Susannah stared back. The truth dawned on her with all the force of a bucket of icy water thrown in her face. All at once many things began to fall into place: Henry’s homesickness and his desire to send her away to the country while he stayed in the city with his slaves. She understood now why he had not wanted her in his bed and it explained his assignations with Topaz; seeking comfort in one who so resembled Phoebe. And, of course, his sudden interest in her after he discovered she would have a substantial dowry, which had enabled him to send for his son and the woman he loved.
‘You angry?’
Susannah thought about it as she carefully laid the drowsy baby down on the bed beside her. ‘No,’ she said at last. Surprisingly, it was true. Sad, perhaps, at the misery and loneliness she had suffered but not angry. Because the most marvellous thing of all, the thing that made her heart sing until it nearly burst, was that Joseph was not William’s son. Laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘No, I’m not angry,’ she said, grasping Phoebe’s hands and pulling her into an embrace. ‘I thought I was a bad wife but none of it was my fault after all!’
Phoebe frowned and shook herself free. ‘I saw you, with your white skin, and I hated you. You took my man.’
‘But you must know that I didn’t marry him to hurt you? And I see clearly now that Henry only married me to take my money so that he could send for you. He never loved me.’
‘You have Henry’s child; a child that should have been mine.’ Phoebe stuck out her jaw and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. ‘You make me jealous. You had everything. And I had nothing, except my son. Then you teach Joseph the white man’s ways so he can leave me. You took my man and you were free. And I … I am your slave.’ Racked with sobs, she rocked herself backwards and forwards, hands twisting together in her lap.
Susannah knew, from bitter experience, how the heart-wrenching pain of jealousy could eat away at a person. She decided that the time was past for modesty. After all, without Phoebe’s help, she and little Beth might have died. ‘Phoebe, listen to me! Henry only lay with me once in all the time we married. It wasn’t a happy experience and afterwards he was angry with himself and with me. I wanted to be a good wife to Henry but he never loved me, however hard I tried to please him. Believe me, I did try, but now I know why it was an impossible task. It was because he loved you.’
Phoebe’s eyes glittered with bitterness. ‘I had nothing, except my son. And you tried to take Joseph away from me, to make him love you. I wanted you to suffer. And I wanted you to know how it feel when your man is with another woman.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘So I tole you I took your man.’
‘You’re talking about William?’
Phoebe nodded. ‘You love him? Tell me true.’
Susannah was too tired to dissemble and in any case she had been through so much with this woman by now that it seemed pointless to lie. She looked at her sleeping baby’s face. ‘I cannot help myself,’ she said. ‘Even though you took him into your bed I still love him.’
Phoebe sighed. ‘You save my baby’s life. I save your baby’s life. Now we are sisters and I will tell you true. That night, the doctor came to my room only to see Joseph.’ Phoebe took Susannah’s hands. ‘Look at me, missus! The doctor never come to my bed. Not here in the Captain’s House or in the plantation. Never!’
‘But I saw you together … in your night clothes.’ Susannah gripped Phoebe’s hands until her knuckles were white, a glimmer of hope growing in her heart. ‘Do you promise me this is the truth?’
Phoebe nodded her head. ‘He very kind. I very frightened. Joseph very sick. Doctor tole me Joseph had …’ her brow furrowed while she sought the right phrase, ‘He tole me Joseph had surfeit of sugar plums.’ She smiled triumphantly.
Susannah frowned. Then she made the connection. ‘Not Agnes’s sugar plums? I thought she had been particularly greedy!’
‘Joseph greedy. He so sick I thought he die. I not tell Agnes or she beat him.’
Susannah laughed a little too wildly, as she fought down tears. ‘I doubt if Joseph will ever steal sugar plums again.’
‘This is true.’
Susannah glanced out of the window. She had to escape from the Captain’s House, to run and run as fast as she could to the apothecary shop, to tell William at once that she loved him.
