The Apothecary's Daughter

by Julie Klassen

  “I have it on good authority that givin’ a person the wrong medcine is a crime, Miss Haswell, no matter the old ghel’s age. And seein’ how it might yet lead to her death, can ye deny it?”

  “No. Of course it is wrong. And I do not expect all consequences to be waived. But it is my fault, the shop is my responsibility.”

  “Is it now? Might yer father have sumat to say about that?”

  “Father is recovering from an illness, Mr. Ackers. In his stead, I have temporarily assumed responsibility. It was I who filled the pill bottle and I who left the wrong pills in proximity to the first. Charlie was only the delivery boy.”

  “Yer telling me you put the wrong pill in ’er bottle?”

  She swallowed. “Well. Not actually physically put it there, but in effect, by my negligence, yes.”

  “And who actually, physically, put it there?” A dark glint lit his eyes.

  She changed tack. “Am I to be brought before the magistrates, Mr. Ackers?”

  “Might come to that, aye. Need to hold ’im till the next quarter session in Devizes. Though in yer brother’s case, I’m thinkin’ the JPs might forgo county gaol or transportation.”

  “Oh?” Tentative relief sprouted within.

  “I understand there are places for imbeciles like Charlie. Where he’d be kept safe and do no harm to others.”

  Relief quickly withered. “He is not an imbecile, and he does no harm to others now!”

  “I’ve got a woman courtin’ death who just might jarl with’ee. If she lives, that is.” He smirked at his macabre joke.

  Suspicion filled her. She narrowed her eyes at the man, her head tilted to one side. “How would you know about such institutions? Dr. Foster put you up to this, did he not?”

  “I may have asked the man’s advice. But I act on my own authority. Maybe I ought to take ye both in till we get this sorted out. Fisherton Anger has a women’s prison too.”

  “No!” The vehemence of Charlie’s shout startled her and the broom handle cracked to the floor. “Lilly did nofing wrong. Never has. It was me what done it, Mr. Ackers. Don’t know how, but must have done. Leave Lilly be.”

  “That’s to yer credit, Charlie. I daresay there might be a jobbet of man in’ee after all.”

  As Charlie stepped forward, Lilly took his arm. “Charlie, no.”

  “Lilly?” Her father appeared in the doorway, fatigue and concern in his eyes.

  “He’s taking Charlie!” Her voice rose. “To the blind house.”

  “It’s all legal, Haswell,” Ackers said. “I’ll be holdin’ ’im till a hearing is set.”

  Father slumped against the doorjamb. “Take me, then, Ackers. It is my shop, after all.”

  “Don’t look to me like ye can barely stand, let alone stand trial. Weren’t even in the shop the day it happened, now were ye?”

  “I . . . don’t know. When was it?”

  Lilly answered quietly, “You were abed all day, Father.”

  “Seems every Haswell’s in an awful hurry to bear the blame,” Ackers said. “Would ye rather I locked yer ghel in the blind house, Haswell? We’ve only the one drunkard presently—might not go too hard on her.”

  “Of course not, man.”

  “It’s all right, Father,” Charlie said. “I don’t mind. Mind less if ’ere were windows.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be a blind house, now would it?” The constable turned harsh eyes on Lilly. “Not an imbecile, innum?”

  Her father launched himself from the threshold but stumbled and nearly fell, barely managing to take hold of the dispensing counter for support.

  Lilly ran to help him, and Ackers took advantage of the diversion. He grasped Charlie’s arm and led him from the shop without interference. He wasn’t violent but did stride rapidly, pulling gangly Charlie along behind him like a floppy fish on a line.

  Trying to hold her father upright, Lilly called, “Charlie!”

  Her brother looked back over his shoulder. “Take care of Jolly. And tell Mary, so she don’t fret where I’ve gone.”

  “I’ll come as soon as I can!” But the door was already closed, shop bell jingling, and she knew he could not have heard her.

  Her father slipped lower, and taking his arm, she helped him onto the surgery cot without injury. She knelt beside him, dread filling her anew at the sight of his grey face and trembling limbs. “Are you all right?”

  He fell back against the pillow. “So detestably weak . . .”

