The Apothecary's Daughter

by Julie Klassen

  “I saw her again today, Francis.”

  Francis paused. “Who—the red-haired angel?”

  My hair is not red, Lilly thought automatically. Russet brown or even ginger—the tawny brown spice—but not red. A moment later her cheeks were no doubt the very color she despised, for they were not speaking of her at all.

  Charlie nodded. “Up early she were. I hoped maybe she were coming here.”

  “Ah well. Plenty of other angels about the place, Charlie.”

  Francis did not walk out with them but instead turned to greet Miss Robbins and her parents.

  Once outside, Charlie put on a dingy hat. “I’d better to get back to Marlow House.”

  “Charlie, wait. Sit for a minute, will you?”

  He hesitated but allowed her to lead him to a bench in the churchyard and sat down beside her.

  She asked, “Do you not wish to return home and help Father and me?”

  He shrugged.

  “What is it, Charlie? Are you afraid? Has someone at Marlow House frightened you?” She resisted the urge to put her arms around him, to protect him from would-be bullies, as she had when he was a child.

  “No. I like it ’ere, I do. Mr. Timms is a bit gruff, but I am learning ever so much from him.”

  “But Father needs you. You do want to help Father, don’t you?”

  “I do. But—” Charlie lowered his head. His wrists protruded from the sleeves of his old Sunday coat. Just as his ankles showed between trousers and boots. An overgrown little boy. But this streak of stubbornness was something new.

  She forced a gentle tone. “I shall speak to Sir Henry, shall I? And explain?”

  Again he shrugged. “He won’t like it. And I don’t like to break my word.”

  She hesitated. “You’ve an official agreement, then? A contract of some sort?”

  “I’m an apprentice now, I am. Like Francis were.” He sat up a little straighter, clearly proud of the fact.

  Oh dear. That did complicate things.

  She asked Charlie to come home for tea at least. He agreed, but as soon as they entered through the garden gate, he was distracted by a new hornets’ nest hanging from the eaves near the back door. And there he sat. Lilly knew better than to try to cajole him while he was counting, especially objects in flight. She sighed. Maybe it was just as well. She could speak to Father alone first.

  Over tea, she asked her father about Charlie’s position.

  Her father nodded. “I’d heard they were looking for a lad. Told Charlie he might try for it.”

  “But why?”

  “I haven’t been able to look after him properly, Lilly. Shames me to say it, but there it is.” He rubbed a hand over his whiskered cheeks. “At least there I knew he’d not be wandering about the county, getting himself in some scrape or other with his strange ways and spying and I know not what.”

  “He does not mean to spy.”

  He waved her words away. “I know, but it does look it. Bedsley Priors has changed, Lilly. Lots of new people have moved here, some of them quite rough. Most don’t know how harmless Charlie is. He might be caught eavesdropping on some shady affair and pay a high price for it. I don’t so much mind if they say he’s off in his attic, but I could not bear to see any harm come to the boy.”

  “Of course not.”

  “At least at Marlow House he’s kept busy. And has regular meals, which is more than I can say here.”

  She pushed his plate of bread and jam nearer to him. “Go on.”

  He bit off a small morsel. “Mr. Timms took him on as an apprentice of sorts. Marlow waived the apprenticeship fee, in lieu of wages. Though he’ll start earning after six months’ time, and it’s been nearly three already.”

  “But surely now—”

  “I’d hate for him to break the contract. No telling what young Marlow might say to that. Might demand the forfeited apprenticeship fee since Charlie didn’t earn out his service, at least some settling up for room and board. It isn’t done, Lilly. It would look very bad if Charlie quit, especially without proper notice.”

  “But, perhaps if I talked with him.”

  “You are going to talk sense to Roderick Marlow?”

  “I meant Sir Henry.”

  “He leaves all of that to his son.” He lifted his cup with a shaky hand. “Sir Henry is in better health than I am at present. But during his last illness he gave up the running of things. Roderick Marlow is master of the estate for all intents and purposes.”

  “Well, even he can’t be devoid of all natural feeling. Once I explain the situation.”

