The Apothecary's Daughter

by Betts, Charlotte

  Susannah stared at the spittle frothing his mouth and hated him. ‘One day there will be female apothecaries.’

  ‘Not in this world or in my lifetime! May God strike you down for even imagining such a thing! I don’t know what your father is thinking of for allowing you out with such ideas. If you were my daughter I’d have you confined to Bedlam. Now get out!’

  ‘Nothing would make me stay! Not if you were the last apothecary in the city.’ She shoved the basin of half-mixed medicine towards him, slopping it onto the counter. ‘Why don’t you take some of your own remedy? It might rid you of some of your hot air!’ She took a great deal of satisfaction in slamming the door behind her.

  August arrived and Susannah was no further on with her quest for a congenial post. She talked to all the servants who came into the shop, to ask if they knew of any positions in their household, but invariably they shook their heads. So many of the richer sort of people had left London, abandoning many of their servants to scratch a living in the streets. Susannah’s frustration and despair increased with the passing of the days and Arabella took every possible opportunity to remind her that Michaelmas wasn’t far off.

  She decided to visit Martha while she still had the freedom to do as she pleased. She had made a linen swaddling wrap with a drawn threadwork edge ready for the new babe and she set off with it in her basket.

  The streets were unnaturally empty in the heavy heat of the August afternoon. There were few horses left in London and the streets were the cleaner for it. Susannah held a bunch of rosemary to her nose as she walked but there was no escaping from the summer reek of open drains. Half the shops were closed and boarded up in Fleet Street, their owners dead or gone to the country. In the walk to Martha’s house, Susannah noticed barely fifty people but she did hear the passing bell ringing from St Bride’s. The bell sounded nine times, denoting the death of a man, followed by a pause and then twenty-seven times. After another pause the bell tolled again six times, followed by twenty-five. A twenty-seven-year-old man and a twenty-five-year-old woman. Unease made Susannah glance over her shoulder as she hurried on her way, wondering if the dead had been carried off by the plague.

  Martha’s front door was open and two of her little ones sat on the front step playing with their dolls.

  ‘Hannah. Patience. How are you today?’

  ‘We are well, thank you.’

  ‘Mama is having her baby today.’

  Susannah flinched. ‘Today?’

  ‘The midwife is here and Father has gone to fetch Grandmother.’

  Through the open doorway Susannah heard a groan from upstairs and her heart began to thump. Reluctantly she went inside. At the top of the stairs she peered into the bedchamber and saw Martha in bed, her dark hair freed from the usual confines of her cap.

  Martha glanced up and saw her friend hovering in the doorway. ‘Susannah! Bless you for coming. I’d so much rather have you than Richard’s mother. I couldn’t stand to hear again a minute by minute account of each of her thirteen births again. Come and sit beside me.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Susannah backed away, her pulse beginning to flutter with apprehension. ‘I simply wondered if you were all right.’

  ‘Perfectly. Though I shall be happy to hold your hand.’

  ‘I … I cannot stay,’ stuttered Susannah.

  ‘There is nothing to be afraid of, is there Goody Joan?’

  The midwife, a round little person with a face crinkled with laughter lines, came forward smiling and drying her plump hands on her clean white apron. ‘Nothing at all, my dear.’ Her country voice was calm and reassuring. ‘Sit you down beside her. It won’t be long now.’

  Martha gasped. ‘Another one.’ She snatched hold of Susannah’s hand, closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply.

  Goody Joan lifted the sheet and peered between her patient’s legs. ‘Time to get you onto the birthing stool, if I’m not mistaken.’

  Susannah, quaking in sudden panic, looked about her wondering how she could run away while Martha was gripping her hand so tightly.

  ‘All right, my dear,’ said the midwife after she had assisted Martha onto the stool. ‘Push down now.’

  Martha took a deep breath and her face turned scarlet.

  ‘Black hair, by the look of it,’ said Goody Joan. ‘Just like your husband.’

