The Pharmacist's Wife

by Vanessa Tait

  And so, once again, Rebecca kept vigil, as the night closed in on them both. She lay on the daybed with a blanket thrown over her, whilst Alexander paced, wrung his hands, pressed his arms to the glass, and sobbed.

  Even so she must have fallen asleep because in the darkest part of the night he shook her awake.

  ‘I cannot do it! I cannot take it after all!’ A white speck was lodged in one corner of his lips. ‘There must be another way.’

  ‘There is no other way,’ she said, rubbing one eye and pulling up her blanket. ‘Alexander – this is part of the sickness. You must let it go. The quicker you lose hope of salvation the quicker you will accept your condition, and the quicker you will move on. Can you not rest?’

  ‘Rest? No, I cannot tolerate lying down even.’

  Rebecca sighed. ‘I will read a little to you, if you like. It is a means to pass the time.’

  So she picked up the first book that she brought from the shelf – Charlotte Riddell, The Race for Wealth – and read him that, as he paced the room and sighed, and wrung his hands, and drew back the curtains, gazing out into the blackness.

  As it was just after Christmas the nights were very long, and this one longer than any Rebecca could remember. But somewhere in the early morning he asked her kindly enough to stop reading and leave him to his thoughts, so she went up to her bedroom and slept.

  Her eyes were very dry, but there would be some drops for it at the pharmacy. P’raps it would be a slow day, and she could sit down. But as soon as she arrived Lionel pulled her to the back of the shop.

  ‘Mr Badcock came, yesterday, as I was closing up. I met him at the door and managed to persuade him to leave. He wanted you, I think. He said he would return, in any case, today. What should I do? P’raps we ought to put up the shutters for the day.’

  The thought of closing was tempting. Her temples throbbed. But she said: ‘I think we cannot. If not today, he will only come back on another day and we don’t want to lose business for him. P’raps we ought to have a boy ready to run for the constable, though, if we need it.’

  But before she could send for any boy they heard the sound of the bell jangling on its arm, and the door flung open, and a heavy breath.

  ‘What shall we do?’ said Lionel.

  ‘I will deal with him,’ said Rebecca, coming to the front.

  ‘What is the maid doing here?’ asked Mr Badcock.

  ‘Jenny is working here now,’ said Rebecca. ‘Jenny, the white powders need to be written up, in the back. Can you do it?’

  Jenny stared at him. ‘But he can do nothing to me now!’

  ‘But best to go to the back.’

  Jenny stood staunchly, with her arms crossed. ‘Jenny!’ Rebecca said again.

  ‘He has got even more foul; I didn’t think it possible,’ said Jenny, but she turned away as Rebecca had asked, to the back.

  ‘Does Alexander know that you women are running the pharmacy?’

  ‘He takes no more interest in the place,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Yes, since you ruined him, hmmm?’

  Mr Badcock, too, was changed. He was fatter, but he had not yet visited his tailor to tell him of it. The buttons of his jacket gaped, his shirt no longer covered his belly, leaving a wedge of bare skin above his waistband. ‘Don’t forget, will you, that the pharmacy belongs to me.’

  Rebecca paled. ‘The pharmacy belongs to Alexander. You own what is made in it, I understood. What do you want here?’

  ‘I only want what is mine.’

  ‘The pharmacy?’ She glanced outside. He had not brought a cart. Some new stock was still behind the counter, hidden. If she stood in front of it she may prevent him taking that at least. Much of Gabe’s money had been used up in the buying of it.

  But Mr Badcock came towards them. ‘It is mine, and I will have it!’

  ‘It is not all yours!’ Rebecca said desperately. If he took all her new stock she would be ruined. She ran to stand between him and the counter but he put out his arm and shoved her aside.

  Then Lionel ran to him and pulled him on the arm with both hands. ‘I ought to have said this before – you are a disgusting pig-headed tramp!’ But Mr Badcock only shook the boy off with a grunt and Lionel stumbled onto the floor, still cursing.

  Mr Badcock passed them both now. He was making, as Alexander had, for the laboratory.

  ‘The salts! He wants the salts!’ said Rebecca. ‘But there are none.’

  She climbed the stairs, two at a time. ‘You will not find what you are looking for, not here,’ she called after him. ‘Not here, not anywhere!’

