The Apothecary's Daughter (45 page)

‘Joseph!’

He glanced back, stopped and then came towards her, dragging his feet. ‘Yes, miss?’

‘Joseph, you know you’re not to play in the street.’

‘But …’

‘Come inside now!’

The boy stuck out his bottom lip but followed her into the house.

Susannah returned the basket to the kitchen, where Mistress Oliver was standing at the table dismembering a couple of capons
with a cleaver.

‘All still well?’ asked the cook, with a sharply enquiring look. Susannah nodded. ‘Thank the Lord for that!’ She pushed aside
a mess of entrails and a dish of lardy cake to make more room before she chopped off the capons’ heads.

Joseph eyed the lardy cake and, unable to resist such temptation, shot out a hand and stole a slice.

Mistress Oliver grabbed his wrist and threatened him with the cleaver. ‘Where’ve you been, you young scallywag?’

‘I found him running out of that dirty butcher’s shop with those raggedy boys of theirs,’ said Susannah.

‘Didn’t your mother tell you you’re not to play outside, Joseph? And especially not with the butcher’s boys. Lead you into
trouble they will. Now sit down at the table and eat that lardy cake. Don’t want you dropping crumbs all over the place and
encouraging the rats.’

Agnes was relieved to hear that William and Jennet remained well. ‘But I shall keep vigil in my chamber until William is returned
safely to me,’ she said. ‘You must continue to visit the apothecary shop every day to bring back news. Now tell me; is there
any sign of Arabella?’

‘None at all. I shan’t be sorry if I never see her again but I would dearly like to know the whereabouts of my little brothers.’

‘She’s bound to turn up in due course. And I shouldn’t worry too much about the twins. Their mother will fall on her feet;
her kind always does.’

Susannah read to Agnes for much of the afternoon, though she often slipped and stumbled over the words as her mind drifted
away on waves of anxiety and sadness.

Phoebe carried in a supper tray. Susannah attempted to take it from her but Phoebe, her expression sullen, pushed past her
and set it down on the table by the window.

Susannah gave a mental shrug. She was too unhappy to be
bothered with the woman’s continuing hostility. Phoebe had unaccountably disliked her from the day they met and she couldn’t
imagine anything that would ever change that now.

Later that evening Susannah returned Agnes’s empty tray to the kitchen.

Phoebe was scouring the pots while Mistress Oliver sat on a stool soaking her feet in a basin.

‘The mistress ate her dinner, then?’ she asked.

Joseph ran into the kitchen and buried his face in his mother’s skirts.

‘Most of it.’

Susannah turned her head as Phoebe clattered the pots and then began to scold Joseph. The boy was whimpering and scratching
at his arms while his mother shook him. ‘I done tole you not to go outside, you bad boy!’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Susannah.

Phoebe pulled up the boy’s shirt to expose his chest, presently scattered with angry purple pimples.

‘Fleas,’ said Susannah peering at the spots. ‘It’s only flea bites.’ She breathed a sigh of relief.

‘That’ll teach you to play with the butcher’s ragamuffins,’ said Mistress Oliver.

‘Joseph, run upstairs to my bedchamber and fetch my apothecary’s box,’ said Susannah. ‘I’ll rub some marigold salve on the
bites to ease the itching.’

Phoebe glanced up at her from lowered lashes and turned back to her son. ‘Next time, you listen to
me
, boy!’

‘Yes’m, Mammy.’

The child looked so chastened that Susannah had to suppress a small smile.

After Agnes had been settled down for the night, Susannah sat on the window seat in the chapel watching the sunset until the
last streaks of gold faded into darkness. Perhaps William was watching
the sunset, too, she thought. She pictured him pacing up and down the sitting room above the apothecary shop, frustration
at his confinement in every step. Idly she wondered what the plans were that he had been making. He was so used to ordering
his own life that he would find this time of quarantine very difficult. If she had been with him, if only things had been
different, they could have sat together in quiet companionship reading her father’s books or playing chess.

She daydreamed for a while, imagining the two of them growing closer. But it
was
only a daydream and would never come true since it had turned out to be Phoebe that he wanted after all. There had only been
such a short time of happiness until her hopes had been shattered.

She wiped away a tear on the back of her hand. Whether or not William loved her, she was still fearful that he would sicken
and die. And now Father was dead and the twins, Martha and Henry, Jane Quick, Peg and Emmanuel had all gone. In a strange
way she even missed Arabella and her children.

Her belly moved as the child within stirred and she cupped the pointed little heel with her palm as it pushed against her
skin. Sorrow and unrequited love made miserable companions; if it hadn’t been for the baby she might have turned her face
to the wall and never opened her eyes again. Her head drooped with exhaustion. One by one she took the pins out of her hair
and let it fall around her shoulders. She sat quietly for a while, then undressed and went to bed.

The long, shrill cry pierced the night, shocking Susannah awake. She was out of bed and in the corridor with her heart racing
before she realised where she was.

The terrible wail of desolation came again, making the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She followed the sound, running
up the stairs to the attic as fast as her bulk would allow her.

