The Apothecary's Daughter (8 page)

Susannah sighed. At least she wouldn’t be burdened with her presence while she visited her friend. She let herself out of
the shop door and set off down Fleet Street with all haste before Arabella caught her and insisted she take the boys.

The streets were strangely quiet. Each time she went out Susannah noticed that there were fewer and fewer people. Far from
being jostled and harried by the press of the crowd as she had been used to all her life, it was possible to walk along with
space and air around her. Strangers took care to cross the street when they saw each other coming and each day she saw carriages
and cartloads of furniture trundling away towards the west, journeying to the country. In the past month it had become almost
impossible to hire a horse since so many had been bought by the wealthy, desperate to escape from a city where plague haunted
the streets.

Near St Bride’s Susannah passed two houses which had been shut up, red crosses painted on their doors above the words
Lord Have Mercy Upon Us
. The red paint dripped down from the crudely painted letters just as if it were blood. One house was silent but in the other
a woman screamed; a high thin wail of terror that went on and on. The sound bored into Susannah’s ears like a spike and she
began to run as fast as she could to escape from her own fear. Her family had been lucky so far but who could tell who would
be the next to sicken?

She reached Martha’s familiar door and hammered on the knocker. After what seemed like a long time she heard the bolts scrape
back and Martha’s servant let her in. She followed the girl to the parlour, where Martha was teaching three of her children
their catechism. She looked up and Susannah’s heart froze for a second when she thought she hadn’t been forgiven but then
Martha smiled.

‘Sit down. You are very welcome. Bessie, will you bring us a jug of ale?’

Susannah couldn’t wait any longer to make her peace. ‘I’m sorry. I know you were only trying to help me.’

‘We both said what we thought was right.’

Susannah rummaged in her basket. ‘For the children,’ she said,
putting the remainder of the biscuits and the bottle of cordial on the table. ‘It’s to ward off the pestilence.’

Martha sent the children to play outside. ‘I shall be glad of your medicine,’ she said, her eyes shadowed with sadness. ‘We
are mourning my neighbour’s family. They were shut up on the Thursday and by the Sunday they had all perished. The cart came
for them during the night.’

A prickle of fear ran down Susannah’s back. ‘Our fishmonger has gone, too. I try not to dwell on the risk of infection except
in so far as we are very careful not to stand too close to our customers for fear of it.’

‘It’s a terrible thing when a house is shut up but I believe the Lord Mayor was right to insist upon it. The pestilence is
contained, especially in the poorer alleys where so many live crowded together.’

‘I can’t bear to think about it.’ Susannah reached out for Martha’s hand. ‘But all goes well with you and the babe? You look
so serene,’ she said, ‘even though it’s near your time. Aren’t you afraid?’

‘What purpose would that serve?’ Unconsciously, Martha clasped the silver cross at her neck. ‘As with the plague, I place
my trust in a merciful God. Fear breeds fear so I do not waste my strength but save it for the travail ahead. Besides, the
Lord has smiled upon me. Five babies and only one has been called to the arms of his Maker.’

Susannah envied her friend’s calm acceptance of her fate. ‘There is a bunch of thyme in the basket for you. When the pains
start make an infusion and sip it slowly. It will help you to have a safe and speedy delivery and bring the afterbirth away
cleanly.’

‘Thank you. Now tell me how the world is with you. What of your stepmother?’

Susannah pulled a face. ‘I cannot like her. We had a terrible argument yesterday. We found a mouse had got into the flour
crock. Jennet couldn’t understand it. Tibby has always been such an excellent mouser that the little beasts never dared to
show their whiskers
in our kitchen. And then we realised we hadn’t seen the cat for two days. It turned out Arabella had called the dog-killer
and handed Tibby over to him.’

‘Surely Tibby was no threat to your health?’

‘Of course not! She never strayed further than the yard. The dog-killer is meant for the dogs and cats that roam the streets
and spread the pestilence. It was pure spite on Arabella’s behalf, since Tibby scratched Mathew when he teased her.’