  Through the open door she saw that a chair had been pushed back from the table and had fallen on its back. Several candles had burned down to their wicks, the wax was spilt all over the tin candle-holders. A glass bottle with a metal tap on the top had been caved in, the glass pieces still strewn around it.

  ‘Last time I came ’twas all lined up, just here.’ Mr Badcock pointed with a fist to the shelf. ‘Here. And now nothing, hmmm? Nothing!’ He wheeled round to face Rebecca and came towards her, his hands out in front of him as if he would grab her by her collar. ‘You know, wee wifey! You must have sneaked some away for yourself. You can never be free of it, you know, not once you have tasted it. Evangeline taught us that.’

  ‘It is not here, or anywhere. Alexander was looking for it yesterday.’

  ‘Alexander? That is good, then. He may have made some more, and then we will get it to the patent office, as we planned.’ Mr Badcock lifted his hat and scratched his head. Then he turned and trod down the staircase, shaking bits of dust free from under it as he went.

  ‘I am going to follow him,’ said Lionel.

  ‘Whatever for? Let him go!’

  ‘He is going to Mr Palmer’s – to your house.’

  ‘What will he do there? He is not in his right mind. Alexander has no more salts.’

  ‘I think he may damage the place. We may need to call the constable after all.’

  Rebecca worried at her lip. ‘You are right. He must be followed, but not by you, by me. I must see that he does not throw a chair at the parlour wall, or break the china, when he finds there are no salts there either.’

  ‘You are not going on your own.’ Lionel was already pulling on his cap. ‘Anything may happen.’ Jenny had come out again, her cheeks flushed. ‘Jenny, dearest – stay here. And if we are above an hour, call the constable.’

  It was a mild day for January but they went on at such a pace that Rebecca’s neck was prickling under her cloak by the time they arrived at Albany Street.

  ‘No need to hang on the bell, I will open it,’ she said at the door.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Mr Badcock said. ‘This is my business. Nothing to do with you, either of you.’

  ‘It is my house,’ said Rebecca. ‘I do not want you in it. But if you must go in, I will be there.’

  ‘Your house? I think you will find the house belongs to your husband. And why are you here, boy? It was a mistake ever to take you on; Alexander saw that from the first, and I,’ he laughed incredulously, ‘I was your supporter. But, never mind that now.’

  ‘I am here to protect Mrs Palmer,’ said Lionel.

  Mr Badcock laughed again. ‘You – skin and bone, hmmm, a protector of women? Just like the last time, yes? Last time I seem to remember you only stood and watched.’

  Lionel paled.

  The cook was in the hall, a plate in her hand. When she saw Mr Badcock she put it down and smiled, showing her crooked teeth. ‘Mr Badcock! I wasn’t expecting it to be you. How well you look.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bunclarke.’ He slid his eyes over to her. ‘As are you.’

  Mrs Bunclarke pinked.

  ‘Is Mr Palmer here, by any chance, hmmm?’

  ‘He is upstairs, in his room,’ said Mrs Bunclarke, lifting her chin and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘He ate a great deal of breakfast.’

  ‘That is good to know, Mrs B,’ said Mr Badcock, turning f
or the stairs.

  As she went to follow him Rebecca saw a blur go by at the side of her vision. And then a crack. Mr Badcock staggered back, his hand covering his jaw. ‘What the devil—’

  ‘Oh, sir!’ cried Mrs Bunclarke. ‘Why you little varmint—’

  But Lionel was on his toes, his fists out in front like a boxer. ‘You bastard,’ he said. ‘That is for Jenny. And so is this.’ He hit him again.

  Mr Badcock fell to his knees. ‘Oh!’ he cried. ‘Oh! I am abused!’

  Lionel was readying himself again but Rebecca stood in front of him: ‘Not now, not here – Lionel!’

  Mrs Bunclarke rushed over and pulled a filthy handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘Here now, Mr Badcock, we shall have you right in a moment.’

  ‘How it stings,’ Mr Badcock cried. ‘Oh, send for a doctor!’

  Lionel was shaking. ‘I am sorry, Mrs Palmer. But I—’

  ‘I know! I understand. But not now. Not here,’ Rebecca gestured around the hall. ‘Aren’t we here to prevent this kind of thing?’