Phoebe stood at the top of the stairs with Joseph clutched to her
breast. Wild-eyed, she couldn’t speak but shrieked and ran towards Susannah.

‘Phoebe, what is it?’ She caught hold of the woman’s arm and shook her. ‘Tell me!’

Gasping for breath, Phoebe held Joseph out towards her with shaking hands.

The child’s face and chest were blotched purplish-red around the flea bites and his breathing laboured. Susannah could feel
the heat radiating from his little body. ‘He has a fever,’ she said.

Wailing all the while, Phoebe turned Joseph’s head.

Susannah became very still. A large swelling on the side of his neck was already blackening. ‘Sweet Lord!’ she whispered.
‘It’s the plague.’

Phoebe shrieked again and ran back into her attic room.

Cold with shock, Susannah stood in the corridor, her mind unable to grasp this terrible turn of events. It was Agnes’s voice,
sharp with anxiety, calling from the foot of the stairs which shook her out of her stupor.

‘What is it, Susannah?’

‘Don’t come up! It’s Joseph. He’s been stricken.’

Agnes let out a small mew of terror. ‘Listen to me, Agnes!’

The old woman nodded her head, leaning heavily upon her stick for support.

All at once Susannah became icy calm. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth while she ordered her thoughts. It was obvious
what she had to do. William had been prepared to sacrifice himself for her father’s sake and now she, too, must be prepared
to risk her own life in doing what she could for William’s son.

‘I shall remain here in the attics with Phoebe and Joseph,’ she said. ‘You must stay in your part of the house and you may
avoid the infection. Mistress Oliver shall leave us water and provisions at the foot of the stairs every day but no one is
to come up. Do you understand?’

Agnes nodded again.

‘We will need a bottle of my Plague Prevention Syrup from the still room, bitter herbs to fumigate the rooms and enough coal
to keep the fire burning. Oh, and a small pan, a skimming spoon and some muslin. And will you fetch my apothecary’s box?’

‘Whatever you need! We must inform the watchmen. I shall call out of the window.’ Purposeful now, Agnes turned and hobbled
away.

Phoebe hunched on the edge of the bed, keening as she rocked Joseph in her arms.

‘Phoebe?’ Susannah sat down beside her. ‘All is not lost yet. Let me look at him.’ She gently prised Phoebe’s fingers loose,
took Joseph from her and laid him on the bed. Carefully, she removed Joseph’s nightshirt, leaving him naked except for his
silver collar, and examined the bubo on his neck. Then, her heart sinking, she discovered that there was another one forming
under his arm. He moaned when she pressed it, his eyelids fluttering.

‘He will die,’ whispered Phoebe. ‘My son will die.’

‘I’m not giving up on him yet and you mustn’t either. He may be able to hear you and you must encourage him to fight this
pestilence. But now we need to bring his temperature down or the heat will cause an inflammation of the brain and he’ll have
fits. Fetch me a basin of water and a cloth.’

Phoebe looked at her with dull, brown eyes but didn’t move.

‘Do it! Now!’

Startled, Phoebe stood up.

Susannah opened the attic window to let out some of the oppressive August heat and set Phoebe to bathe the small body on the
bed. After a while she touched Joseph’s forehead with the back of her hand but he was still dangerously hot. She made Phoebe
help her to drag the bed closer to the window so that the breeze could play upon his damp skin.

Agnes called up and Susannah went to the top of the stairs.

‘We have brought all that you asked for and I will leave this little bell for you. Ring it if you need anything.’

‘Will you let me have the key for Joseph’s silver collar? It constricts his neck and increases his body heat.’

Agnes thrust a gnarled hand into the placket of her skirt and pulled out her pocket. Painstakingly she pulled apart the drawstrings
and took out the key. ‘I will put it here for you.’ She placed it upon the lid of the apothecary’s box.

‘Now leave us.’

‘I shall pray for you.’

‘Let us hope that the Lord is listening, then.’

After Agnes had gone, Susannah made several journeys up and down the stairs to carry up all the items she had requested. Out
of breath, she sat for a moment on the top step, holding her belly and rubbing at the ache in her back.

To avoid overheating the sick child she made a small fire in the grate of what had been Peg’s room. She tipped the coal out
of the bucket onto the floor beside the hearth and then lifted some of the glowing coals from the grate and put them in the
coal bucket. From her apothecary’s box she took out several packets of dried herbs and sprinkled them over the coals. Holding
the smoking bucket at arm’s length she carried it into the sickroom.

‘This will purify the air,’ she said. ‘How is he now?’

‘Hot. Very hot,’ whispered Phoebe.

Coughing, Joseph twitched and muttered, his breathing harsh and uneven.

Susannah took the key from her pocket and unlocked the silver collar. Carefully she unhinged it and pulled it away from the
thin little neck, exposing the dreadful purple swelling. Weighing the collar in her hand, she was shocked at how heavy it
was.

‘You must keep bathing him, Phoebe. And I will make him some medicine.’ Taking a phial, she shook out a small quantity of
willow bark into a pan. This she heated upon the fire until the liquid seethed and then she strained it through muslin and
carried it back to the sickbed.