‘She doesn’t sound very kind.’

‘She thinks only of herself. I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t believe she married Father for his money.’

‘But of course she did!’ said Martha. ‘What else is a poor widow with children to do? And she makes him happy, doesn’t she?’

Reluctantly Susannah nodded. ‘So long as she has whatever she desires. I have never known such a greed for fripperies. We
have made a new friend and it has given her the frequent excuse that she needs a new dress or a pair of gloves or a silk petticoat,
since there are more social occasions.’

‘A new friend?’

Susannah’s cheeks stained pink. ‘Mr Henry Savage, the cousin of Dr Ambrose. He is recently come from Barbados.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No.’

‘Aha!’ Martha smiled. ‘And is he tall, dark and handsome?’

‘Oh! I’ve hardly noticed,’ said Susannah, unable to meet her friend’s questioning eyes. ‘Not too tall, about my own height.
And he has golden-brown hair, which has a natural wave. He doesn’t wear a wig.’ Susannah smiled a little to herself as she
remembered the way the sun brought out the golden lights in Henry’s hair. ‘His complexion is a little swarthy from years spent
in the hot sun but he has good teeth, such blue eyes and a merry smile.’

‘Tell me about these social occasions.’

‘Well, we took a boat upriver to Barn Elms and had a picnic on the river bank and we went on another excursion to Wandsworth.
Mr Savage had to search high and low to hire a horse since they have
nearly all left London for the country now and it cost him a great deal. But he said no effort was too much to give me pleasure.’
Susannah felt quite puffed up with pride that he paid her so much attention.

‘Did he now?’

‘We wanted to go to the theatre but it’s shut because of the plague so we took the children to see the lions at the Tower.
I haven’t been since I was a girl and it was such fun.’

‘I’m very glad to hear that you are able to put your books away for a little and go out into the world.’

‘I do confess I have enjoyed all these social events more than I would have thought possible.’

‘And I suspect your Mr Savage has something to do with that?’

‘Oh Martha, I cannot hide it from you! Certainly he has distracted my thoughts away from the irritations of life since I’m
as wanted as a piece of two-week-old fish by my father and Arabella.’

‘Have you thought any more about looking for a position in another household?’

‘Of course I have! But I refuse to let Arabella push me out of my home.’

‘Marriage would allow you to have your own household, where you would answer to no one except your husband.’

‘I’ve told you, Martha, I will not marry.’ Susannah resolutely put aside the thought of Henry Savage’s sparkling blue eyes.

‘Susannah, for goodness’ sake! You
must
forget what happened in the past.’

‘I only wish I could.’

Walking home, Susannah reflected upon what Martha had said.
Could
she ever forget what had happened? It was eleven years ago but the events of that time were burned into her memory and she
could remember it as clearly as if it were last week.

Mother had seemed well, right until the end. That last baby had been a surprise, a shock even. In the thirteen years since
Tom had
been born, Mother had miscarried four babies, followed by a long time in which she had not conceived at all. In fact she confided
that she had stopped hoping for another child.

‘It must be God’s will. Besides,’ she had said, ‘I have my two perfect children. What mother could hope for more?’

When Elizabeth’s courses stopped and her waist began to thicken she thought it was the change of life. It wasn’t until she
felt the baby move that she realised the truth.

‘My precious, last chance baby,’ she said.

Together, she and Susannah sewed tiny clothes and hemmed sheets for the cradle. Susannah made a little cloth rabbit with lop
ears and looked forward to the day when she would sing a lullaby to her new brother or sister while she rocked the cradle.

The first pains started one evening during supper.

‘It’s too soon to call the midwife,’ said Elizabeth.

Susannah banked up the fire in the bedchamber and sat beside her mother through the long night, rubbing her back and murmuring
encouraging words.

Cornelius busied himself in the dispensary, at intervals bearing herbal infusions upstairs to ease the pain.