  Susannah sat beside Martha, her hand crushed as her friend travailed. The groaning sounds Martha made carried Susannah straight back to the overheated room where her mother had struggled for life while Dr Ogilby’s grotesque shadow had flickered on the wall. But this room was full of sunshine, a gentle breeze came through the open window and Goody Joan encouraged her patient with kind words. Then Martha grunted again before giving a long cry of triumph. Goody Joan caught the slippery little body in a cloth. Wiped clean, he began to cry, loud and demanding.

  Susannah heard herself sob as Martha took her son in her arms and kissed his forehead.

  ‘Isn’t he perfect, Susannah?’

  ‘A healthy little boy,’ confirmed Goody Joan, beaming.

  Susannah couldn’t speak, her face contorted with tears of relief and joy.

  Martha, glowing with maternal pride, touched her gently on the hand. ‘See, childbirth isn’t terrible at all. It’s one of God’s miracles.’

  When Susannah arrived home Jennet called out to her from the kitchen. ‘The mistress wants you,’ she said. ‘She’s in an uncommon good mood.’

  Susannah went upstairs to the parlour, where Arabella waited for her.

  ‘Sit down, Susannah. I have some news for you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You may consider yourself very fortunate. I have found you a position to an acquaintance of mine. She is Mistress Driscoll and has two little girls aged eight and nine and seeks a waiting woman who can do plain sewing and teach the children their catechism. I think you can manage that? You are to present yourself tomorrow morning so that she can take a look at you.’

  The day of reckoning had arrived then. Susannah, still in a daze as she relived the events of the afternoon, went to her bedchamber. Carefully she unwrapped the precious miniature from the soft blue velvet and studied her mother’s face. ‘Why couldn’t it have been as straightforward for you as it was for Martha,’ she whispered. ‘If you were here today, I wouldn’t be forced to leave behind me all that I hold dear.’

  The following morning Susannah took herself off to Aldersgate and waited in the hall of the imposing town house that might become her home. Before long the maid took her into the parlour. Mistress Driscoll put aside her needlework and looked Susannah up and down.

  ‘I assume you play the virginals?’ she asked.

  ‘I am afraid not.’

  ‘I see.’ Her pale mouth was thin-lipped and disapproving. ‘Can you teach my daughters to draw and to curtsy and how to conduct themselves in polite society?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. And I can teach them to write a neat Italian hand, translate from Latin and a little Greek and French.’

  Mistress Driscoll opened her eyes wide in amazement. ‘What possible use can any of that be to a girl? Can you teach them to dance?’

  ‘I’m sure that I could,’ said Susannah doubtfully.

  ‘And shell-work and embroidery?’

  Susannah was mercifully prevented from answering since the door burst open and an immensely fat man in a tight claret-coloured coat strode into the room. ‘Ah! Who do we have here? Friend of m’wife’s, is it?’

  His wife coughed. ‘Mr Driscoll, this is the person Mistress Leyton mentioned to me who might be suitable as a companion.’

  ‘Ah! Companion. Yes. Girls need a companion. Have you met them yet? Pretty little things, though I say it myself.’

  ‘No, sir, I have only just arrived.’

  ‘She can’t play the virginals,’ said Mistress Driscoll.

  ‘Ah! No matter. We’ll bring in a music master and they can all learn. What do you think of that, miss?’ He beamed at her, his eyes disappearing into
his fat cheeks.

  ‘I have always wanted to learn to play. Your daughters and I could practise together.’

  ‘Excellent! Then that’s settled. Call the girls down from the nursery, my dear.’ Mistress Driscoll pursed her mouth as if she was about to speak, thought the better of it and left the room.

  ‘Been a waiting woman for long?’ asked Mr Driscoll.

  ‘No, indeed. My father has an apothecary shop and I have been used to helping him in his dispensary.’

  Mr Driscoll sucked his teeth. ‘Be able to give my wife a purge, then, if she needs it?’ He threw back his head and roared with laughter until his face was as claret as his coat.

  Susannah judged it best not to join in.

  Mistress Driscoll returned with her daughters, fat as butterballs and remarkable only for their plainness. They came forward slowly and curtsied as low as their solid little legs would let them, while their father looked on approvingly.