  ‘Blood – look there!’ Mr Badcock held the handkerchief out to her; there was a spot on it. ‘I am undone – he has broken my jaw! I will have you arrested, I swear it. A boy, from the gutter! I rescued him, did you know that, Mrs Bunclarke, yes?’

  ‘I can well believe it, sir. ’Tis a crying shame to see a man such as you abused by a boy.’ Mrs Bunclarke turned to squint at Lionel. ‘Shall I call the constable now?’

  ‘Yes, do!’ said Mr Badcock.

  ‘But perhaps,’ Rebecca cut in, ‘we ought not to trouble a policeman with a domestic incident. He will want to know the background to it, and I’m sure Lionel will have a deal to say in his defence. Besides, the jaw is not broken,’ Rebecca went on. ‘You can talk quite well.’

  Mr Badcock sat for a moment more, nursing his cheek, then he got to his feet, leaning heavily on the cook. ‘P’raps you are right. But it is luck that it’s not, else I would have you in jail.’

  ‘Take a seat still, Mr Badcock, stay a while!’ said the cook.

  ‘I cannot, Mrs Bunclarke, I cannot! For I am come here on important business, which cannot wait.’

  ‘Mr Palmer, is it, sir? You will find him in his bedroom. I tend to him there, every day.’ She turned to stare at Rebecca. ‘I am the only one he can bear to see.’

  When Mr Badcock got to the door, he found it closed, as usual. ‘Alexander! Hey, Alexander, ’tis your old friend John. Let me in, now. Come now, let me in!’ He rattled the door handle.

  And now, to everyone’s great surprise, the door creaked open.

  ‘Alexander – I have come for our medicine.’

  He waited for a reply.

  ‘Alexander, I have come for the medicine. I know you have it.’

  This time Alexander did reply, but so quietly that neither Rebecca nor Lionel could hear. They both crept a little way up the stairs.

  ‘But surely you have it,’ said Mr Badcock. ‘Or can make it, come man!’

  ‘I can make it, but I will not,’ said Alexander.

  ‘Will not make it? But why?’

  Alexander shook his head and blinked slowly.

  ‘Do not tell me you too have turned against our medicine! Not like those women, those foolish women? No, not you!’

  Alexander blinked again, shook his head again.

  ‘It is the greatest medicine ever invented; the cure for every ill. The value of it is impossible to gauge. We only need to patent it and we will be rich!’

  ‘I have never cared about the money, you know that, John.’

  ‘But it is your life’s work! Never mind about the Society, that matters nothing! The thing, the medicine, the cure, will stand by itself, yes?’ Mr Badcock leaned heavily on the doorframe, still nursing his cheek. ‘Why, we need not even advertise it! Word will spread and we will have more people knocking on our door, and more chemists clamouring to order it by post, hmmm, than we can possibly make by ourselves!’

  Alexander made no answer, only stood at the door of his room looking over his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘Why, we will have factories, no? Hundreds of them, just making up our salts, and our liquids, and I dare say we could make it in other forms too! Powder, say – but you know all this, Alexander. And yet you stand here, looking like this.’ Mr Badcock came to a stop and raised his hands. ‘You do not look like yourself, man, I hardly recognize you! And you tell me you have no heroin and will make none. What has happened?’

  ‘What has happened?’ Alexander said at last, bringing his hand to his beard. ‘What has not happened, you had rather ask me.’ He stopped again and rubbed at it with his thumb. ‘My wife, in the devious way of women, worked some of the salts into my coffee, or tea, on the morning of the Society. That is why I was confused.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Mr Badcock.

  ‘But that gave me the idea, John – I would experiment on myself. Women are too sly and too weak. I would be the subject of my own experiment, just as Mr Davy had been the subject of his. And so I started, using controlled amounts, just as we had been, taking notes, just as we had been. And at first it worked very well. I was observing myself, whilst feeling the effects. No emotion, no impulse, was out of place. Everything was ordered, to the last degree.’

  ‘And there we have it, Alexander – the key!’

  But Alexander closed his eyes again, for a longer time. When he spoke again, Rebecca had to climb two more stairs to hear what he said.