  Indeed he seemed worse than ever. And now Charlie imprisoned—what a double blow this was! Covering her father with the lap rug, she tried to keep the panic from her voice. “What will they do to him? Will he be whipped? Put in an institution? Transported?”

  “I do not know. Which is the least of evils? Which should we pray for?”

  She noted his rare mention of prayer, and knew he must feel as desperate as she.

  “A miracle. We need another Wiltshire miracle.”

  Grief and fear overwhelmed her. Tears streaming down her face, Lilly bolted from the shop. Her first impulse was to run to the arms of Mrs. Mimpurse and Mary, but she knew they were visiting Maude’s sister in Wilcot. She thought of running up Grey’s Hill, but for once the thought of its wild loneliness didn’t draw her. She felt too alone already.

  As she dashed through the village, the quiet churchyard called to her. She paused at its gate, then turned and walked up the stone path to the old church. The door creaked in her hands as it opened to the dim, quiet interior. She entered slowly, her boot heels disturbing the silence and echoing against the limestone walls. There seemed no one about, and that suited her. It was not a mere human’s presence she sought. She stepped through the nave and into the chapel.

  She sat in the front pew, where Haswells had sat for a hundred years. Where her mother had once sat in her fine frocks and plumed hats, and her father in his dark blue Sunday coat, Charlie on his lap, little eyes staring at the stained glass, counting the individual panes, no doubt. How long ago it seemed since they had all sat there as a family. They would never do so again.

  Lilly fell to her knees on the stone floor, driven there by losses of the past . . . and by probable losses of the near future.

  Oh, Lord, please spare my brother and father. I have already lost my mother. I cannot bear to lose them as well. . . .

  How long she stayed like that, on her knees, head bent and eyes closed, she could not say. Vaguely, she heard a door open, footsteps echo in the nave, and the clank of something metallic. But the sounds took several seconds to fully register. When she came to herself with a start, embarrassed to be found in such a humble position, she tried to quickly rise. Only to realize she could not.

  “Lilly?” a surprised voice asked.

  The chapel seemed completely dark at first, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw the faint glow of a lantern or candle somewhere nearby.

  Her discoverer knelt before her. Francis.

  “Lilly!” Concern sharpened his voice, though it was still hushed in that reverent place. “Here, let me help you up.”

  “I am afraid my legs have fallen asleep. I cannot feel them.”

  He took her hands to pull her up but hesitated, holding her fingers more tightly. “Your hands are chilled!” He released them to grasp her arms. “A little at a time, all right?” Gingerly, slowly, he helped her up onto the bench. As he did, she realized the clank she had heard must have been the sound of a lantern being set hastily on the floor. Its light flickered dimly down the aisle.

  “Here now, let’s get some life into those limbs.” He rubbed her hands, first briskly, then kneading them more deeply.

  “My knees—”

  She’d only meant to comment on how strange they felt, numb yet prickling with pins and needles at the same time. But Francis took her words as plea and began working on her knees as well, massaging her estranged appendages. Though his touch was professional and her modesty secure beneath her sturdy kerseymere frock, still the act felt unquestion
ably intimate. His administrations at first intensified the pain, but gradually the pins faded and warmth spread through her.

  He returned his attention to her hands. “Still cold.”

  She allowed him to caress and knead her hands, sudden tears pricking her eyes. How nice to feel cared for. An old memory unwound itself in her mind’s eye—her father cupping her little face with both palms. “Patient has no fever, but suffers a fatal case of good looks and freckles.”

  “Here.” Francis dropped her hands and leapt to his feet. She missed his touch immediately.

  He hurried down the aisle, retrieved his lantern, and sat beside her again. “Warm your hands over this.”

  She eagerly complied.

  While she did so, he said, “May I ask what brings you here tonight? Your father?”

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes anew. “And Charlie . . .” She told him about the constable taking him away and her father’s recent collapse. She felt more than saw him grimly shake his head in the dim light, her hands masking much of the lantern’s glow.

  Setting the lantern on the floor before them, he pulled off his coat and laid it over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth and lingering aromas of herbs and woodsmoke. He took her hand in his once more. “All right if I pray for you?”

