The Apothecary's Daughter

by Betts, Charlotte

  Martha, as neat as ever in a clean cap and starched collar, was nursing baby James when she arrived.

  ‘How fast he’s grown!’ said Susannah.

  ‘Mother’s milk,’ said Martha, her soft face glowing with contentment. She kissed the baby’s fat little cheek and propped him up on her shoulder. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of sending him to a wet nurse so I insisted he stay at home with us.’ Her expression was dreamy as she rocked the baby and patted his back. ‘But he’s grown so much he’ll barely fit into his christening gown today, never mind next week.’

  ‘You’ll have to starve him until then,’ joked Susannah.

  ‘I’d hoped your new husband would have spared you for long enough to visit an old friend before now.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, Martha.’

  ‘Sit and tell me your news. How is married life?’

  ‘I hardly know yet. Keeping such a large house takes up most of my time. It’s rather more grand than necessary for two people.’

  ‘And how is Henry?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Susannah! The Lord intended married love to be a comfort. How do you find him as a husband?’

  ‘Oh, that. He is no trouble to me. What more can I say?’

  Martha pursed her lips. ‘Well, I hope he’s a comfort to you. And you to him.’

  ‘He works hard and I make sure there is always a good supper ready for him when he comes in.’

  ‘So now you can order your own home and time.’

  ‘Oh yes, I have plenty of time! Henry’s importing business is built upon the acquaintances he makes in the coffee houses and the Exchange. He’s often away from home and I find the evenings very long. There is nothing to do but listen to the passing bell and wonder if the person who has died is someone I know.’

  ‘You need more company, Susannah. Perhaps you’d like to come and take your supper with us sometimes?’ The baby hiccuped and Martha wiped a dribble of milk from his mouth.

  ‘May I hold him?’

  Martha kissed his velvety forehead. ‘Will you go to your godmother, James?’ The baby gave a contented burp. ‘And who knows,’ said Martha as she handed him to Susannah, ‘perhaps you’ll have a baby of your own to keep you company before long.’

  Susannah cradled the baby’s little head in her hand and tried not to weep. Would it ever be possible for her to have a child?

  Dusk was falling when the sound of the door knocker made Susannah start awake. She heard footsteps echoing across the hall floor below and, by the time she had straightened her shawl and picked up the book which rested on the arm of her chair, the drawing-room door was opening.

  ‘Dr Ambrose for you, madam,’ said Peg.

  ‘Mistress Savage.’ William Ambrose took her hand. ‘I came to see my cousin but I understand he is not at home.’

  ‘He is rarely home, I’m afraid,’ said Susannah.

  ‘I merely called to pass the time of day.’

  ‘Then perhaps you will take some refreshment?’ She placed her book upon the side table, glad to have someone to talk to. ‘Peg, bring up a jug of wine and the best glasses.’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ said Peg, scurrying off to the kitchen.

  ‘You need not impress me with the best glasses,’ said Ambrose.

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Susannah. ‘But Peg is very young and inexperienced. She must be taught the correct way of doing things. Please, sit down.’

  William Ambrose’s mouth turned up, just a little, at the corners. ‘I’m pleased you feel no need to stand on ceremony with me. So, where is Henry tonight?’

  ‘Who can say? The Star coffee house, probably. Or the Stag or the Crown and Cushion, perhaps. He makes his rounds of them all, talking up business wherever he can.’

  ‘I see. I’m pleased he’s working hard to make a success of his new venture. It will be difficult for him as the sea trade is so curtailed at present.’

  ‘He curses the war with the Dutch but tells me he is working on promises. Promises that when the ports are open to all he will be able to deliver the goods ordered. It seems that the Dutch are stealing our trade since the British aren’t welcome everywhere in case they bring the pestilence.’

  ‘Then we must live in the expectation that the present crisis will soon be over.’

  ‘And you? You must be fully occupied with so many sick?’

  ‘Many of my patients have died.’ He rubbed his eyes and Susannah noticed how tired he looked. ‘The plague presents in so many different ways: an ague, a burning fever, a headache or a fit of giddiness. These are all symptoms of other, lesser illnesses and throw people into a fit of the panics if they so much as cough. But then, if it is the plague, sometimes a whole family is carried off in a matter of hours. And then another, who is very ill, recovers just when you think he is past hoping for.’

  ‘My maid lost her whole family. I wonder if she will ever be able to forget the shock of it.’

  ‘She will not be alone in that.’ He said no more then as Peg brought in the wine and placed it on the table.

  ‘Poor child,’ he said, after she had gone. ‘I have observed that the sickness takes its strongest hold where many of the poorer sort are all crowded together. They live in squalor side by side with the rats and there is never enough food.’

  ‘Are you not afraid?’ asked Susannah.

  Ambrose was silent for a moment. ‘What thinking person would not be?’

  ‘And yet you still tend to the sick?’

  ‘Someone has to help them. And I wear my thick cloak and the beaked mask when I go to the houses that have been shut up and give my advice through the window. If I tended the sick directly I’d have to stay in quarantine and then I couldn’t help the others.’

  ‘I know that some of the sick pay a nurse to look after them.’

