The Apothecary's Daughter (14 page)

“Just promises. I have done a bit of study on the stuff. It contains
opium to be sure. Its aroma suggests rose, and something else…
He opened the bottle and offered her the cork. She leaned close and
sniffed gently.

“Rosemary,” she said. “And peony. I’d know that fragrance
anywhere.”

He raised his brows, impressed. “No wonder Lady Rutger enjoys
this restorative. Gets her foxed and fragrant all at once.” He grimaced.
“Forgive me, that was crude.”

“But likely true.” Lilly said. “You know, I believe I will trouble
you for some feverfew and willow bark pills while I am here. My aunt
suffers frequent headaches, and I have used nearly all the pills I brought
from home.”

“Of course. Though they will require a few minutes to prepare.”

“I am happy to wait.” She followed him to the back counter. “Have
you sea feverfew?”

“No, only corn and common, I’m afraid.” He glanced at her over
his spectacles. “I am surprised you know the varieties.”

“No matter. Common will do nicely. And white willow bark?”

“Very good.”

“My goodness,” Polly said. “You put this apothecary’s daughter
to shame.”

“Not at all, my dear.” Mr. Lippert assured her. Then to Lilly, explained, “Polly concentrates on the bookwork for me. She has no
head for herbs and I’ve no head for numbers.”

Lilly smiled. “Then you complement one another well.”

The man began retrieving simples and readying his tools. As he
worked Lilly noticed his gnarled, arthritic hands.

“I don’t suppose you would allow me. I never thought I’d miss it,
but … for old times’ sake? “

“Of course, my dear, if you wish. That I should like to see.” With
a flourish of his arm, he invited her into his domain.

Setting aside her reticule, Lilly stepped behind the counter. In
rapid motions she measured the powders and poured them into the
mortar Mr. Lippert provided.

“And for the binding? ” he asked.

“Vegetable gum, if you have it.”

He handed it to her. Deftly, she added the liquid and picked up
the pestle, turning and pressing. When the compound was the right
consistency, she transferred it to the work surface, rolled it, then placed
it across the grooves of an old gradated pill tile and cut the pills.

“She’s a dab hand, she is,” Polly said.

Mr. Lippert asked, “Talc, sugar, or silver coating?”

“Feverfew and willow bark are both terribly bitter,” Lilly
replied.

“Sugar it is.”

Using the flat blade, she scooped the coarse pills into the spherical
pill rounder, turning it to round the pills and coat them with sugar.
After pouring the pills onto a screen to siphon off the extra coating,
she scooped the finished pills into a packet.

“My goodness!” Mr. Lippert said. “If you were a lad, I would
offer you a post. Oh. No offense, my dear.”

She grinned. “None taken. But I should not accept a post in any
case. Those days are past for me.”

“I am relieved to hear it!” Polly said, but her smile indicated she
had felt not the least threatened by her father’s praise of Lilly.

“How much for the pills?” Lilly asked.

“Doesn’t seem right to charge you full price when you did the
work,” Mr. Lippert said. “Shall we say sixpence?”

“That is very generous. I can see why you are not the wealthiest
apothecary in the row but I venture you are the kindest.”

“Thank you, my dear. Please do come again.”

“Oh yes, do,” Polly said. “We close at four on Mondays. Come
for tea.”

“I should enjoy that. Thank you.”

Slipping her little parcel into her reticule, she bid farewell to Polly
and Mr. Lippert and left the shop, pausing once more to absorb the
familiar jingle of the shop bell.

Then she crossed the street to listen to the irregular doctor preach
his remedy.

The rotund man stood on a pallet near his cart. He lifted a paperlabeled brown glass jar before the small crowd gathered near. “Lady
Rutger’s Restorative. It restores the blood, balances the humours,
brightens the complexion, and eases the mind.”

“Does it balance ledgers?” a young dandy muttered sarcastically,
and Lilly bit back a smile.

She raised her gloved hand and called out, “May I ask a
question?”

The rotund man looked her way, eyes gleaming. “Of course, lovely
lady. I have nothing to hide.”

“What is the active ingredient?”

His eyes narrowed, but his smile widened. “Why? Do you plan
to open your own laboratory?”

The crowd laughed.

“Not I,” she said innocently.

“Of course not. A jest only. Well, miss, I would happily divulge
the ingredients active and binding, but I am afraid such knowledge
would be difficult to grasp. The world of medicine is the world of
learned men, scientists, physicians, masters “

“And which are you, sir?” the young dandy asked, thrusting his
walking stick at the man for emphasis.

The peddler paused, his smile stiffening. “All of the above, I
hope.”

Lilly added, “And where did you receive your training? “

“The school of life, miss. I have traveled the world, discovered
cures not yet known in England. I have treated patients in hut and
castle. Farm and court.”

“You speak very well, sir,” Lilly said in mock admiration. “I should
like to hear such a melodious, learned voice list the ingredients of Lady
Rutger’s Restorative.”

“The language of medicine is Latin, miss. Even if I listed the
materia medica, you would not understand.”