  She hesitated. “Now?”

  He nodded.

  “Aloud?”

  He pursed his lips. “Unless you’d prefer to read my thoughts?”

  She bit her lip. “Very well.”

  Francis bowed his head, the lantern light glimmering on his profile. When had his jaw become so square, and hints of a beard begun to show at the end of day?

  “Gracious Father, please look with compassion upon the Haswell family. Have mercy upon Charlie in his present danger. Relieve the pangs of Mr. Haswell’s disease, and avert from him all lasting harm. Give Lilly strength to bear these afflictions, and comfort them all. Grant this for the sake of our blessed Saviour, in whose holy name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Lilly echoed softly, warmed by his words, lofty yet so sincere. She felt a new flutter of hope lift her spirits.

  She soon became self-conscious, sitting so close to Francis in the dark, quiet place. Gently pulling her hand from his, she straightened and looked up at the chancel, shadowy in the flickering light. She asked lightly, “Have you not enough of this place on the Sabbath?”

  He leaned back against the pew. “Well, with all the page turning and hymn singing and sermon listening—of which I approve, don’t mistake me—little time remains for quiet reflection.”

  “Could you not do that in your lodgings? Now that the roof is repaired, I mean.”

  He laughed softly. “I attempt it. But as well as Mr. Shuttleworth and I get on, it is tiring to be always in the society of one’s employer. And, well . . . the man does love to sing. Often. And with great enthusiasm.”

  Lilly chuckled. “Most men would flee to the Hare and Hounds or the coffeehouse.”

  “No doubt. But I cannot afford to go every night like Mr. Shuttleworth is wont to do. I keep a few eggs, bread, and cheese in the larder and do well enough on my own most meals.”

  “You seem quite concerned about money, Mr. Baylor. Is Mr. Shuttleworth not fair in your wages?”

  “He is more than fair. I . . . well, my wages are not for spending.”

  “Then what?”

  He took a deep breath and shifted on the bench. “Let’s talk of something else.”

  “Very well. What do you reflect upon when you come here?”

  She felt him shrug.

  “Whatever is in my thoughts at the time. My father was such a man. He would always talk over his decisions before he made them.”

  “With your mother?”

  “With her as well. My father was a North Somerset fisherman. He always said if the apostles needed the Lord to tell them where to cast their nets, then he could do no better than to ask the Almighty for direction as well.” As the echo of his words faded, he looked over at her. “Do you feel ready to stand now?”

  “Of course.” She rose tentatively, and he took her hand, deftly moving it to his arm for support.

  “I shall walk you home.” He picked up his lantern.

  “What of your time of quiet reflection?”

  “Oh, I think I came here for a different reason tonight.”

  As they stepped out into the churchyard, she studied his profile in the moonlight. “Are you really so changed?” she asked.

  “I hope I am more responsible than I was as a lad, but that is only to be expected.” He walked beside her up the High Street. “You know, a decade ago, had a young man and woman been seen coming out of a dark building alone together . . . why, their parents would have seen them married by morning.”

  “Do not fret, Mr. Baylor,” she said on a laugh. “No one will force you to the altar.”

  “I was not fretting in the least.”

  His tone was perfectly serious, and she felt oddly disoriented as their light banter fell away, replaced by an awkward silence.

  He cleared his throat. “But I . . . understand that may soon be another man’s privilege.”

  She let the comment fade away. It would be indiscreet and premature to confirm such a presumption. Dr. Graves had moved from London to be near her, had he not? She was grateful he was not pressing her with a declaration, instead giving her time to help her father, to see him well again. And now to help Charlie too. She was fond of Francis, but could not let him distract her from a gentleman like Dr. Graves.

  When they reached Haswell’s, Francis said, “I will continue to pray for you and every member of your family, dispersed as they are.” He squeezed her hand. “I will also see what can be done.”

  I once was lost, but now am found,

  Was blind, but now I see.

  —JOHN NEWTON, AMAZING GRACE, 1772

  CHAPTER 40

  The blind house was like a round, windowless granary with a cone-shaped roof. Most villages in Wiltshire and surrounding counties kept such a building to temporarily confine wrongdoers.