  Ambrose made an expression of disgust. ‘Often no more than a homeless old woman without medical knowledge seeking to make her fortune, I fear.’

  ‘But I suppose that is more use than nothing?’

  ‘Not if she murders her patients.’

  ‘Murders them!’ ‘I have seen cases where the nurse waits for the sick to die and then steals their treasures. Who knows if she helps them to meet their Maker faster than He intended?’

  Susannah shook her head in disbelief. ‘The world is no longer the safe place I once thought it.’

  ‘You only have to look in the streets to see that. But let us talk of more cheerful things. How is your father?’

  ‘Busy. I fear his apprentice still has a great deal to learn.’

  ‘He will notice your absence in the dispensary.’

  ‘And I do so miss my work.’

  ‘But your work now is to keep house for Henry.’

  ‘Yes.’ She restrained herself from saying that it seemed something of a waste of time keeping house for a man who was rarely there. She changed the subject. ‘When he was young, Father wanted to be a doctor, like you.’

  ‘I believe he would have made an excellent physician.’

  ‘Sadly, it was not to be. After my grandfather died, Father was adopted by a wealthy cousin, who had no heir. This cousin intended to send him to Italy to study at the university in Siena but then his wife gave birth to a son. She was forty years old and had been childless during twenty years of marriage so it seemed like a miracle.’

  ‘And your father did not go to Siena?’

  ‘No. It was a great disappointment to him. The cousin decided to reserve his fortune for his new heir and it was much less expensive for Father to train as an apothecary.’

  ‘And he is well respected in his profession by all who know him.’ Ambrose glanced at Susannah’s book on the table beside her. ‘May I see what it is you are reading? A romantic novel, I suppose?’

  She picked up the heavy tome and offered it to him.

  ‘Oh!’ Ambrose’s eyebrows shot up. Hooke’s Micrographia. What led you to re
ad a work such as this?’

  ‘Father and I went to one of Hooke’s lectures at Gresham College. This book is a marvellous and fascinating thing. Do unfold the illustrations! Hooke used an instrument called a microscope which magnifies objects to many times their natural size and then he was able to capture them in the minutest detail. Just look at that drawing of a louse! Have you ever seen anything so remarkable?’

  ‘Indeed I have. I, too, own a copy of this book. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a woman such as you would find it interesting.’

  Susannah was unsure if this was a compliment or not. ‘Father and I often went to the lectures at Gresham College.’

  ‘Then it is my misfortune we never met there. I did meet your father there, once. We saw one of Boyle’s experiments with an air pump. He demonstrated that a dog could be kept alive with its chest opened, provided air was pumped in and out of its lungs.’

  ‘The poor dog!’

  ‘I tried very hard not to think of the dog but only about what use the experiment could be put to in the saving of human life. Your father and I had a prolonged discussion on the subject.’

  ‘Father loves a good argument of that kind, taking first one side and then the other.’

  ‘And he has passed on his love of learning to you.’

  ‘He always says knowledge is strength.’

  Downstairs, the front door slammed and booted feet clattered across the hall and then up the stairs.

  Susannah recognised Henry’s footsteps and suppressed a pang of disappointment that he had arrived to interrupt such an interesting discussion.

  The drawing-room door opened and Henry strode in to clap his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Will! What brings you here?’

  ‘I came to call on you and since you were not at home your wife has been entertaining me with a drawing of a louse.’

  ‘Oh that! She showed it to me, too. Makes me itch just to look at it.’

  ‘Curious, though, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’ve just come from a cock fight in Shoe Lane. That’s much more my idea of entertainment!’

  Susannah was in the garden folding the washing when she saw her father come running up the path towards her.

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise!’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Susannah, a terrible thing …’

  Cornelius’s wig was awry and his face was wet with tears.

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ she asked. She clasped her hand to her breast. ‘Not Arabella?’

  ‘No, no. Not that, thank the Lord. It’s Richard.’

  ‘Richard Berry?’

  ‘My dear old friend …’ His face crumpled and suddenly he looked every one of his fifty-six years. ‘I went to call upon him this morning but as I drew near to his house I saw the cross on the door. I shouted up at the windows but they were tight shut. And then a woman in the house next door called out to me. They took Richard and Bridie away on the dead-cart last night!’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘My oldest friend … gone! I can hardly believe it to be true. And poor Bridie, as true a wife as any man could wish for.’

  He began to shake with the shock of it and she took him inside to warm him by the kitchen fire and make him a calming draught of camomile tea.

  ‘It’s a dreadful thing,’ she said, hardly able to believe that it was true. ‘Richard was always like an uncle to me, full of tricks and games. And Bridie was so kind after Mother died.’

  Cornelius sipped the hot infusion. ‘Your dear mother was fond of Richard and Bridie, too. We had some fine times together when we were all young.’

  Later, when he had talked at length about his recollections of the youthful pranks they had played upon each other, he was calm again.

  ‘I must go home. Arabella will be worried.’ He sighed. ‘But I confess I am enjoying the tranquil peace of your kitchen. There is nowhere to escape the constant clamour at home. I had not realised how much disturbance three small children can make. You and your brother were biddable children, always able to amuse yourselves.’

