Alone and frightened, she stared out of the window for hours at a time, hoping that her father would visit, even if only for a moment, so that she could call down to him from her window. But he never came.
She put on her black mourning dress, even though she would see no one. Black suited her mood. Slipping off her wedding band, she tied it on a black ribbon and hung it round her neck as a sign of her widowhood. Deathly tired, she lay on her bed and pictured scenarios of Henry’s lonely death, bitterly regretting that now there would never be an opportunity for their marriage to blossom. Her marriage had been a failure and she would never wed again. Sadness overwhelmed her and she wept.
Martha called by and handed a basket of bread, some eggs and an apple tart to Peg.
‘She said to send her love,’ Peg said through the keyhole. ‘And that she’ll be praying for you.’
Dr Ambrose, garbed in his heavy cloak and beaked mask, called briefly most days and spoke to her from behind the bedroom door. ‘I visited your Father this morning,’ he said on one of his visits. ‘He sent you a bottle of his Plague Prevention Cordial, with his love. I shall put it here on the floor for you.’
‘There is no sign of the sickness there?’
‘None.’
‘I’d never forgive myself …’
‘You are still well?’
‘Yes. Only lonely and miserable. I cannot help my mind running on and I see …’ her breath caught on a sob, ‘I see frightening pictures in my head of Henry’s poor body thrown into the plague pit.’
There was silence for a moment from the other side of the door. ‘I will return tomorrow,’ he said. Then she heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs.
The following afternoon Doctor Ambrose called again.
‘Open the door,’ he said.
‘But …’
‘It’s been three weeks now. Are you still well?’
‘Yes.’
‘I shall come in, then.’ He stood in the doorway with a bag in his hands, frowning at her. ‘You’re too thin. Haven’t you been eating?’
She shrugged. ‘Peg has brought me food but I have no appetite. Everything turns my stomach. I can’t help thinking about Henry.’
‘Lift your hair so that I can see your neck.’
Obediently she held up her curls while he examined her neck. She trembled at his touch as he turned her to the light. His fingers were cool upon her skin and she was very conscious of his proximity. It had been a long while since she had been touched by anybody with such gentleness.
‘And you have no plague spots on your body?’
She shook her head.
‘No swellings?’
‘None.’
‘Good.’ He opened his bag and took out a chessboard.’
‘Chess! I used to play with my father. He said I was a better player than he is.’
‘Then I shan’t have to explain the rules to you.’ He put the board on the small table in front of the fire and set out the pieces. ‘Another week and we will declare your quarantine over. Meanwhile, I’ll decide for myself how good you are.’
He played in silence, concentrating on the board and only occasionally lifting his gaze to see if her face gave away her strategy.
‘Checkmate!’ he said, at last.
Susannah sighed and stretched. ‘Look, it’s dark! I was trying so hard to beat you that I didn’t realise how much time had passed.’
‘I have patients to visit.’ Dr Ambrose swept the chess pieces into his bag. ‘Before I go I shall tell Peg to make you a nourishing broth. Be sure to drink it.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
He glanced at her to see if she was mocking him. ‘I’m off to lay a poultice on one of my patients. I’m so late he’ll probably either have died or recovered by himself. Either way my reputation is lost.’ His dark eyes gleamed.
‘I’ve been very glad of your company.’ Depression and loneliness settled upon her again at the thought of his leaving.
‘One more week and you’ll be able to go out again.’ He picked up his bag and left.
Six days later, Susannah was curled up on the window seat wrapped in a blanket and keeping an eye open for William Ambrose’s dark-cloaked figure crossing the courtyard on his afternoon visit. He had come every day, setting up the chess pieces after enquiring about her health and then making his moves with silent absorption. At the end of each game, which he invariably won, he left with hardly a word except for reminding her to eat. On one occasion he brought her an orange, an unaccustomed luxury at that time of year. After he had gone she peeled it, sniffing at the sharply aromatic oils that were released as she dug her thumbnail into its waxy skin. She ate each segment slowly, catching up the last drops of the juice with the tip of her tongue.