  “And exactly how will you explain the situation?”

  “With great tact and discretion—you may depend upon it.”

  He shook his head. “I have no doubt you learned a fair dose of that in London, my dear. Go on then, but don’t take it to heart if he isn’t swayed.”

  She found Charlie still sitting beside the back door. “Charlie, I am going to see Mr. Marlow in a few minutes. See if we cannot work out some arrangement for a leave for you. Can you harness the gig, please?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”

  She stepped quickly across the mews to the coffeehouse. Mrs. Mimpurse and Mary were at the small kitchen table, enjoying a rare time of idle talk over tea.

  “Mrs. Mimpurse, I’m riding out to Marlow House to see about getting Charlie released from his contract. Can you stop by and check on Father in the next hour or so? I shouldn’t be gone long.”

  Mrs. Mimpurse looked her up and down. “You are going to Marlow House dressed like that?”

  Lilly glanced down at the plain morning dress she had put on after church. “It isn’t a social call. I merely wish to discuss business.”

  “Do you hope to sway Roderick Marlow with your words alone?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Mrs. Mimpurse shook her head. “Tut, tut, Miss Lilly. Has your time in London taught you nothing?”

  Two hours later, Lilly stood from her dressing table and pulled on her gloves. She wore one of her London gowns, a walking dress of jaconet muslin with lovely pink embroidery up the front and three flounces at the hem. Over it, she wore a cottage mantle of grey cloth lined with pink silk to cover the low neckline and provide some protection from the slight chill in the air. She had hoped to take care of her errand earlier in the day, but it had taken time to bathe and dress in her petticoat, stockings, and boned stays. Mary had come over to help tighten the stays and then remained to dress her hair. Now rich auburn curls showed at one temple beneath a straw gypsy hat trimmed with ribbon. Mary had wanted her to wear one boasting fruit or ostrich feathers, but Lilly would have felt too self-conscious driving through the village in either of those.

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Definitely,” Lilly allowed.

  “The worst he can do is say no.”

  Lilly drew in a breath. “Is it?”

  “And who could say no to you, looking as pretty as you do?” Mary hesitated, then added gently, “I know you and your father need help, but it wouldn’t be so bad if Charlie stayed there. I think he likes it.”

  “You are trying to comfort me, should I fail, I know. But I worry for Charlie. Would worry for anyone under such masters.”

  “But . . . Well, never mind,” Mary said and adjusted the curl nearest Lilly’s cheek one last time.

  Lilly descended the stairs and went out the back door, only to see Charlie sitting in the slanting rays of late afternoon sunlight, much as she had left him two hours before. She looked out into the mews but saw no sign of the gig.

  “Have you harnessed Pennywort to the gig?”

  “Wheel’s broke.”

  “Is it?” She bit back her frustration. “But you knew I was hoping to take it. You might have said so before.”

  “You’re only going to Marlows’. ’Tisn’t far.”

  She huffed. “Oh, very well. I shall walk.”

  “Shall I come along
?” He lurched to his feet. “ ’Ere’s a pretty red-haired lady about the place now. Wouldn’t mind clapping eyes on her again. All the lads say she’s gurt handsome. Even Francis.”

  Lilly wondered if the red-haired lady was the woman she had seen with Roderick Marlow in London. “Please stay with Father, Charlie. If he needs anything, run over and ask Mrs. Mimpurse.”

  “All right.” Still, he looked uncomfortable.

  “Come on, Charlie,” Mary said, joining them outside and clearly sensing his unease. “How about a game of draughts before I go?”

  Charlie looked up eagerly at this suggestion.

  Lilly smiled her gratitude at Mary, then let herself from the gate.

  Charlie was correct. Marlow House was not far. She had walked, even run that distance many times. But never in such fine dress, such delicate slippers, nor such tight stays.

  She walked rather stiffly, hoping her hair, piled high on her head beneath her hat, would stay within its pins.

  She approached Marlow House from the side and stopped abruptly. There, on the lawn, a man stood as still as a garden statue. She hesitated, then walked a few steps closer, staring at the man whose profile grew more familiar with each step.