  ‘But on the nineteenth day I found I must increase my dose to achieve the same effect—’

  ‘As we know already, but that only means greater sales, Alexander, as we discussed!’

  Alexander put up his hand. ‘With the increase in dose I noticed a tendency to slip away into the most fantastical dreams, or non-dreams rather. Such as real-life is, only with nonsense in it.’

  ‘Again, as we have observed, come now—’

  ‘Disturbing memories would surface, over which I had no control.’ Alexander closed his eyes again and seemed to shudder.

  ‘Surely, though, Alexander, they could not be that bad, hmmm?’ Mr Badcock brought his hands to the front of his belly as if he were praying. ‘Not to put our whole project, all our work – all my fortune now, my old friend – into jeopardy? Come now.’

  ‘Dark memories, black ones, which the medicine should have made better but only seemed to make worse.’ Alexander looked to the floor and rubbed his knuckle in his eye. ‘And then the greatest revelation. Only two days ago I experienced a craving.’

  Mr Badcock shook his head, as if to say again: We know this already!

  ‘The craving was unlike any I have ever encountered. Every part of my being was driven towards the syringe, and the medicine. Only there was none left, and unaccountably I had not thought to make more.’ Alexander passed his hand over his face again. ‘Most unlike me, but I can only explain it by saying I had fallen into a reverie and I believed there was another bottle of acetic anhydride in the laboratory. There was not.’ He raised his eyes to meet Rebecca’s. ‘In consequence, I passed a ghastly night – this last one, to be exact.’ He rubbed his nose and blinked, and sniffed, and looked away from them both.

  ‘Come now,’ said Mr Badcock, fainter.

  ‘Damn this!’ Alexander blinked more rapidly and three tears fell down his cheek. He wiped them away angrily but could not stop more from falling.

  Mr Badcock’s voice took on a wheedling tone. ‘I shall be ruined, Alexander, if we do not patent this heroin, hmmm? And you too – you too! All my money is sunk into the research!’

  ‘But do you not see? The foundation upon which we based our research is false! What seems to be governance evaporates into its opposite in the absence of the medicine. Acceptable perhaps, if it is only the women, who are more inclined to loss of control. But if it can affect men in the same way, then it is no good at all! We have already seen the effect of opium on the working man, and this is worse. A hundred times worse.’

  ‘But we mean to mark
et it to women, not to their husbands! Men will not feel the need—’

  ‘So I thought, before I had tasted it. But it is so sweet, and its power so seductive, that I fear everyone will want it, even men.’

  Mr Badcock wiped his lip. ‘If what you say is true, nobody need know, not yet, not until we have heroin patented and sold in every pharmacy in Britain, and America. It will take months, years even, for the truth to out. And it will still cure a cough – it is the best cure for that!’

  ‘Everything I have worked towards for all these years was based on error. I cannot go on with it. That is all.’ Alexander turned away and made to close the door.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Mr Badcock, clutching at his sleeve. ‘Alexander, I beg you, for a friend.’

  ‘No, John! I said that is all.’

  Mr Badcock’s face changed and grew red. ‘Damn you!’ he shouted in a high-pitched voice. ‘Go back to your whores, then. No wonder your wife betrayed you! She got the best of us, you know, and now you are letting her!’

  Alexander turned. ‘And you, John, to go bothering a maid, with all the dust from the hearth and the floor about her skin …’ He laughed disbelievingly. ‘I should never have thought it of a churchman.’ He turned again and shut the door with a click.

  ‘Fuck you, friend!’ Mr Badcock yelled. ‘Fuck you all. I shall make it myself! It cannot be too hard.’ He pushed past Rebecca, shoved Lionel away and knocked into Mrs Bunclarke’s shoulder before getting to the front door and slamming it hard enough to make the whole house shake.

  CHAPTER 33

  ‘And now he says he is leaving – to Canada, of all places!’ Rebecca and Gabe were in the pharmacy, putting up the shutters. The nights, little by little, were growing shorter, and the days longer. The lamps had not yet been lit outside.

  ‘Canada! What is there for him?’

  ‘A new life, that is what they say about the Americas, is it not?’

  ‘A new life? I have tried that! Good luck to him.’