The Apothecary's Daughter (15 page)

‘Did you tell me you were having a party?’

‘Of course I did!’

‘Oh. Well, did you save me some of the fricassee?’

‘No, I did not! And I doubt I shall ever make it for you again.’ She turned and ran back indoors.

Henry was often out past midnight. He was rarely home at all, except to accompany her to church on Sundays. This left Susannah
long, lonely evenings to read her precious books but sometimes the ticking of the clock seemed so loud in the silent house
that it unnerved her. She tried to stay awake for Henry’s return but he often crept in so late that she would only open one
eye as he slipped into bed beside her. On these occasions his breath invariably smelled of the alehouse and the heavy odour
of tobacco smoke clung to his hair. Sometimes he carried with him a faint perfume that reminded her of the orris root in her
father’s apothecary.

‘Must you go so much into public places, Henry?’ she asked one night when he came in after a late evening. She sat up in bed
and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘You put yourself at risk of contagion.’

‘All my business is conducted in the coffee shops and taverns,’ he said as he pulled his shirt over his head. ‘It’s hard enough
to drum up new business when so few people are abroad that I must take every opportunity, however late it is.’

‘But I worry about you, Henry.’

Henry yawned and kissed her cheek. ‘You are a dutiful wife, Susannah.’

Hesitantly she touched his arm. She so wanted him to notice her, to love her. ‘I do try to be,’ she said.

‘I believe you do.’ He climbed into bed beside her and kissed her perfunctorily on her cheek. ‘Go to sleep now.’ He turned
on his side and before two minutes has passed he had fallen asleep.

Susannah lay staring into the dark while she listened to Henry’s puffing breaths. What was the matter with her, she wondered?
She had at first refused to marry him because she was so terrified of the risk of bearing a child but now that he showed no
interest in his conjugal rights she was anxious that he found her ugly. As each day passed in waiting for Henry to come home,
it seemed that she was still waiting for her marriage to begin. As things were, she and Henry might have been mere acquaintances
who happened to live in the same house. What could she possibly do to change this?

Loneliness drove Susannah out of the safety of her home to brave the streets to visit Martha. The air was full of acrid smoke,
which made her cough as she hurried along with a handkerchief held over her nose. Flames leaped from the bonfires that had
been lit in the streets in an attempt to smoke out the pestilence. She couldn’t help wondering if they would all die of an
inflammation of the lungs before the plague was subdued.

Crowded so close together, the roofs of the houses appeared to lean inwards and, at eleven in the morning, the swirling smoke
turned day into twilight. Ash drifted down, settling upon her head and shoulders. She broke out in goose pimples at the thought
that the streets must resemble the landscape of hell. Passing the churchyard she was sure of it when she saw an open pit with
the bodies of the dead exposed for all to see. The sickly stench of corruption made her gag and she hurried over to the other
side of the street to escape it.

Martha, as neat as ever in a clean cap and starched collar, was nursing baby James when she arrived.

‘How fast he’s grown!’ said Susannah.

‘Mother’s milk,’ said Martha, her soft face glowing with contentment. She kissed the baby’s fat little cheek and propped him
up on her shoulder. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of sending him to a wet nurse so I insisted he stay at home with us.’ Her
expression was dreamy as she rocked the baby and patted his back. ‘But he’s grown so much he’ll barely fit into his christening
gown today, never mind next week.’

‘You’ll have to starve him until then,’ joked Susannah.

‘I’d hoped your new husband would have spared you for long enough to visit an old friend before now.’

‘I’ve missed you, Martha.’

‘Sit and tell me your news. How is married life?’

‘I hardly know yet. Keeping such a large house takes up most of my time. It’s rather more grand than necessary for two people.’

‘And how is Henry?’

‘Very well.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Susannah! The Lord intended married love to be a comfort. How do you find him
as a husband
?’

‘Oh, that. He is no trouble to me. What more can I say?’

Martha pursed her lips. ‘Well, I hope he’s a comfort to you. And you to him.’

‘He works hard and I make sure there is always a good supper ready for him when he comes in.’

‘So now you can order your own home and time.’

‘Oh yes, I have plenty of time! Henry’s importing business is built upon the acquaintances he makes in the coffee houses and
the Exchange. He’s often away from home and I find the evenings very long. There is nothing to do but listen to the passing
bell and wonder if the person who has died is someone I know.’

‘You need more company, Susannah. Perhaps you’d like to come and take your supper with us sometimes?’ The baby hiccuped and
Martha wiped a dribble of milk from his mouth.

‘May I hold him?’

Martha kissed his velvety forehead. ‘Will you go to your godmother, James?’ The baby gave a contented burp. ‘And who knows,’
said Martha as she handed him to Susannah, ‘perhaps you’ll have a baby of your own to keep you company before long.’

Susannah cradled the baby’s little head in her hand and tried not to weep. Would it ever be possible for her to have a child?

Dusk was falling when the sound of the door knocker made Susannah start awake. She heard footsteps echoing across the hall
floor below and, by the time she had straightened her shawl and picked up the book which rested on the arm of her chair, the
drawing-room door was opening.