  No doubt hearing her footsteps on the gravel path, the man turned to look in her direction. “I say, you gave me a start.”

  Roger Bromley, here? In Bedsley Priors? Though she felt awkward and uncertain of how he might react to her presence, she was pleased to see him. She had always liked the man. She smiled at him, cocking her head to one side. Feeling the weighty crown of curls shift dangerously in that direction, she quickly righted it again.

  “Miss Haswell?” Roger Bromley smiled in recognition and stepped to meet her. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  “Nor I you.”

  “What a pleasure.” He bowed to her and she curtsied. “I have just come out for some air and a respite from silly females. I did not know you were joining the house party.”

  “Oh . . .” she faltered. “I am not. I live here—in the village, that is.”

  “That’s right! I’d quite forgotten you were from the same rustic country as Marlow.”

  She took a breath, her anxiety rising at the mention of his name. Hoping to disguise it, she asked brightly, “Is Christina Price-Winters here?”

  “No. She is busy buying wedding clothes. Engaged herself to Stanton. Had you not heard?”

  Lilly shook her head. She had guessed Christina would not keep in touch. Still, it hurt that she had not written with such significant news.

  “But there are at least two others here of your acquaintance,” Mr. Bromley continued. “Toby Horton and Miss Whittier.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “Is it?”

  “Oh dear. Has she thrown you over again?”

  He eyed her wryly. “I would not say that, exactly, but yes, she has reverted to being quite cold to me.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. Perhaps you ought to invent another imminent engagement?” She bit back a smile. “Seemed quite effective the last time.”

  He laughed. “How deliciously forthright you are, Miss Haswell. I have missed you, though I know I have given little evidence of that.”

  “That is all right, Mr. Bromley,” she said, relieved to feel no sting of regret. “I had no reason to expect correspondence.”

  “That’s right, after throwing me over so heartlessly.” He smiled at her, a teasing light in his eyes.

  “Were you going in?” He offered her his arm.

  “I do not wish to interrupt.”

  “No harm. Dinner will not be served for some time.”

  She had just laid her hand on his offered arm when Susan Whittier stepped out onto the veranda.

  “Roger? I wondered where you had gone. Oh. Hello.”

  “You remember Miss Haswell, do you not?”

  “Yes. How do you do,” the pretty blonde said. “I did not know you would be joining us.”

  “I am not—”

  “Miss Haswell is neighbor to Marlow. Why do you think I was so eager to come to . . . Where are we again?”

  “Bedsley Priors.”

  “Bedsley Priors. Charming place.” He winked at Lilly.

  “Did you not find him?” The familiar voice of Roderick Marlow caused Lilly’s smile to fade. Her heart began to pound uncomfortably when he strode out onto the veranda in evening dress, his cravat and dark hair in elegant disarray.

  Susan Whittier said, “I did. But he is occupied, as you see, with your Miss Haswell.”

  Marlow turned to stare at her, dark eyebrows rising before lowering in perplexity . . . or was it annoyance? Lilly felt her cheeks redden.

  “My Miss Haswell?” Mr. Marlow repeated.

  “She is your neighbor, is she not?” Miss Whittier all but accused.

  He cocked his head, considering. “Well, I suppose she is. Miss Haswell, what a surprise.” He bowed.

  “Forgive me. I did not know you had guests.”

  “No matter. I did not mean it was not a pleasant surprise. You are most welcome. I had forgotten you had friends among us.”

  “We enjoy only a limited acquaintance,” Miss Whittier corrected. “Excuse me. I shall see you at dinner.” At that, the blond woman turned and marched away.

  Laying his hand over hers, Mr. Bromley escorted Lilly onto the veranda, where Mr. Marlow stood. There, Roger paused to beam down at her. “Miss Haswell quite broke my heart, Marlow. Did you not hear of it? She rejected me most cruelly.”

  “Did she?” Again Mr. Marlow’s dark eyebrows rose.

  Roger sighed dramatically. “Yes. But still, how pleased I am to see her again.”