  Lilly knocked on the locked door. “Charlie? Are you all right?”

  Hearing nothing, Lilly pressed her ear to the door. She heard a shuffle, then Charlie’s muffled voice. “ ’Tis awful dark, Lilly. Nofin’ to see.”

  “We shall get you out, Charlie. As soon as we can.”

  “Nofin’ to see . . .”

  At the distress in her little brother’s voice, she pressed her forehead to the wood, blinking back tears.

  “Try counting sounds, Charlie,” she said, injecting false calm into her voice. “Bird calls, passing horses. Whatever you hear, all right?”

  No response. Then a feeble, “All right . . .”

  Oh, God, Lilly prayed, this will not do. Please help us.

  “It is a medical matter. An apothecary matter,” Charles Haswell asserted, slowly shuffling across the surgery. “Perhaps we should suggest Ackers report it to the Society and let them dole out reprimand or consequence to me as they see fit.”

  “Would that satisfy Ackers?” Lilly asked, relieved to see her father on his feet. He had even felt strong enough to walk across the village that morning to speak with Charlie through the blind house door. Dr. Graves had given him sweet spirit of nitre, as Francis had suggested. The liquid preparation clearly had some effect, though it remained to be seen how long the improvement would last.

  “I don’t know. He’d like to get his own pound of flesh, I’d wager. Worse yet, if someone else is pulling his strings.”

  “Dr. Foster?”

  “Would not surprise me in the least.”

  She’d had the same thought. “Should I call on Mr. Ackers and suggest he refer the case to the Society?”

  Charles Haswell ran a weary hand over his stubbled cheeks. “Bill Ackers write a letter? I’d as soon believe the claims of a Cornhill quack.”

  Lilly was having her tea alone when Maude Mimpurse let herself in the kitchen door. She had bee
n incensed when Lilly had told her the news and had promised to see Charlie just as soon as she could get away.

  Over one arm Mrs. Mimpurse bore the straps of a worn leather market bag, in her free hand, a quart jar. A delicious smell of pastry and savory sauce emanated from the bag.

  Seeing Lilly eye her burden, Maude explained, “Two gurt meat-and-potato pasties and a jar of honey tea. Charlie’s favorite.”

  Lilly rose from the table. “But do you think Mr. Ackers will allow it?”

  Mrs. Mimpurse snorted. “You leave Billy Ackers to me.”

  Her father was in his surgery with Mr. Fowler. But even if she’d had to leave the shop unattended, Lilly would not miss this chance to see Charlie face-to-face.

  A quarter of an hour later, coat and blanket in arms, Lilly strode beside Mrs. Mimpurse as the woman marched smartly along the hedgerow. Lilly kept up easily, but Bill Ackers—whom Maude had cajoled from his smithy—trudged begrudgingly behind.

  “Do keep up, Billy. These pasties won’t stay warm forever.”

  Reaching the blind house first, Maude and Lilly waited for the constable to catch up. “Do hurry, Billy. My coffeehouse won’t run itself.”

  “My smithy either,” he grumbled. Taking out a pair of old heavy keys, Bill Ackers unlocked the blind house door. “Step back, Charlie,” he called gruffly.

  Incredulous, Maude said, “As though a lamb like Charlie would run away? Really, Billy.”

  “All right. Hand ’im ’is supper.”

  “Indeed I will not. Why can he not sit here in the sunlight and eat his meal with dignity?”

  “He’s not on holiday, mum.”

  “Nor is he an animal. Come out, Charlie. I have a nice supper for you.”

  Charlie emerged from the darkness and hesitated at the threshold, eyes squinting. Lilly’s heart ached to see it.

  “Poor love!” Mrs. Mimpurse tutted. “You come out nice and slowlike, Charlie. No hurry.”

  Bill Ackers sighed.

  Glancing shrewdly at him, Mrs. Mimpurse handed him one of the pasties. “For your trouble, Billy.”

  Four days later, when the post came, Lilly received two letters. One was an all-too common request for payment, but the second set her palms to perspiring.