The Apothecary's Daughter

by Betts, Charlotte

  ‘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 fier
cer. 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.

  ‘I said hold her still, damn you!’ shouted the doctor.

  ‘Don’t hurt my baby! Don’t hurt my baby!’ Elizabeth’s head rolled from side to side as she fought her oppressors.

  ‘Mama, Mama! You must keep still!’ sobbed Susannah as she wrestled to stop her mother from bucking and twisting.

  ‘Don’t let him hurt my baby!’

  The flickering firelight cast Ogilby’s gigantic, hunched shadow onto the bedroom wall.

  At last Elizabeth’s screams subsided into moans.

  Susannah could not bear to look but mingling with the reek of doctor’s rum-soaked breath she could smell the metallic tang of blood.

  Ogilby reared up. ‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘And you might stop that wailing and show a little gratitude, madam. You’d have been dead yourself if I hadn’t acted.’

  Elizabeth lay still now, her eyes tightly shut, though that didn’t prevent the tears seeping from under her lids.

  Susannah, shaking and sobbing, kissed away the tears and smoothed her mother’s hair, murmuring endearments into her ear.

  Cornelius stood in a shocked daze, staring into the basin.

  Ogilby leaned onto Elizabeth’s belly with one hand and took hold of the umbilical cord with the other and began to pull on it.

  ‘Stop!’ Shocked into action, Cornelius grabbed Ogilby’s wrist. ‘She’ll bleed if you do that.’

  The doctor shook off Cornelius’s hand. ‘Are you questioning me?’ He pushed out his chin and balled up his fists.

  ‘You must let the afterbirth come in its own good time!’

  ‘Rubbish! Let’s get this whole sorry episode over with and then you can bring your wife some beef tea and she’ll soon be sitting by the fire giving thanks that she is saved. And I can be away to my next patient.’

  Before Cornelius could argue, Ogilby tugged at the cord again and the placenta came free. Blood gushed from between Elizabeth’s legs.

  An expression of surprise flitted across Ogilby’s face.

  ‘Mama!’ Susannah kissed her mother’s forehead but her eyes remained closed.

  Goody Tresswell hastily stuffed a handful of rags between Elizabeth’s thighs but almost immediately they were saturated. She snatched up the bedlinen and wadded it up on top of the rags but in only a few moments that too was scarlet and dripping.

  Ogilby took another nip from his flask and watched silently as the midwife bent over Elizabeth and attempted to stop the flow as it cascaded over the edge of the bed and soaked into the floorboards.

  Cornelius sank to his knees, buried his face in his wife’s hair and began to pray, imploring God to save his beloved.

  After an interminable time Goody Tresswell straightened up and shook her head. ‘It’s no good, sir. She’s gone.’

  ‘Damnation!’ Ogilby swigged from his flask again and then offered it to Cornelius, who swept it out of the doctor’s hand with a bellow of rage before breaking into harsh, racking sobs.

  Numbed, Susannah stared at her mother, lying there so white and still. Disbelieving, she put out a finger to touch her skin. It was still warm. Was this really her mother? Dead?

  It was then that she looked into the basin on the table beside the bed. A tiny hand was raised, as if saluting her, from a sea of congealing blood. But it was the baby’s face which was Susannah’s undoing. The eyes were half-closed and the perfectly formed rosebud mouth looked as if it was pursed ready to take its mother’s milk.

  Susannah started to scream.

  Susannah leaned against a wall in Crown Alley, the vomit rising in her throat as she remembered that terrible day. Even after all this time she could remember every dreadful detail. Martha had been lucky so far; she had no idea of how perilous childbirth could be. But Susannah had seen it for herself and the prospect of risking her own life in such a way was unthinkable. Marriage brought children; there was no escaping the fact. She took some deep breaths until the sickness passed and then started walking again.

  Further up the alley a man was shouting and it took a moment for Susannah to realise that he was shouting at her.

  ‘Get away! Don’t come near me!’

  Confused, she stopped in her tracks.

  ‘I saw you struck down. Get you home and bolt the door behind you!’

  ‘I’m not ill, merely a little faint.’

  ‘It’s the pestilence, that’s what it is, and you’re abroad infecting innocent souls.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong, I promise you!’

  ‘I saw you taken sick! Get away from
me!’ The man’s voice rose as hysteria took hold of him.

  ‘Truly, I am well!’

  The man bent to pick up a stone, threw it at her and then took to his heels and ran away.

  There were only a few people in the alley but they began to shout at her too.

  As another stone skimmed past her head she turned and fled back the way she had come.

  Twenty minutes later, heaving for breath, she arrived at the back gate to the yard. Mathew and John, playing with their bricks in the dust, looked up at her curiously as she let herself in.

  ‘They’ve been looking for you,’ said Mathew. ‘Have you been crying?’

  ‘Mama is cross because you didn’t tell her where you were going.’

  ‘I’m not obliged to let your mama know my every movement!’

  Mathew shrugged and turned back to his bricks.

  As she went in by the kitchen door Susannah saw the two boys’ heads close together, watching her.

  ‘Wherever have you been, Miss Susannah?’ asked Jennet.

  ‘I went to see Martha.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get yourself upstairs. The mistress is in one of her moods.’ Jennet went to the sink where she dropped a handful of sand into the soup pot and started to scour it vigorously, her broad hips wobbling from side to side as she scrubbed. She glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Tidy yourself up first. Your face is dirty and your hair looks as if it hasn’t seen a comb since Michaelmas last.’

  ‘I met some people who thought I was sickening. They threw stones at me and I had to run away.’

  ‘Never! People are that nervous right now. Brings out the worst in them. Yesterday I heard of a Dutchman who was set upon and beaten because it was the Dutch who first brought the plague to the city. Anyhow, get yourself upstairs or the mistress will be throwing stones at you, too. The master wasn’t pleased he couldn’t find you, neither. By the way, there’s a visitor.’