Phoebe glanced at Susannah out of the side of her eyes. ‘I hate you so much for taking my Henry I think I will die. After dark, when everyone sleep, I walk through the house and cry for Henry. I came here to marry him and he is dead and you, his wife, are my new owner.’ She swallowed back a sob. ‘Sometimes I come in the night and look at you when you sleep. I never understand why Henry want you. You so thin, so pale; I look and look at you and wonder why my Henry marry you. I never understand.’
‘Oh, Phoebe! There has been such terrible unhappiness and misunderstanding! Poor Henry, trapped in a marriage he didn’t want so that he could afford to bring you here and you and I both so miserable.’
Phoebe nodded.
‘But we must start afresh. Will you fetch me my pocket from the hook behind the door?’
Phoebe handed it to her and Susannah took out a key. ‘Come closer,’ she said. ‘One day I promise I will free you and Joseph. I cannot do this while we depend upon Agnes to keep us. But for now …’ She inserted the key into Phoebe’s silver collar and unlocked it. ‘Throw it out of the window,’ she said.
Phoebe rubbed at the red marks round her neck. ‘It cost a lot of money. Missus Agnes …’
‘I’ll deal with Agnes later.’
Hesitantly Phoebe picked up the collar and went to the window. She glanced back at Susannah.
‘Go on!’
Phoebe unlatched the casement. She turned back to look at Susannah again, who nodded encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, she let out a great cry of jubilation as she hurled the collar out. It flew up into the air and then span away across the rooftops.
Chapter 29
‘I cannot believe’, Susannah said to Phoebe, ‘that we will sicken now. Joseph is almost well again and there is not the slightest sign that we have the infection.’
Phoebe nodded. ‘The missus want to see you.’
Susannah wrapped Beth in her best shawl and carried her to the top of the stairs. She rang the bell and waited until she could hear Agnes’s shuffling steps approaching.
‘So you have risen from your childbed,’ Agnes said. ‘And are you to introduce me to my great niece?’
Susannah held the baby up so Agnes could see the infant’s face. ‘This is Elizabeth,’ she said.
Agnes pursed her lips. ‘She’ll be a beauty,’ she said. ‘Like her mother. If we survive I shall stand as godmother to her.’
Eyes widening at the unexpected compliment, Susannah said, ‘I would be honoured, ma’am.’
‘And Joseph continues to recover?’
‘He’s beginning to resent our incarceration and becoming naughty.’ Susannah smiled. ‘I believe that signifies well.’
‘And William and the maid will be freed from your father’s house tomorrow. He sent a message to say that they are both well. I dare to hope that it is only the matter of a few hours now before he is returned safely to me and that soon it will be his turn to bring us baskets of provisions. I have become extremely tired of bean soup.’
‘Still, we have been fortunate in your foresight, Agnes; without the beans we might have starved. But once we are free of quarantine, I shall not care a bean if a bean never passes my lips again.’
In the middle of the night Susannah dreamed that her mother stood beside her bed rocking the cradle and singing to the baby.
‘Lullay my liking, my dear, my sweeting …’
Beth whimpered and Susannah stirred and awoke.
The wind had risen and rattled at the casement. The candle on the sill flickered in the draught.
Something made her uneasy. She scooped the baby out of the cradle and hugged her tightly to her chest then went quietly to look in the other att
ic room. But Phoebe was fast asleep with Joseph curled up in the curve of her body.
At the top of the stairs Susannah stood motionless, listening to the silence of the night until the baby began to cry.
After she had fed Beth, Susannah carried her to the rattling window and gazed out into the darkness. The air smelled different; the ever-present odour of river mud was overlaid by the tang of woodsmoke, she thought. A sudden gust of wind snatched at the casement so that she had to haul on it and secure the latch before it smashed back against the wall.
In the east the sky was lit by a pink glow and she was surprised that it must already be near to sunrise. She kissed the baby’s head. ‘You have had a long sleep this time, my sweet.’
It was as she turned to put Beth back into her cradle that she saw the pink glow suddenly expand to light up the sky. She returned to the window. An explosion at one of the river-front warehouses, perhaps? A fire would be hard to control if the warehouse held brandy or timber. Some poor soul is likely to lose his livelihood tonight, she thought, as she climbed back into bed.
