The Apothecary's Daughter (53 page)

Mistress Pickard, distress etched in her face, looks up at Susannah with wounded eyes.

‘You are very welcome,’ says Susannah, taking her hand. ‘Come, let me show you Merryfields.’

William carries her bags into the house leaving the two women to follow. They walk together through the garden, while Susannah
talks
to her of the fine library, the gardens and the other guests who are waiting to greet her.

Mistress Pickard stops under the arbour and slowly reaches out to stroke the soft petals of a dog rose and to breathe in its
sweet scent.

‘You may have a garden of your own if you wish,’ Susannah says.

Mistress Pickard bends to scoop up a handful of soil and rubs it through her fingers. ‘I should like that. My mother grew
gillyflowers in her garden when I was a child.’

Susannah takes Mistress Pickard to her room and leaves her to unpack and rest after her journey. Closing the door quietly
behind her, she hurries along the gallery to her own bedchamber.

Inside, William is stripped to the waist and rinsing his face in a basin of warm water. He looks up at her with a smile as
sweet as honey. ‘There you are!’

Susannah lifts her face to receive his kiss.

‘I need to clean the city dirt away before I kiss you properly.’

‘Shall I wash your back?’ Susannah rubs the wet soap between her palms and smoothes it over his broad shoulders, taking pleasure
in the aromatic lavender scent as she eases her thumbs along the muscles next to his spine. After five years of marriage,
touching his naked skin still makes her shiver with delight.

He tips his head so that she can massage away the knots of tension in the side of his neck. ‘Guess who I saw in the city yesterday?’
he says.

‘The King?’ hazards Susannah. ‘Not quite.’

‘Who then?’

‘Arabella!’

‘No!’ Surprise makes the soap squeeze out of her hand and fall with a splash into the basin. ‘After all this time!’ Apprehension
makes her voice sharp. ‘But what news of my little brothers? Are they safe and well?’

‘Up to all kinds of mischief, I understand. I knew you’d want to see them and Arabella has graciously said they may come and
stay for a few weeks since she has arrangements to make.’

‘Arrangements?’

‘She was in a smart carriage with a gentleman. If I’m not mistaken he’ll soon be husband number three.’

‘Aunt Agnes always said that Arabella would fall on her feet.’ Relief that Joshua and Samuel are well is mixed with irritation
that Arabella is as self-serving as ever. She turns William to face her, forgetting Arabella as she moves her soapy hands
in slow circles over his torso, the light covering of dark hair on his chest forming into spiral patterns. She drops a lingering
kiss on the soft skin in the hollow above his collarbone and smiles in anticipation as she feels him quiver with pleasure
under her lips.

‘Susannah?’

‘Mmm?’ Slowly she wipes away the soap with a linen cloth and pats him dry with a clean towel. Tracing a finger over his chest,
a tremor of excitement and longing grips her; the desire to reaffirm the passion they feel for each other.

He takes her face in his hands and she drowns in the love shining in his eyes. She loses herself in the fervour of his kisses
as she feels his heartbeat quicken to match her own.

Loosening her laces, he murmurs words of love as he buries his face in her breast. Her petticoats fall to the floor in a silken
rustle and then her bare skin is warm against his.

The sheets are cool and slightly rough against their nakedness as they slide into bed. She winds her arms about his neck,
arching her back to press her breasts against him. She wants to close the space between them, to meld their bodies together
for all time.

‘My sweet Susannah,’ he whispers. His lips are hot on her neck as he traces her body with his hands. He runs a fingertip very
slowly down her belly until he finds her secret place and she lies quivering beneath his touch, liquid with desire. William
lifts her hips to his and she lets out a small gasp of pleasure as he enters her. He whispers her name as they move together,
softly at first and then more urgently as their passion rises. Swelling waves of sensation ripple through Susannah’s body
and surge to a climax. She lets out a cry of triumph, gripping William to her breast.

He arches his back as his own pleasure takes him, sighs and sinks down beside her.

A little while later, curled up against his shoulder, listening to his steady breathing, Susannah sighs in contentment. William’s
love has given her the strength to mourn and move on to the new life they have made together.

He turns to look at her, his dark eyes smiling and, once again, Susannah sends up a prayer of thanks for the comfort and joy
of their love.

‘Now I know I am truly come home,’ he says. ‘But we should rise before someone comes looking for us.’

‘And it would never do to find the serious and responsible doctor in bed with his wife in the middle of the afternoon.’

William kisses the tip of her nose. ‘No, it wouldn’t. I’d never be able to look my patients in the eye again.’

Susannah stretches luxuriously. ‘Two more minutes?’

‘Go on with you, you little hussy, time to get up!’

William is tying the laces on Susannah’s bodice when footsteps race along the passage and the door is flung back. ‘Father!’
Beth races to him, her arms wide.

William glances at Susannah in amusement. ‘Not a moment too soon,’ he murmurs. He lifts Beth up and kisses her. ‘Have you
been good while I was away, my little sugar plum?’

‘Very good! And I made jumbals, especially for you!’ Beth hugs him tight, covering his cheek with sticky kisses.

‘Has she been good enough for sugar plums, Mama?’

Susannah smiles, pinning her tumbled curls back into place. ‘Yes, but only one or two, not a whole box.’

William laughs and swings Beth down to the ground. ‘Come on then! But first I want to make a visit.’

‘I know where we’re going!’ says Beth. She skips along the gallery and William and Susannah follow, hand in hand.

Beth stops outside a door where puts a finger to her lips before carefully lifting the latch.

Inside, Phoebe is singing while she rocks the cradle with her foot.
She smiles a greeting and hold out her arms to Beth, who scrambles onto her knee.

William comes quietly forward and looks into the cradle at his sleeping son.