  ‘Poppets, aren’t they?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Susannah, thinking that only their father could admire their little pudding faces. At least they didn’t look as if they could cause too much trouble.

  Arabella wore a gloating face of insufferable triumph at having got her own way but Susannah attempted to ignore it. A strange tranquillity had descended upon her as she accepted the inevitable, almost a sense of relief that she would no longer wear herself out in fighting with her stepmother. There were only a few days before she was obliged to take up her new post and she was determined to make the most of them.

  Cornelius absented himself from the shop at every possible moment and avoided being alone with her. Susannah tried to ignore the pain caused by his behaviour by busying herself with turning out the dispensary store cupboards and leaving all in good order. Ned was minding the shop and she ignored the bell every time the door opened since he’d have to become used to managing on his own. She was sweeping the dispensary floor when she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘My, aren’t you industrious?’ Henry Savage leaned against the wall, watching her as she worked.

  ‘Henry!’ Susannah clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Mr Savage! What brings you here?’ Her pulse quickened and she hoped her sudden blush didn’t betray her.

  Henry smiled. ‘Take off your apron; we’re going out. I want to show you something.’

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not, indeed, she thought. This might be the last irresponsible thing she ever did now that she had a lonely old age in service to look forward to. She was conscious that she wore her work dress, patched in places and stained with mercury. ‘I cannot go out like this! I must at least wash my face.’

  Henry took the broom from her hands and rested it against the cupboard. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped a smut from her cheek. ‘Perfect!’ he said, then took her arm and ushered her out of the door.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll know soon enough.’

  They walked along Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, around St Paul’s Cathedral and past Susannah’s favourite bookshop and then cut through the maze of alleys until they reached a row of smart town houses in a courtyard off Watling Street. They were new enough that the stonework was still pale, barely touched by the greasy smoke stains that darkened the older, neighbouring properties. Henry escorted Susannah up the steps, drew a key from his pocket and opened the door.

  Ignoring her questions, he led her from elegant room to elegant room, even showing her the kitchen. The high ceilings echoed back their footsteps as they explored. There were signs that the previous owners had left in a hurry; dead flowers in a vase, drawers left open and a child’s rag doll lying forlornly upon the stairs.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What do you think of it?’

  She sensed he wanted her approval and pushed away the thought that the house seemed lonely, empty. ‘It’s a wonderful house,’ she said. ‘So spacious. But why are we here?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I not a man of my word? I said that I’d come back in a month. And I thought you might wish to see the house I intend to make my home.’

  ‘But …’ Embarrassed, she looked away. ‘Miss Thynne …’

  It was Henry’s turn to look discomfited. ‘Ah! So you’ve heard about her?’

  ‘My stepmother tells me she has a large fortune.’

  ‘Indeed. I can see you are too sharp for me to pull the wool over your eyes so I freely confess I have imagined how useful it would be to have a fortune. Oh dear me, yes!’ An irrepressible smile twitched the corner of his mouth. ‘But I have also imagined how it would be to have Miss Thynne’s unfortunate face opposite mine at the breakfast table every morning and how much I would rather it was yours, dear Susannah.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Please, do tell me that you have changed your mind?’

  Chapter 6

  Susannah pinned her hair up and allowed it to fall in loose ringlets over her shoulders, in the way she had seen Arabella dress her hair before she went out. She peered into the age-spotted mirror and adjusted one of the curls so that it lay over her décolletage. Anxious green eyes peered back at her from a face as pale as her gown. She pinched the colour into her cheeks and forced a smile. She couldn’t see all of herself at once in the small mirror but she knew that the tightly laced bodice made her waist look tiny. She could do no more; it was time to go downstairs.

  She closed her bedchamber door behind her for the last time and gathered up the heavy cream silk of her skirts, cool and slippery to her touch.

  Downstairs in the parlour, her father waited for her.

  ‘You look delightful, my dear,’ said Cornelius, kissing her on the forehead.