The following morning Susannah woke to hear the Sabbath Day church bells. At the window she frowned to see a pall of smoke upriver at London Bridge. The warehouse fire must have been a bad one. She was still watching the drifting smoke when she heard Agnes calling out to her.
‘Are you well?’ This was the question Agnes asked every morning.
‘Never better!’
‘Then come downstairs. The risk of you falling ill after all this time seems unlikely.’
‘I agree.’
‘And William will come today.’ Agnes gave her a sly little smile. ‘I expect you would like to come to the window to speak with him?’
After the oppressive heat of the attics the chapel was spacious and airy and, filled with the spirit of liberation, Susannah skipped across the room, revelling in her new lightness. ‘You cannot know how good it is to be able to take more than five steps in one direction,’ she said, ‘and to be able to look down onto the street at the people going about their everyday business.’ She walked across the chapel to the window which faced the garden. ‘How I have missed the garden! In fact, I think I’ll go outside now and give Beth her first taste of the open air.’
‘I shall come with you,’ said Agnes.
The sun on Susannah’s face made her heart sing and a brisk east wind whipped the colour into her cheeks.
The two women walked slowly around the cloisters and Susannah thought how very much she would miss the garden when she moved back to live in the apothecary shop again. But, of course, she would visit Agnes often.
‘Can you smell smoke?’ asked Agnes.
‘There’s always smoke, isn’t there? But you’re right. During the night I looked out and saw an explosion down by the river. A warehouse, I expect, and this morning I see the fire has spread to London Bridge. I was so excited at coming down from the attics that I forgot to mention it.’
‘Perhaps Will may bring news of it. I shall go inside now and speak to John Fuller, our watchman. Quite a decent sort of person. Lost his brother to the plague so he’s sympathetic to our plight. I’ll ask him to keep a lookout for Will.’
Susannah followed Agnes back up to the chapel and stood beside her as she called down to the watchman.
‘There’s a big fire in the city,’ he said, his heavy eyebrows bristling with the importance of the news. ‘Stupid baker in Pudding Lane didn’t damp the fire under the ovens properly before he went to bed. The fire’s spread right down to the river …’
‘So it was a warehouse catching fire that I saw?’
‘Indeed ma’am! More’n three hundred houses gone and the fire burning down Fish Hill and catching on the bridge. ’Tis a calamity and no mistake.’
Susannah’s hands trembled as she dressed her hair carefully, put on her mother’s pearl pendant and laced her bodice so tight she could barely breathe. Then she sat on the chapel window seat all morning, mending Agnes’s chemise and wondering how long it would be before William would come.
John Fuller kept calling up to the window to give her the latest news. ‘They say now that it was the French who started it. Damned Papists! The churches in the east of the city are ablaze,’ he said, ‘and in those that aren’t burning, the congregation are hearing some pretty warm sermons warning sinners to repent or be consumed by hellfire.’ But he didn’t say he could see William coming along the street.
William didn’t arrive in time for dinner.
Susannah returned to the attics to look out at the river and was amazed to see the water was full of boats, all heavily loaded with people and furniture.
During the afternoon Agnes refused to rest in her room and stationed herself by the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of William coming along Whyteladies Lane. ‘I do hope he brings fresh meat,’ she said. ‘I could fancy a roasted chicken or a stew of mutton. I expect he’s taking so long because he’s searching out some tasty morsels to tempt his old aunt.’
But William didn’t come.
Following yet another supper of bean soup Agnes went to bed, muttering under her breath about his inconsiderate behaviour. ‘Gone off somewhere to kick up his heels after his release, I’ll be bound.’
Susannah said nothing but she thought it unlikely that William would have gone to a tavern or a bawdy house. In any case, even if he had gone pleasure-seeking, surely Jennet would have come with news? As time passed, she began to be very afraid he might have succumbed to the pestilence right at the end of his quarantine.
