The Apothecary's Daughter (5 page)

Martha’s sympathy was Susannah’s undoing. ‘It’s the way Father looks at her in that doting fashion,’ she wept. ‘He keeps touching
her and kissing her and I feel as if my presence is always a nuisance to them. He has no use for me now.’

‘They need time together to learn each other’s ways.’

‘But we haven’t been to a play or one of the lectures at Gresham College for weeks. Father never wants to read with me or
have any interesting discussions any more. We’re
always
interrupted by Arabella chattering about the colour of the ribbons she is going to use to trim her hat or some such trivial
thing. And he listens to her as if she has said the most fascinating thing in the whole of the city. I just want everything
to be back as it was before she came,’ she sobbed.

‘All men are made fools by desire. It won’t last for ever.’ Martha’s
hazel eyes were wistful. ‘It never does, not even in a marriage made for love.’

‘But what can I do? You can’t imagine how miserable I am.’

‘A woman’s life often is miserable and you have to accept that it’s God’s will …’

‘Please, don’t spout your Puritan ways at me, Martha!’

‘Puritan or not, there are only three choices in this life for a woman, Susannah.’ She put aside the mending and folded her
hands over the roundness of her belly. ‘You can submit to your family, you can look for a position as a servant in another
household or you can find a husband of your own.’

‘I
won’t
let Arabella push me out of my home! Besides, where would I go?’

‘If you were married you would be mistress of your own home.’

‘I cannot marry!’

‘Of course you can.’

‘After what happened to Mother?’ Susannah swallowed, pushing away the terrible memories of that time.

Martha sighed. ‘What happened to your mother was a very dreadful thing but it in no way means that history will repeat itself
with you.’

‘Even if I was inclined to marry, I have no suitors.’

‘Of course you haven’t!’ snapped Martha, losing patience at last. ‘And it’s almost too late. You’ve passed girlhood and over
the years you and your father have chased away all possible suitors so that you could both continue to live in your own safe,
bookish little world. And now you’re shocked because he has taken his interest elsewhere. If you are so determined to avoid
marriage you should consider that if you become a servant in another household you may not be treated kindly.’

‘So I am to continue to be Arabella’s waiting woman in my own home?’ Indignation made Susannah’s face burn.

‘You have been spoiled by your father and forgotten your place in the world, Susannah.’

‘Spoiled? Me?’ Susannah wasn’t sure what upset her the most: the
accusation or seeing such resentment on her friend’s usually calm face.

‘You cannot deny it! What need has a woman of reading Latin poetry or having opinions on politics? Your father has indulged
you too much since your mother died.’

‘He has not!’

‘Yes, he
has
!’ Martha glared at her.

Susannah stared back, shocked by her antagonism.

Upstairs there was a childish shriek of anger and then a thump followed by loud wailing cries. Anger boiled inside Susannah
as she ran up the stairs to punish the miscreants. Would her life never be restored to its former ordered and contented state?

Jennet’s pock-marked face was magenta with exertion as she riddled the buck sticks in the washtub. ‘I’d like to see the mistress
wash the linen for once,’ she muttered to Susannah as she tipped in another bucket of water.

‘Hah!’ said Susannah. ‘Such a fine lady cannot be expected to soil her hands with maid’s work, can she?’ The kitchen was swelteringly
hot and steamy and the mere thought of heaving the sodden linen out to dry increased her exhaustion.

‘Fine lady?’ Jennet snorted. ‘She let it slip she come from Shoreditch, like me. There are no fine ladies in Shoreditch.’

It had been three months since the tornado that was Arabella and her children had whirled over the threshold. Washing the
linen had become an unwelcome and much greater feature in the household routine. Apart from the almost nightly wet bed, the
children dirtied their clothes with monotonous regularity and Arabella refused to wear her chemise for more than three days
at a time. Susannah wouldn’t have minded if her stepmother had taken her part in the washday drudgery but her housewifely
actions didn’t extend to participating, merely to finding fault. When Susannah suggested sending the laundry out, Arabella
wouldn’t hear of it.

‘Nonsense! What are a few wisps of children’s clothes to the usual wash?’

‘It’s not just the clothes; it’s the bedlinen!’

‘Has that maid been complaining again?’

‘Jennet works very hard,’ Susannah protested. ‘She rose at four this morning to put the laundry to soak.’

‘That’s what we pay her for, isn’t it? If I find any reason to suspect she is slacking …’

‘Jennet has been with this family for as long as I can remember and she has never slacked.’ It was true. Susannah’s mother
had told her that it was sensible to choose a maid whose face had been spoiled by the pox since she would work hard and be
grateful for employment and, over the years, Jennet had become a much-loved member of the household.

‘Your father is too tight-fisted with the housekeeping money for me to allow maids to sit and twiddle their thumbs while the
laundry is sent out.’ Arabella’s mouth had set in a discontented line. ‘It seems Cornelius is not inclined to spend his money
on anything at all, except those books he reads, while I am forced to go about in garments worn ragged with use. Your father
married me under false pretences! He promised me that he was a man of considerable means and was full of tales of how I would
want for nothing, but it’s all different now that he has me in his bed, isn’t it? I had thought that he wouldn’t wish people
of his acquaintance to see me in such a shameful state, going about with a darn in my hem.’