  ‘Modern children are allowed more latitude, I think.’

  ‘But is that a good thing?’ asked Cornelius gloomily.

  ‘I shall walk home with you,’ said Susannah.

  ‘I would be glad of your company.’

  ‘Then you shall have it.’ She tucked her father’s hand into the crook of her arm and they set off.

  Ned opened the shop door for them when he saw them coming.

  ‘How are you, Ned?’ asked Susannah.

  ‘Well, thank you, miss.’ He coloured beetroot and stuttered, ‘Sorry … madam.’

  Susannah stopped inside the door, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. How she had missed that aroma! Amongst the multitude of mingled scents she could recognise wintergreen and oil of cloves, sulphur and turpentine, lavender and liquorice. A fire flickered in the grate to dispel the autumn chill and the great pestle and mortar was in its usual place next to the jar of leeches. The apothecary shop was exactly as she remembered it.

  ‘Let us find Arabella and tell her the sad news,’ said Cornelius.

  They found her upstairs in the parlour, sitting on a new chair with carved arms and a high back. Her hands were folded on the mound of her stomach and her feet rested on a footstool that Susannah had not seen before.

  ‘Father has had a terrible shock,’ said Susannah. ‘So I brought him home.’

  ‘Richard Berry, my old friend …’ said Cornelius, barely able to speak again.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s dead!’ said Cornelius in tragic tones. ‘Visited by the plague. Carried Bridie off, too.’Arabella drew in her breath sharply. ‘I trust you didn’t go near them? I cannot have you in the house if you are infected. Thank goodness I told the nursemaid to take the children out for the afternoon!’

  ‘Of course he isn’t infected,’ said Susannah. ‘Richard and Bridie were taken away before Father even arrived at their house.’

  ‘Still, I’ll thank you not to come too close, sir! I will not risk my health.’

  ‘There is no risk, Arabella,’ said Cornelius, sitting down heavily.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, I’m sure.’

  Arabella sniffed. ‘I never did like that Richard Berry. He played a terrible trick on us at our wedding with that pie full of birds. Most unseemly. He was a bad influence on you, Cornelius.’

  He bowed his head and said nothing while Susannah gritted her teeth and resisted the impulse to slap her stepmother’s face.

  ‘Well, Susannah, what do you think of the changes I’ve made?’ said Arabella.

  Susannah glanced at her father who sat with his eyes closed. ‘Changes?’

  ‘Really, even you must have noticed the improvements I’ve made to this room!’

  Susannah looked around her and her mouth fell open. She had been so concerned for her father that until then she hadn’t noticed her surroundings. Everything was different. The old honey-coloured panelling that she used to polish lovingly with beeswax had been clumsily painted to resemble the now more fashionable walnut, a tapestry in crude shades of red and blue hung on one wall and every piece of furniture that she had grown up with had been banished. The new furniture was in the Chinese style, lacquered a bright red, and it sat awkwardly in the small parlour. ‘What have you done?’ she said at last.

  ‘If I am to be forced to live over a shop in cramped conditions, I will at least have some new furnishings. Just because you live in an opulent new home don’t think that other people are inferior to you.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  ‘Arabella admired the tapestries in your dining room,’ said Cornelius. ‘And I promised her that she could choose new furnishings to her own taste.’

  Susannah swallowed. ‘Yes, I can see that. What happened to the cushion covers that my mother worked? And the samplers?’

  ‘I let the maids have the samplers in the attics. The cushion covers were shabby and I threw them a
way.’

  ‘I see.’ She looked at her father who stared at her, beseeching her with his eyes not to make a scene. She took a deep breath. ‘I can see that your new furnishings suit you perfectly and I hope they bring you joy.’ She stood up. ‘And now I think it’s time I returned home.’

  Home, she thought, as she walked along Fleet Street. The word conjured up all the images of her childhood and the memories of her mother and the scents of lavender and baking. Home certainly wasn’t the new house she lived in with Henry and it would never again be the rooms over the shop that Arabella had made her own. Misery engulfed her. So where is my home? she wondered.

  Into Darkness

  November

  1665

  Chapter 8

  Something started Susannah awake in the middle of the night. She sat up in bed and stared into the darkness, listening. Someone was sobbing. The door to the bedchamber was ajar and a candle still burned in the corridor, where she had left it to light Henry to bed. Pulling her wrap round her shoulders she went to investigate. The door to Henry’s study was open and, following the sound of weeping, she looked inside.

  Henry sat in the shadows, his head down on his arms.

  ‘Henry! Whatever is the matter?’

  He sat up and wiped his eyes on his cuff but didn’t answer her.

  ‘What is it?’

  He looked at her, his bottom lip trembling.

  She ran to him and took him in her arms. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘It’s nothing!’

  ‘Of course it is! You can tell me, I am your wife, after all.’ She kissed his forehead and was overwhelmed with a sudden tenderness for him as she rocked him against her breast.

  He began to weep again, his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair. Hot tears soaked into her nightshift.

  ‘I’m so homesick!’ he sobbed.

  ‘But you are home.’

  ‘No, my real home in Barbados!’

  ‘This is your home now,’ Susannah soothed.