‘Dr Ambrose for you, madam,’ said Peg.

‘Mistress Savage.’ William Ambrose took her hand. ‘I came to see my cousin but I understand he is not at home.’

‘He is rarely home, I’m afraid,’ said Susannah.

‘I merely called to pass the time of day.’

‘Then perhaps you will take some refreshment?’ She placed her book upon the side table, glad to have someone to talk to. ‘Peg,
bring up a jug of wine and the best glasses.’

‘Yes, madam,’ said Peg, scurrying off to the kitchen.

‘You need not impress me with the best glasses,’ said Ambrose.

‘Indeed not,’ said Susannah. ‘But Peg is very young and inexperienced. She must be taught the correct way of doing things.
Please, sit down.’

William Ambrose’s mouth turned up, just a little, at the corners. ‘I’m pleased you feel no need to stand on ceremony with
me. So, where is Henry tonight?’

‘Who can say? The Star coffee house, probably. Or the Stag or the Crown and Cushion, perhaps. He makes his rounds of them
all, talking up business wherever he can.’

‘I see. I’m pleased he’s working hard to make a success of his new venture. It will be difficult for him as the sea trade
is so curtailed at present.’

‘He curses the war with the Dutch but tells me he is working on promises. Promises that when the ports are open to all he
will be able to deliver the goods ordered. It seems that the Dutch are stealing our trade since the British aren’t welcome
everywhere in case they bring the pestilence.’

‘Then we must live in the expectation that the present crisis will soon be over.’

‘And you? You must be fully occupied with so many sick?’

‘Many of my patients have died.’ He rubbed his eyes and Susannah noticed how tired he looked. ‘The plague presents in so many
different ways: an ague, a burning fever, a headache or a fit of giddiness. These are all symptoms of other, lesser illnesses
and throw people into a fit of the panics if they so much as cough. But then, if it is the plague, sometimes a whole family
is carried off in a matter of hours. And then another, who is very ill, recovers just when you think he is past hoping for.’

‘My maid lost her whole family. I wonder if she will ever be able to forget the shock of it.’

‘She will not be alone in that.’ He said no more then as Peg brought in the wine and placed it on the table.

‘Poor child,’ he said, after she had gone. ‘I have observed that the sickness takes its strongest hold where many of the poorer
sort are
all crowded together. They live in squalor side by side with the rats and there is never enough food.’

‘Are you not afraid?’ asked Susannah.

Ambrose was silent for a moment. ‘What thinking person would not be?’

‘And yet you still tend to the sick?’

‘Someone has to help them. And I wear my thick cloak and the beaked mask when I go to the houses that have been shut up and
give my advice through the window. If I tended the sick directly I’d have to stay in quarantine and then I couldn’t help the
others.’

‘I know that some of the sick pay a nurse to look after them.’

Ambrose made an expression of disgust. ‘Often no more than a homeless old woman without medical knowledge seeking to make
her fortune, I fear.’

‘But I suppose that is more use than nothing?’

‘Not if she murders her patients.’

‘Murders them!’ ‘I have seen cases where the nurse waits for the sick to die and then steals their treasures. Who knows if
she helps them to meet their Maker faster than He intended?’

Susannah shook her head in disbelief. ‘The world is no longer the safe place I once thought it.’

‘You only have to look in the streets to see that. But let us talk of more cheerful things. How is your father?’

‘Busy. I fear his apprentice still has a great deal to learn.’

‘He will notice your absence in the dispensary.’

‘And I do so miss my work.’

‘But your work now is to keep house for Henry.’

‘Yes.’ She restrained herself from saying that it seemed something of a waste of time keeping house for a man who was rarely
there. She changed the subject. ‘When he was young, Father wanted to be a doctor, like you.’

‘I believe he would have made an excellent physician.’

‘Sadly, it was not to be. After my grandfather died, Father was adopted by a wealthy cousin, who had no heir. This cousin
intended
to send him to Italy to study at the university in Siena but then his wife gave birth to a son. She was forty years old and
had been childless during twenty years of marriage so it seemed like a miracle.’

‘And your father did not go to Siena?’

‘No. It was a great disappointment to him. The cousin decided to reserve his fortune for his new heir and it was much less
expensive for Father to train as an apothecary.’

‘And he is well respected in his profession by all who know him.’ Ambrose glanced at Susannah’s book on the table beside her.
‘May I see what it is you are reading? A romantic novel, I suppose?’

She picked up the heavy tome and offered it to him.

‘Oh!’ Ambrose’s eyebrows shot up. Hooke’s
Micrographia
. What led you to read a work such as this?’

‘Father and I went to one of Hooke’s lectures at Gresham College. This book is a marvellous and fascinating thing. Do unfold
the illustrations! Hooke used an instrument called a microscope which magnifies objects to many times their natural size and
then he was able to capture them in the minutest detail. Just look at that drawing of a louse! Have you ever
seen
anything so remarkable?’