  ‘Thank you, Father. Arabella took great interest in helping me to choose my wedding dress.’

  ‘I am glad that you have become friends, at last.’

  Never friends, thought Susannah. She had remained steadfast in her refusal to wear the vulgar dress with too many ruffles and furbe-lows that her stepmother had wanted for her. But they had both made accommodations in their relationship and in the circumstances the outcome was as good as it was ever likely to be. ‘I hope that you will be able to return to the quiet life you are accustomed to, Father, now that I am leaving.’

  ‘I fear there is little chance of that,’ said Cornelius. ‘When the new baby arrives he will doubtless overturn any thoughts I might have had about a peaceful old age.’

  ‘Perhaps Arabella is right and you should employ a nursemaid? The money will be well spent, I assure you.’

  Cornelius kissed her again and there were tears in his eyes. ‘I do feel as much affection for you as it is possible to feel for a daughter,’ he said. ‘I am not blind, you know, I do realise that Arabella can be a little difficult at times.’ He blinked hard. ‘But I still love her in spite of that.’

  ‘I know you do. And I want you to be happy, which is why I am leaving.’

  ‘You are so like my dear Elizabeth. You look at me with your great wounded eyes and it tears my heart to pieces. If I could only have had her back again I would never …’

  ‘What’s done is done.’ She couldn’t talk of it any more. As the time to leave drew nearer, a numbness began to descend upon her and it became too much effort to speak. She wondered for a moment if King Charles had felt the same as he made his final walk to the scaffold. In the distance, the bells of St Bride’s began to peal.

  ‘It’s time. I wish you much happiness, my dearest.’ Cornelius took Susannah’s arm and led her down the stairs and into the street where the hired carriage waited to carry them to the church.

  There had been only the three weeks while the banns were being read for Susannah to become used to the idea that she was to be married. Entering the shadowy interior of the church she felt as if she was in a dream. This was a day she had never expected to happen. Standing dry-mouthed at the altar beside Henry, with her heart fluttering as if it were a bird trying to escape, she forced herself to
breathe deeply as the voices echoed around her. It would never do to faint now.

  It wasn’t until they all emerged into the sunshine that Susannah really looked at Henry. This man is my husband, she said to herself as a shower of rice landed at their feet. How curious! My husband. Until death us do part. And I shall do everything in my power to love Henry and to make him love me, too.

  Smiling widely, Henry held her arm and made a great play of introducing her to everyone as Mistress Savage. His dimpled smile endowed him with a great deal of charm, thought Susannah, having the effect of making him seem more handsome than he actually was.

  The wedding breakfast was a much quieter affair than at Arabella’s marriage to Cornelius. So many of the family friends and acquaintances had left town to avoid the plague but Susannah was pleased that Richard Berry had come with Bridie and that Martha had brought her husband. Henry’s cousin, Dr Ambrose, and their aunt, Agnes Fygge, were there too.

  Martha, baby James in her arms, warmly embraced her. ‘I’m truly happy for you, Susannah. Mr Savage has a most agreeable manner and he’s young. You should count yourself lucky.’

  ‘I do.’ It was true; she had a future to look forward to now, after the anxieties and unhappiness of the past months. Finally, the numbness of the past few hours began to release her from its grip.

  ‘And there is something I want to ask you. Will you be godmother to James? Since you were there at his birth it seems right that you should keep a special eye on him.’

  ‘I would be honoured!’ Susannah tickled little James under his chin and was rewarded with a gummy smile.

  Cornelius had spared no expense for his daughter and they dined on steamed bass, roasted quails, tarts of marrowbone and a fricassee of chicken, followed by apple and quince pie, comfits and marchpane sweets washed down with the best wine the Crown and Cushion had to offer. Arabella’s children were surprisingly well behaved except for Mathew, who had to be taken outside to be sick since he’d eaten more than his share of marchpane.

  Agnes Fygge, a bent and crippled old lady with sharp black eyes and cheeks unnaturally bright with rouge, sat opposite Susannah. ‘And how d’you think married life will suit you?’ she asked.