.

It was in this spirit of hope that Susannah arrived at the apothecary shop. The watchman saw her coming and tipped his hat
to her before banging on the door. ‘Oi,’ he shouted. ‘To the window! The lady’s here.’

The casement opened wider and William leaned out. ‘Susannah.’

The tone of his voice, kind, gentle, stopped her in her tracks. Carefully she placed the basket on the ground. She knew with
dreadful certainty what he had to tell her, even before he uttered another word. All at once she was deathly cold. Everything
faded away, except for William’s face.

‘When,’ she asked.

‘Not an hour since. I sat up with him all night and we talked a little but he grew weaker and weaker until he drew his last
breath.’

How strange, she thought, she was calm and rational even though inside her head someone was screaming. ‘Was his passing gentle?’

‘My dear, I cannot say he did not suffer but I made him as comfortable as possible.’

‘I am grateful to you for that.’

‘Some of the time he thought that I was your brother, Tom. He took my hand and asked me to find you. Your name was the last
word on his lips.’

Susannah faltered then. She uttered a cry of desolation, the sky above began to spin and her vision darkened. From a great
distance she heard William shout her name.

The watchman caught her as she slipped to the ground.
‘Upsadaisy, missus!’ He supported her until the faintness passed. ‘Better now?’

‘My father is dead!’

‘Yes, missus, I know. Gorn to a better place, I should say.’

‘Susannah! Susannah?’

Releasing herself from the watchman’s brawny arms, she looked up to where William was framed in the open window.

‘Susannah, are you all right?’

Her lips were numb and she had begun to shiver uncontrollably and couldn’t stop her teeth chattering together. ‘Merely a little
faint,’ she said. ‘It has passed now. You see, I had persuaded myself that Father would have improved today.’

William slammed his hand against the window frame. ‘Goddamnit, Susannah! I can do nothing to help you while I’m incarcerated
here.’

‘You did everything you could to help Father. Nothing else matters now. What of you and Jennet? Are you still well?’

He nodded. ‘But Jennet is in low spirits. She loved her master and is conscious that now there are many uncertainties for
her future.’

‘And there is nothing I can say to bring her comfort,’ said Susannah bitterly. ‘There is no certainty for any woman’s future
without a man to support her.’

‘We have to stay here until the quarantine is lifted.’

‘What will happen to Father now?’

‘The cart will come for him this evening.’

Susannah put her hand over her mouth. ‘I must see him one last time.’

‘No, you must not! Susannah, I beg you, do not do this. You will distress yourself and may cause ill to your baby. It is far
better for you to remember him in happier times than to see him as he is now.’

‘But don’t you understand? If I cannot say goodbye to him I shall never really believe he has gone.’

‘I advise against it.’

‘Is he such a terrible sight?’

‘It’s not that …’

‘What then?’

‘The buriers will come for him.’ William rubbed his eyes, his exhaustion clear to see. ‘They have become so used to collecting
corpses that they do not always treat the dead with proper respect and it will be distressing for you.’

‘Nonetheless, I will be here.’

He stared at her for a moment and then said, ‘I can see your mind is made up and I haven’t the will to argue with you.’

‘I have brought you provisions. Pull up the basket and I shall return later.’

After the basket had been emptied Susannah set off towards The Captain’s House again.

Agnes knew what had happened as soon as she saw Susannah’s face. ‘I am truly sorry, my dear. Your father was a fine man, even
if he did let that flibberty-gibbet wife of his lead him a merry dance. The world will be a poorer place without him.’

Susannah nodded, her eyes brimming. ‘Arabella ought to know that she is a widow and the twins fatherless. I can only think
that she must have gone to her brother’s house in Shoreditch. May I send Phoebe with a note for her?’

‘Do as you think fit, though I hardly see her as a grieving widow.’

‘I want to be sure Joshua and Samuel are safe. And then I shall go again to the house this evening. I must be there when the
cart comes.’

‘I shan’t ask you if that is a sensible notion. I expect you wish to catch a last glimpse of him?’

‘I
must
see where he is buried. How else can I know where to show my child his grandfather’s grave?’

‘Then you shall take Phoebe with you.’

‘No! I mean, thank you for your concern but I prefer to go alone.’

‘I will worry if you are alone in the streets after dark. Go and rest now since you will be late to bed.’

Susannah lay down but could not sleep. Screwing her eyes tight shut, she sought comfort in imagining herself back in the time
when her life had been so safe and carefree. She pictured her mother bent
over the counter in the apothecary shop, straining lavender steeped in sweet almond oil through muslin. Mama had applied a
drop of the perfumed oil to her wrist and she could still summon up the soothing, flowery scent of it, which had accompanied
her all day.

Her father had been happy then. Later, after Mama’s tragic death, he and Susannah had taken solace in the apothecary shop.
He’d taught her everything he knew and trusted her to experiment with even the most expensive ingredients.

She curled up into a tight little ball while she remembered the contented hours she had spent in his company. Never again
would she be able to argue with him the merits of spirits of scurvy grass over fresh lemon juice for the loosening of the
teeth or delight in their mutual interest at one of the lectures at Gresham College or simply enjoy sitting by the fireside
in peaceful harmony. She tormented herself with these reminiscences until the light began to fade.

At last she sat up and rubbed the feeling back into her limbs. She felt as hollow and light as thistledown as she went to
find Agnes. The chapel was overheated and hazy with smoke from the rosemary burning in the hearth.

‘Agnes, I’m leaving now.’

‘Keep the door closed! I am determined to fume away any contagion that dares to enter my house,’ said Agnes. ‘You still insist
on going tonight?’

Susannah nodded.

‘Then be sure to cover your face when the buriers come. Sprinkle vinegar on a handkerchief and hold it to your nose. Touch
nothing and I will pray that you are kept safe from infection.’

‘Thank you.’

Agnes’s lips curled in a grim smile. ‘I believe you are as stubborn as I am. Go then! Phoebe is waiting for you.’

‘She need not accompany me.’

‘You will not vex me by arguing.’

It was very nearly dark and Phoebe carried a lantern to light the way. They walked side by side in silence, avoiding the beggars
that
snatched at the hems of their skirts and crossing the street into the shadows without a word spoken as they passed the open
door of a noisy tavern. Warm, foetid air and the sound of drunken laughter drifted after them.

When they arrived at the apothecary shop, candles burned in every window.

‘Go home, madam,’ the watchman said. ‘No good will come of your presence here.’

‘Will the dead-cart come soon?’ she asked.

‘Soon enough.’

William threw open the casement and leaned out. ‘You came then?’