A carriage swished through the slush in the courtyard below and drew up at the front of the house. Rubbing a circle in the frosted window pane, Susannah peered down and watched the portly figure of a man descend from the coach and hurry up the steps to her front door. She heard Peg’s footsteps crossing the hall as she went to answer the knocker and then raised voices. Opening the bedchamber door a crack, she listened to the argument going on downstairs.
‘No, you cannot!’ said Peg. ‘My mistress is resting.’
‘Then we shall have to wake her, shan’t we?’
‘She is not to be disturbed!’
‘We’ll see about that!’
‘Sir, I beg you …!’
Heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs and Susannah closed the bedchamber door and leaned against it, her heart thumping. Almost immediately there was a peremptory knock and then the door was flung wide. A middle-aged man in a green travelling cloak with a feathered hat over his full-bottomed wig stood there, breathing heavily. Peg hovered behind him, wringing her hands.
‘Sir, what do you mean by this?’ asked Susannah, fear making her bold.
‘Where is Mr Savage?’
Susannah stood her ground. ‘And who might you be, to so rudely enter my house and accost me in my bedchamber?’
‘Your bedchamber, is it? I am George Radlett, as you must know. I ask you again, madam, where is your husband?’
‘What is that to you?’
‘A pile of guineas, that’s what! I want the money he owes me for the rent. And I didn’t receive the case of rum he promised me, either.’
Susannah frowned, bewildered. ‘What rent and what rum?’
‘He promised me a case of rum once the Mary Jane docked. As to the rent, he sweet-talked me into agreeing to let him rent my house at a preposterously low sum while I retired to the country, my wife having no mind to be struck down with the plague. Savage persuaded me that it would be preferable to have a tenant rather than leave it prey to looters in the emergency but I’ve never seen a penny of the rent we agreed.’
Susannah stared at him, anger and confusion churning in the pit of her stomach. Henry had lied to her!
‘Well?’ he demanded, bright spots of magenta burning in his florid cheeks. ‘I will have my money and then you can both pack your bags and get out immediately. I ask you again: where is Mr Savage?’
‘I know nothing of this,’ she said. Her vision wavered and she leaned against the wall, suddenly faint. He spoke again but she couldn’t hear him for the roaring in her ears. She took a deep breath. ‘Sir, my husband is dead.’
‘You need not think you can lie your way out of your difficulties, madam.’ He took a step nearer, pushing his face threateningly close to hers so that she could smell his rank breath and see the white bristles on his chin. ‘Where is he?’
‘In the plague pit.’
George Radlett froze, then backed away from her as if he’d been scalded. ‘You’re lying!’ he said but the expression in his eyes was uneasy.
‘Do you not see that I am in mourning? And did my maid not warn you that I am still in quarantine? Or did you force your way into my bedchamber without listening to her? You may wish that you hadn’t.’
‘Are you thr
eatening me?’
‘Not at all. But my husband has died from the plague and as I feel unwell it’s fair to warn you that you may become infected too, if you remain.’ Susannah almost felt sorry for George Radlett as she watched the colour drain away from his face.
‘When did he die?’
‘A few days since,’ she lied.
He removed himself to the doorway, holding a handkerchief over his mouth. ‘I shall return in a month,’ he said, ‘and I do not expect to find you here. The house is to be fumigated from the attics to the cellars.’
‘I will be gone by then,’ said Susannah, her mouth curving in a half-smile. ‘One way or the other.’
George Radlett turned and sprinted down the stairs.
By the time Dr Ambrose arrived, Susannah had stopped pacing the floor but she still trembled.
‘What has happened?’ he asked.
‘It’s such a shock,’ Susannah said, after she had explained. ‘I thought the house belonged to Henry. He implied that it was his and he certainly never said anything to me about paying rent. Did you know about this?’