Susannah had overheard raised voices the previous night as Arabella pleaded with Cornelius for a new dress of yellow silk.
She smiled to herself with grim satisfaction as she helped Jennet to carry hot water from the fire to the washtub. At least
her stepmother hadn’t won that particular battle, she reasoned, blowing a strand of damp hair off her face. She rested for
a moment in the kitchen doorway, watching the children play outside in the yard. The hot June wind gusted over the wall, bearing
the stench of the Thames from Blackfriars, and she couldn’t help wondering if it carried sickness with it. The plague and
the spotted fever had taken a hold in the
parish of St Giles. About twenty-five had been buried each week since the spring and by the beginning of May it had spread
through the parishes of St Andrew’s and St Clement Dane’s before reaching the City. Only the week before, as the foetid heat
of summer pressed down upon them, she’d seen a house in Drury Lane shut up with a red cross painted on the door. Shuddering,
she imagined the plight of those locked inside, left to die a miserable death and to leave an inheritance of infection behind
them for their family. She had always loved the city but increasingly she wished for the clean air of the country.

The children, made argumentative by the hot and muggy weather, had finally fallen asleep and Susannah, Cornelius and Arabella
had retired to the parlour. Noise from the street clamoured in through the open window along with the humid air. Susannah
had covertly loosened the lacing on her bodice but was still stifled by the oppressive warmth.

Arabella paced up and down, making it nigh on impossible for Cornelius and Susannah to concentrate on their reading.

‘Cornelius, I beg you!’ She knelt at his feet, her hands clasped prettily under her heart-shaped chin.

He slipped a bookmark into his volume of sonnets and Susannah watched his face, flushed and shiny in the heat, become entirely
expressionless.

‘Arabella, I have explained to you, several times, that I cannot simply uproot my business and move us all to the country,’
he said.

‘You must!’

‘I will not. The shop has never been busier and we are making good money. Besides, where would we go?’

‘Anywhere!’ She pushed herself to her feet and stood over him, hands on hips. ‘Are you so selfish that you cannot see that
you risk the health of your wife and my little ones if we stay?’

Susannah noticed that she was not included in her stepmother’s concerns but was compelled to defend her father’s decision.
‘We do everything possible to minimise risk, Arabella,’ she said. ‘Every
morning I wash the counter with vinegar. We hold vinegar-soaked sponges by our noses to dispel evil humours when we are talking
to customers and we make sure never to stand too close to any of them. And, as you know, I make a fresh infusion of rue and
wormwood each day for us all.’

‘Nasty bitter stuff! The children can’t possibly be expected to drink it. And each and every person who walks into the shop
may be the bearer of disease. This hot weather breeds sickness.’

‘You must understand, my dear,’ said Cornelius, ‘that I can be of use here not only to the sick but in providing advice and
preventative remedies to those who are well.’ He reached for his wife’s hand but she snatched it away.

‘And what use will you be to any of
us
if the pestilence takes you? I’ve already lost one husband and you’ve no idea what it is to be thrown out into the world
with children and no means of support. It’s pure selfishness on your part, that’s what it is!’ Arabella’s voice had taken
on distinctly shrewish tones. ‘Well, all I can say is, don’t expect me to risk my life by sharing a bed with
you
, Cornelius Leyton! From now on I shall sleep with the children.’

‘Calm yourself, my dear!’

Arabella flounced from the parlour, slamming the door behind her.

Cornelius massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Susannah stood up and went to the window, hoping to catch a breeze. The sun was setting and the sultry city air hung heavy
and malodorous over the street.

‘
Am
I wrong, Susannah? Do you think we should flee to the country?’

She hesitated. Her father’s unhappiness made her sad but a small, base, part of her hoped it would open his eyes to Arabella’s
selfishness. ‘How can we go?’ she said. ‘We’re needed here. So many apothecaries have already gone.’ A shiver ran down her
back. ‘Or died.’

Cornelius rested his chin on the top of her head as they stood by the window watching the darkening sky.

‘Father, can you spare Ned to go into the yard and amuse Mathew and John for a while? I’ve spent all morning as nursemaid
and there is so much to do in the dispensary.’

‘Where is your stepmother?’

‘Lying down in her chemise with a megrim,’ said Susannah. ‘Again. She will not dine with us but has ordered Jennet to take
her a tray at three o’clock.’

Cornelius sighed. ‘I see. In that case … Ned, will you do as Susannah asks?’

‘Yes, Master.’ Ned, boiling up foul-smelling chopped roots and herbs for a poultice, escaped as fast as he could. Barely more
than a child himself, it was little hardship to him to play hopscotch or bowl a hoop for a few hours.

‘I’ll go up and see Arabella,’ said Cornelius. ‘She didn’t come to church yesterday. This cannot go on.’

Since Arabella had refused to speak to her husband for the last week, Susannah wondered if she would even allow Cornelius
to enter her bedchamber. Arabella had amazed her by her ability to maintain a sulk for so long, especially since she was sharing
a bed with Mathew. Susannah had mistakenly thought a few nightly soakings would hasten her return to the marital bed.

Although she found them trying in the extreme, Susannah did not wish the children ill and worried about their refusal to drink
the infusion she made to ward off the plague. She was taking steps to improve matters. Overnight she had steeped some wormwood
and rue in a measure of beer and now she squeezed the juice of a lemon into the strained liquid. She sipped a spoonful but
although it was less bitter than the usual con -coction she thought it unlikely that the children would find it an improvement.