Goody Tresswell called by and pronounced that all was progressing normally. She closed the shutters tight for fear of draughts
and stoked the fire until the flames leaped in the grate, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

But the baby was in no hurry.

At last, on the afternoon of the second day, Elizabeth began to push. She heaved and sweated, making deep, frightening groans
as she strained.

‘It can’t be long now, Mama. I’ll send Tom for Goody Tresswell again.’ Susannah sponged her mother’s face, a knot of worry
in her breast.

‘I’m so tired,’ Elizabeth said. She closed her eyes, purple-shadowed with exhaustion.

The midwife broke the caul with a sharp-ended thimble, releasing the waters and making the contractions even fiercer. She
pressed
down so hard on her patient’s stomach that Elizabeth screamed. But still the baby didn’t come.

Goody Tresswell’s mouth set in a thin line of determination as she kneaded Elizabeth’s belly. ‘You must push harder, Mistress
Leyton.’

‘I can’t,’ mumbled Elizabeth. ‘Let me sleep.’

Cornelius, hovering outside the birthing room door, called to the midwife and they had a whispered consultation. Tom was sent
to fetch the doctor.

An hour later he returned, not with Dr Quiller, an old friend of the family, but with a stranger, a loud man in a stained
coat.

‘Dr Ogilby,’ he said. His breath carried the pervasive reek of rum. Rubbing his hands together, he belched slightly. ‘What
have we here?’ He peered down at Elizabeth, who lay with her eyes closed. ‘Wake up, madam! Your work is not finished yet.’

Staggering slightly, he pressed his ear to her stomach, rolled up his sleeves and prodded at her belly. ‘The infant is feet
first and must be turned,’ he pronounced.

‘I’ve tried that,’ said Goody Tresswell, hands on hips.

‘It’s as dark as the pits of hell in here. Light another candle!’ Ogilby said. ‘Right, let the dog see the rabbit!’ He dragged
up Elizabeth’s nightgown to expose her swollen belly, with no regard for her modesty. He grasped hold of her, kneading and
pummelling until he was red-faced and sweating, while Elizabeth moaned and sobbed.

In tears, Susannah watched him. Ogilby’s fingernails were dirt-encrusted around the edge, as if he had been digging vegetables.
It seemed indecent to have such rough, dirty hands touch her mother’s white skin.

Finally Ogilby gave up and sat on the edge of the bed scratching absent-mindedly at some old flea bites on his chest. ‘Little
devil isn’t having it,’ he said. He put his ear again to Elizabeth’s belly and listened, holding up a hand and shushing Susannah
as she attempted to comfort her mother. ‘Still alive. Fetch your father,’ he instructed.

Susannah ran downstairs into the parlour where Cornelius and Tom waited with white faces.

‘Dr Ogilby wants you.’

Cornelius stood up and Susannah saw that his chin was trembling. Suddenly frightened she ran to him. ‘Mama will be all right,
won’t she?’

He held her tight but didn’t answer her question.

Outside the bedchamber, Dr Ogilby waited for them. ‘Which one do you want?’ he asked Cornelius.

‘Which one?’

‘Your wife or your child? They may both die but I’ll try to save one of them for you.’

Susannah let out a cry.

‘My wife,’ said Cornelius, his voice catching on a sob.

‘You’ll need to hold her down. She’ll struggle.’

Elizabeth didn’t look as if she could struggle. She lay deathly still, her forehead sheened with sweat.

Ogilby took off his coat and directed Susannah to hold her mother’s arms while Cornelius and Goody Tresswell pinned her legs
wide apart. Then he went to his black bag and took out a number of instruments: a small saw, a long thin knife and a sharp
steel hook. He turned away but not far enough to conceal the flask from which he drank.

‘Put the basin ready and hold her tight,’ he said, wiping rum off his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘We’ll soon have it
out.’ Suppressing a belch, he picked up the knife with the long blade.

Susannah gripped her mother’s arms with hands that shook uncontrollably.

Elizabeth screamed. Wild-eyed, she reared up.