Ambrose shook his head. ‘He was full of how well he was doing in business and he always had plenty of money to spend in the taverns and coffee houses.’
‘One thing is clear,’ said Susannah. ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Thankfully, there’s still my dowry. I shall settle the debt and rent a small house.’
‘You would not return home to live with your family?’
‘I cannot. The house is too small, particularly since the twins were born, and Arabella would not like it. And to be truthful, neither should I.’
‘No, I can understand that. Perhaps you’d like me to make enquiries about a suitable house?’
A little of Susannah’s worry lifted. ‘I must be gone in less than four weeks and I hardly know where to begin.’
Dr Ambrose frowned thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps the first thing is to ascertain your exact financial position.’
‘Would you …’ she hesitated, ‘I don’t like to ask my father to help me. His life is so taken up with his new family now and he has no time. Would you help me to sort through Henry’s papers? Apart from keeping the apothecary shop books, I know little about financial affairs.’
‘I’ll do what I can. As time is of the essence, shall we take a look in Henry’s study now?’
Two hours later, Susannah said goodbye to William Ambrose. She returned to her bedchamber and poked the fire into flames. It was dark so she closed the shutters and went to light the candles but thought better of it. Chilled to the bone, she pulled a blanket round her shoulders, drew a chair up to the fire and stared into the flames. Something akin to hatred for Henry began to burn in her breast and she wrapped her arms tightly across her body in an attempt to stop herself shaking.
She hadn’t understood at first. William Ambrose’s expression had become even grimmer than usual as he picked up and read the heap of papers he’d found in the cupboard in Henry’s study. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how much was your dowry?’ he asked.
‘Father never told me but I saw Henry counting it just after we were married. It was a great deal more than I expected. It’s in that strongbox.’ Susannah went over to the box and tried to open it but there was a small padlock through the hasp. ‘Perhaps there’s a key in the cupboard?’
‘I didn’t see one. Perhaps Henry had it on his person when he …’ He stopped. ‘Let me.’ Ambrose took a penknife from his pocket and carefully forced the lock. He lifted the lid and took out a pile of papers. Quickly, he sifted through them. ‘More unpaid bills. A butcher’s account, a brown velvet coat with gold lacing, an embroidered waistcoat, a dinner for four people at the Stag Tavern, two diamond shoe buckles, coal merchant’s account, two dozen embroidered handkerchiefs, one wedding ring, a pair of pearl earrings …’
‘Pearl earrings? He didn’t buy me any pearl earrings!’
‘ … hire of a coach and two horses …’
‘Give them to me. I’ll settle them,’ said Susannah. She lifted out a further handful of papers and then frowned as she inspected the bottom of the box. ‘But this box was half full with golden guineas. Where are they?’ Somewhere deep inside icy certainty was forming. ‘Henry must have hidden them away somewhere safe.’ She snatched open the cupboard doors and searched the shelves one by one.
‘They’re not there, Susannah.’
‘They must be!’ She swept the remaining papers off the shelves and onto the floor, along with broken quills, bottles of ink, a mouldy piece of bread and an apple core and ran her hands over the space behind. ‘Perhaps he’s hidden them under the floorboards? That’s where they’ll be!’ She scrabbled at the matting, dragging it back and breaking her fingernails in the cracks between the boards, searching for a secret hiding place.
‘Help me, can’t you!’ Frantically, she continued her search.
William caught hold of her elbow and pulled her to her feet. ‘Susannah, it’s gone.’
‘It can’t be! It was here only a few months ago.’
‘There are still enough unpaid bills here to swallow up a fortune. I should have guessed …’
‘Guessed what?’
‘He had so little when he arrived in this country and was so used to living a life of ease in Barbados; it must have been difficult for him to understand how to manage his money. As it was, Aunt Agnes and I lent him a sizeable sum to get him started.’
‘But he worked hard at his new business! I hardly ever saw him because he was always out making new contacts.’