The sun set and the severity of the fire became more apparent. The usually black night sky was lit by the fires burning in the city, whipped up by the brisk east wind.
Susannah went to bed and tried to sleep but her mind was running over what she would say to William when he finally arrived. She fell into an uneasy doze but when she was woken by Beth’s cries she saw no sign that the conflagration was burning itself out.
The following morning Agnes stayed in her room. ‘You can call me as soon as William deigns to arrive,’ she said. ‘I dare say he may have a sore head from the ale house and I shall give him the sharp side of my tongue to add to his troubles.’
Susannah hoped Agnes was right. She would have preferred to know that William was in a drunken stupor in a gutter somewhere rather than stricken down with the pestilence.
To pass the time, Susannah washed her hair, rinsing it with rose-water. She sat in the garden to dry it in the sunshine. If, when, William did come she would at least be sweet-smelling. Daydreaming, she watched Beth, who lay on a blanket beside her, gazing at the roses dancing in the breeze.
Something drifted down onto the baby’s face and Susannah hurriedly wiped it away, only for it to be replaced. She looked up and saw that the darkening sky was snowing flakes of ash. The smell of smoke was becoming stronger, too. Concerned that it would be harmful for Beth, she took her inside.
William still did not come.
Later, Susannah leaned out of the window to survey the activity in Whyteladies Lane, which reverberated with the grind of cartwheels on the cobbles and a continual stream of hurrying people laden with packs.
She called down to John Fuller. ‘Will you catch one of the street boys and send him to give a message to Dr Ambrose?’
‘If I see one I’ll do so,’ said John, ‘but everyone from the city is on the move. The street children are earning their keep in carrying goods away from the fire.’
‘Is it worse, then?’
‘Raging, it is. It’s burning out of control up northwards now. Cannon Street, Lombard Street and Threadneedle Street are all afire!’
‘Can’t they put it out?’
‘The Duke of York’s got people pulling down the houses to make a firebreak but the wind and the heat’s so great there’s no stopping the sparks from jumping half a street away. I tell you this: if it can’t be contained the whole city will burn. I’ve got family in Cheapside and it’s coming too close for comfort.’
> Disquieted, Susannah retreated to the attics.
Phoebe took her hand and pulled her to the window, where Joseph stood on a chair looking out over the rooftops.
The Thames was crowded with boats and barges, all heavily laden with people and their possessions. The river was bobbing with barrels, baskets and makeshift rafts.
Susannah saw a woman on a small boat struggling to hold onto a pair of virginals perched on top of a teetering pile of furniture. An upturned table bumped into the boat and the virginals slid from her outstretched hands and slipped into the water.
A mass exodus was taking place.
Agnes tapped at the arm of her chair with fretful fingers and drove Susannah mad with her continual questions.
‘I don’t know, Agnes!’ she said at last, driven to exasperation. ‘But, yes, of course it’s possible that William or Jennet have been taken ill.’
‘If only we weren’t locked in here you could have gone to your father’s shop to find out what is happening.’
‘You know we can’t leave here for another week!’
Disturbed by her mother’s tone, Beth began to whimper. Susannah paced up and down the chapel with Beth on her shoulder, to soothe herself as much as the baby.
Although it was only late afternoon, the sky was darkened by a black cloud that blotted out the sun. Smoke weaselled its way into the house through any chink it could find and the smell of it clung to their clothes and hung in the air.
Phoebe carried in a tray of bread and soup and set it on the table. ‘I take baby while you eat?’ She took Beth from her mother’s arms and nuzzled the baby’s cheek. ‘We find Joseph. Come now, little one.’ She smiled at Susannah as she left.
‘You and Phoebe seem to have sorted out your differences,’ said Agnes.
‘Beth would have died if Phoebe hadn’t been there.’
‘And Joseph would have died if you hadn’t been there.’
Susannah hesitated but then decided to speak anyway, even if it was indelicate. ‘I wish you had told me that Joseph is Henry’s child.’
The Apothecary's Daughter Page 34