Susannah watches his features soften as her own heart swells with love. There can be no place closer to heaven on earth than
her home at Merryfields with her husband and children.

William, gently stroking baby Kit’s dark hair, looks up at her with a face alight with love and reaches for her hand.

Love and thanks to my husband Simon, all my lovely children and to my parents for their endless support, to Howard Barlow
who believed in me, to Edward Smith and members of youwriteon.com for the reviews, to my agent Annette Green and my editor
Lucy Icke at Piatkus who’s helped me to make the story flower.

My gratitude to all the members of WordWatchers for their friendly encouragement and plain speaking.

And finally, my thanks to Samuel Pepys, whose diary allowed me a peep into Restoration London.

Turn the page
for a sneak peek at
Charlotte Betts’s second novel

Coming soon from Piatkus

November 1687

Darkness had already fallen when shouts and then the sound of a whistle blown three times made Beth’s head jerk up from her
easel. Her paintbrush slid from her hand and fell unheeded to the floor. Instantly alert, she reached for her own silver whistle,
which always hung round her neck. Noises in the night were not unusual in a lunatic asylum but generally the disturbance came
from within the walls, not from the outside.

Several sets of footsteps raced along the gallery and in the courtyard below Orpheus began to bark as furiously as if the
Devil himself had knocked at the gate. Beth pushed open the casement and hung shivering over the sill to peer into the frosty
night.

The servants had run outside with lamps and there was a throng of shouting people milling around in the flickering light.
The commotion was too great for anyone to hear when she called down to them so she hurried to investigate.

In the stone-flagged hall the front door was wide open to the night air and Poor Joan and a small group of anxious inmates
huddled together, while Beth’s mother and her youngest brother, John, attempted to reassure them. Orpheus still raged outside,
his barks
reverberating around the courtyard louder than a peal of bells in a belfry.

Beth caught sight of her father’s black-clad figure striding purposefully across the hall and ran after him down the front
steps and into the courtyard.

‘Orpheus!’ William Ambrose caught hold of the wolfhound’s collar and pulled his big head round to face him. The dog’s teeth
were bared in a vicious snarl and spittle frothed his muzzle. William snapped his fingers. ‘Quiet, sir! Your job is done!’
When Orpheus gave a throaty growl William raised a warning finger. ‘Beth, take control of this hell-hound, while I find out
what is happening.’

‘Yes, Father.’ Beth hooked her fingers through the dog’s studded collar and tickled his ears until he quietened.

Emmanuel and Joseph had a man pinned between them, his face pushed between the bars of the great iron gates. The prisoner
fought furiously but he was no match for the sheer bulk and strength of the two black servants.

‘Let him go!’ William’s voice rang out over the shouts of the struggling man.

‘We found him climbing over the gate,’ said Emmanuel, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the lamplight.

‘Put him down!’

Emmanuel looked at Joseph and winked. Slowly they lowered the intruder, chuckling as they held him so that his feet hung just
above the ground.

‘Down, I said!’

Emmanuel shrugged but did as he was told.

William held up the lantern to study the trespasser, who straightened his travelling cape, adjusted the lace at his cuffs
and turned to face them.

The light illuminated a young man’s features, currently arranged in a scowl.

‘Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?’ A frosty cloud of William’s breath hung in the air between them but it wasn’t
as wintry as the tone of his voice.

Beth didn’t envy the intruder. It had been a while since Father had spoken to her in that way and she sincerely hoped it would
never happen again.

‘Forgive me, sir.’ The voice was that of an educated man but he didn’t sound at all as if he was seeking an apology. He picked
up his wide-brimmed hat, now severely trampled, dusted it off, tweaked the feather back into shape and replaced it upon his
head. ‘I lost my way. The cart dropped me off in the village and some mischievous child thought it amusing to direct me to
the wrong road. I walked a long way before I realised I’d gone astray and by the time I’d found someone to point me to Merryfields
it was dark.’

Beth was astounded at how unruffled he sounded. He certainly didn’t behave like a common thief.

‘I rang the bell’, the young man continued, as he stamped clods of mud off his high boots, ‘and called out but, as no one
answered, I tried the gate. Since it was locked and the hour so late, I took the liberty of climbing over the top, intending
to knock on the door.’

William frowned. ‘And the purpose of your visit?’

‘I have a letter for Mistress Susannah Ambrose.’

‘My wife.’

‘Ah. Then you must be Dr William Ambrose?’

‘Indeed. And the content of this letter?’

The young man tilted up his chin. ‘I should prefer to speak directly to Mistress Ambrose.’

Beth saw how the visitor, only a little older than herself she judged, met Father’s stare and couldn’t decide if he was fearless
or simply arrogant.

William grunted. ‘You had better come inside before we all catch a chill.’ He held the lamp up high. ‘Back to your duties,
everyone.’

Orpheus growled again. Beth pulled on his collar and dropped a kiss on top of his wiry head.

William led the way up the steps and into the hall.

Shivering, Beth closed the massive oak door behind them and shot the bolts.

‘Susannah, my dear,’ said William, ‘this young man brings you a letter.’

Beth’s mother, her pretty face anxious, let go of Poor Joan, who had been weeping on her shoulder, and came forward. ‘A letter?
But what was all the shouting about?’

‘The servants merely became overexcited when they thought our visitor was an intruder.’

‘Well, for goodness’ sake!’ Exasperation showed in Susannah’s green eyes. ‘What a fuss about nothing!’

‘Let me present …’ William turned to the visitor with an enquiring look.

The young man took off his battered hat, exposing a fine head of wavy chestnut hair, and bowed low to Susannah.

She gasped, her face turning as white as bone. ‘But …? It can’t be! Tom? Oh, Tom, is it you?’

And then, almost before her husband could catch her, she fainted.