Ambrose sighed. ‘I wonder how much of his time was spent in building his business and how much in hiding from the truth? He liked the company of those he met in the alehouses and taverns. He was endlessly charming and generous to his new friends. I often saw him offering his hospitality to all around town with little regard to the expense.’
‘But he couldn’t have drunk away my entire dowry!’ Outrage made her cheeks flame.
‘Where is it, then?’
Susannah swallowed, fear rising up in her throat and threatening to choke her. ‘But if I have no money and no home, what will I do now?’ she whispered.
Susannah did not sleep at all that night. Earlier that evening she had counted out the handful of coins put aside for housekeeping and realised that, even if she was careful, there wasn’t enough to last a fortnight. She walked the floor with her heartbeat hammering in her ears while she considered her options. In truth, there were few. She could go home, she could find work as a servant, or she could marry again. But who would have her, a maiden no longer and her dowry gone? An apothecary’s daughter, a dead man’s penniless widow; she, Susannah alone, was nothing.
At first light, she went down into the kitchen and ground some coffee, boiling it up with plenty of sugar, hoping to fortify herself. But after only two sips anxiety overcame her and she felt too sick to face any more. Fidgety, she sat down at the kitchen table and vigorously polished all the pewter plate, all the while her mind running round and round like a caged rat.
In the end she faced up to the unpalatable truth that there was nothing else to do but to go home and throw herself upon Arabella’s mercy.
She had only just put all the plates back on the dresser when the door knocker sounded. It was Agnes Fygge and William Ambrose. Susannah glanced at Ambrose but he refused to meet her eye.
‘You’re wearing mourning then, even though my nephew left you destitute?’ said Agnes, as she followed Susannah into the drawing room.
‘I shall miss him,’ said Susannah quietly. It was the truth, even though she would have murdered him if he stood before her now.
‘William tells me you must leave this house.’
‘I shall go home.’
‘Hmm.’ Agnes studied her with her sharp, black eyes. ‘And what about your stepmother?’
Susannah shrugged.
‘You’ll regret it. She’s not one to be accommodating, t
hat one.’
‘My father will not see me in difficult circumstances.’
‘You think that? I credited you with more perception. Cornelius dances to his wife’s tune now.’ She turned to William Ambrose. ‘Is she ill? She doesn’t look strong.’
‘It is hardly surprising if my cousin’s widow needs a little time to recover from the shock.’
‘She has no time! She cannot afford the luxury of wallowing in her grief.’
‘I am not wallowing!’ said Susannah, her cheeks burning with sudden rage. ‘And I’ll thank you not to discuss my future as if I am not present.’
‘I might make use of you.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I need a waiting woman. You might do. What do you say to that?’
Susannah realised her mouth was open and snapped it shut. ‘Thank you, Mistress Fygge, but I have no need to be your servant.’
‘Hoity-toity!’
William Ambrose raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
‘Since your nephew has indeed left me destitute, I shall return home to my father.’
‘You’ll not bear it for long, mark my words. I give it two days and then you’ll be knocking on my door begging me to take you in.’
‘I promise you, I shall not!’
Agnes Fygge glared at her and Susannah stared angrily back until the old woman dropped her gaze with a sigh. Leaning heavily upon her monkey-headed cane she turned to her nephew. ‘Take me home, William. I’m wasting my time here with this obstinate girl. You’ve lost your best opportunity, miss. Good day to you.’
William Ambrose doffed his hat to her, took his aunt’s arm and they left.
A short while later Susannah set off for the apothecary shop. Still simmering with suppressed anger, she knew that she had no other choice but to beg to be allowed to return home, in whatever lowly position Arabella decided she would allow her.
The shop door was locked and no amount of hammering brought anyone to open it. She could hear the babies wailing from an upstairs window and so she walked back along Fleet Street and turned into the alley which ran alongside the back yard. She stood on tiptoe and reached up to run her fingers along the rough top of the wall until she found the hidden key for the back gate.
The Apothecary's Daughter Page 15