  Feeling Mr. Marlow’s eyes on her, she rushed to say, “I only wanted to speak with you for a few moments. I shall come again another time.”

  “Nonsense. You must stay,” Roger insisted.

  “Yes, of course,” Marlow said politely. “Come, Miss Haswell.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall we speak in the library? Then you may rejoin your most ardent admirer.” Marlow cast a shrewd look at Roger Bromley. “Although I had hoped to win back my ten at whist.”

  “Another time, my friend.” Roger grinned. “Who desires gaming when such beauty is before us?”

  Lilly all but rolled her eyes.

  “Come, Miss Haswell.” Roderick Marlow opened the door for her with a flourish, as though welcoming the queen herself. Was he mocking her?

  Once they were closed in the library, Lilly swallowed, wondering if seeking privacy had been a good idea.

  Mr. Marlow remained standing but leaned back, propping himself against the edge of a massive desk, arms crossed. He dipped his chin, indicating a chair nearby. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

  She stepped closer but remained standing. “My brother, Charlie.” When he appeared not to apprehend her meaning, she clarified, “Your new undergardener?”

  “Ah, yes. Stedman mentioned something. In fact, he reported the lad was working out rather well. Is there a problem?”

  “Not a problem, exactly. But while I appreciate the offer of employment for him, Charlie is needed at home at present. Having both of us gone has left my father shorthanded, and there is much work to be done.”

  “Yes, I had heard something about Haswell’s falling into disrepair.”

  She bit back a defensive rebuttal. He was right, after all, but it hurt her pride to hear him say it so matter-of-factly. “Yes, well. I understand you waived an apprenticeship fee, but my brother is very conscientious and doesn’t want to break his contract, nor hinder his opportunities for future employment.” She was relieved when he didn’t ask why she was negotiating on her brother’s behalf. Was he aware of Charlie’s limitations?

  He straightened to his full height and waved her concerns away as though a midge before his face. “Think no more of it, Miss Haswell. I understand. I will speak to Stedman and to Timms. Your brother may return to your father’s shop without worry. He may even have a re
ference, if you like. And he will be welcomed back here, should the situation change and he is no longer needed at home.”

  She was stunned at how easily it was done. Was he really so kind, or simply eager to return to his guests? She had certainly asked at an opportune time.

  “Thank you, sir. That is most magnanimous.”

  He stepped to the door, opened it, and looked back at her. Her invitation to leave.

  She walked toward him but was surprised when he held out his arm. She looked up at him in question.

  “May I escort you to the dining room?” he asked.

  “But I . . . No. I did not intend nor presume . . .”

  He looked at her closely. “Did you really refuse Roger Bromley?”

  She took a deep breath. “I suppose I did. But only because I knew he loved another.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “And you believe people should marry for love, Miss Haswell?”

  “I do not know about all people, but I should.”

  “Shall we?”

  “Shall we what?”

  “Go in to dinner.”

  “Oh, of course.” Of course he’d meant dinner, not of course she would stay for it.

  Roger Bromley appeared in the corridor. “Enough village business. I’d hoped to escort Miss Haswell to the dining room.”

  “Too late, Bromley.” Marlow actually took her hand and laid it on his arm. “I am afraid you shall have to escort Miss Whittier and her chaperone instead.”

  Across the hall, Susan Whittier stood with a faded, weary-faced woman of fifty or so years. Susan looked rather vexed. “Has everyone forgotten me?”

  “There, there,” Roger soothed, striding across the room and offering his arm. She actually smiled and laid her hand on his sleeve. Roger looked at Lilly over his shoulder and winked again.

  Before she could protest further, Marlow was leading Lilly across the grand hall.

  From above, a flash of green caught her eye. She looked up and saw a woman gliding down the staircase in gleaming layers of emerald silk. Her bearing was elegant, her crown of red hair regal, her porcelain features flawless. Yes, this was the woman she had seen on Roderick Marlow’s arm at a London ball. How beautiful she was. Lilly felt horribly underdressed in her walking frock and straw bonnet.