“Might I at least try?” she asked.

“Very well.” He spoke quickly and authoritatively, “This is a patented aromatic confection consisting of Rosar, Poeniae, Anthos, and
Bryonia dioica.”

He shuttered his brows and lifted one side of his mouth in a patronizing smirk.

She smiled sweetly in return and pronounced, “Or, in plain
English rosewater, peony, rosemary, and common bryony.”

His nostrils flared and his mouth slackened.

She felt the stares of the crowd around her but kept her own gaze
on the peddler. “In other words, plants these good people might find
in their gardens or hedgerows. Or they could purchase from, say,
Lippert’s Apothecary for a mere fraction of what you are charging.
Is that not so?”

The peddler stepped down from his pallet, stalked over, and
dipped his face close to hers. “I don’t know who you are,” he hissed.
“But you are coming dangerously close to irritating me. Who do you
work for? Old Mr. Lippert? Is this some last-ditch effort to save that
musty shop of his?”

She felt a prickle of fear and stepped back, but still projected her
voice. “I work for no one and have had the privilege of meeting Mr.
Lippert on only one occasion, this very day. But I can tell you, sir,
there is not an apothecary or irregular doctor that I would trust
as completely in all of Apothecaries Street.”

“Hey, Doctor Poole,” an old man called, “I’ll have back my eleven
shillings if you please.”

“And mine as well,” called a well-dressed matron.

Poole took a menacing step closer to Lilly, and she stifled the urge
to run. She risked a hopeful glance at the dandy, but saw that he and
his jaunty stick were backing off in retreat. Stupid girl, Lilly silently
remonstrated. Why had she dared such a thing alone?

From out of the crowd, Dr. Graves appeared as if by magic, his
face a mask of cool confidence. “Come now,” he said officiously, “we
really must go.” He took her arm and led her smartly away from the
peddler and the crowd.

Lilly did not resist.

When they had crossed the street, she whispered, “That will do,
I think. Thank you.”

He paused and released her, expelling a huff of breath. “I must
say, Miss Haswell, that was a most foolish thing to do. Safer to stand
between a wild dog and his bone. He will only be back again in an
hour, and tomorrow and all next week. Do you plan to stand guard
at every show? “

“No. But I could not stand by and let those people be taken in
by that quack.”

“As I saw. I had only come to purchase a few items for the hospital when I glimpsed you nose-to-nose with that mongrel. I could
barely believe my eyes.” He regarded her speculatively. “Nor my ears. I
heard only a few scraps of what you were saying, but your Latin, Miss
Haswell, is impressive indeed. I am surprised your tutor included the
subject.”

She hesitated. “I have learned a great many things since coming
to London,” she said, which was true enough. Though Latin had not
been among them.

He glanced up the street, at the few waiting carriages. “You are
not here alone, I trust?”

“No. I came with my aunt’s maid in a hackney. She should return
any moment.”

He looked at her, eyes alight. “Then might I have the honor of
delivering the two of you safely home?”

She smiled, relieved. “That you might, Dr. Graves.” She cocked
her head to one side to regard him. “For someone who owns numerous
fears, may I say you acted very bravely today. I thank you for coming
to my rescue.”

His fair cheeks reddened with pleasure, and she thought his thin
frame stood the taller for her praise.

“Well then,” he said, “I am excessively glad I roused myself to
the task.”

Give me an ounce of civit, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.

SHAKESPEARE

when Lilly entered her aunt’s room later that afternoon, Ruth
Elliott smiled at her expectantly from the dressing table.
“There you are, my dear.” She patted the chair beside her. “Come.
Show me what you have bought.”

“I am afraid I found little I could not live without. Shopping was
not the same without you. And you how are you feeling? “

“A great deal better.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

“Sleep is a powerful elixir. One they don’t sell in shops. I think I
shall even dress for dinner.”

“Aunt, may I ask …” Lilly’s heart began pounding at the mere
thought of the black necklace. It was an effort to speak calmly. “May
I ask about something I saw in your jewelry chest?”

Her aunt’s eyes glinted. “Ah … Saw something that caught your
fancy, did you?”

“Well, in a manner of-“

Her aunt rose. “Let us have a look. I am sure whatever it is, you
shall be welcome to wear it. What is our next engagement? I forget.
Dinner at Caldwells’?”

Thoughts elsewhere, Lilly vaguely replied, “I am not sure.”

Ruth Elliott selected a key from the ornate chatelaine. “Here we
are.

Lilly followed her into the dressing room and watched as her aunt
opened the chest. “Now, what is it that has caught your eye, hmm?”

Lilly’s palms were damp as she reached into the case and pulled
open the compartment. Would it still be there, or had she dreamt
it?

There it was. Black filigree. Black onyx. She lifted it reverently
and turned to her aunt. Ruth Elliott took it from her gingerly, her
brow furrowed. “I would not have guessed. This is rather severe, is
it not? Elegant for mourning, I suppose. But not suitable, really, with
any of your gowns….”

“I do not wish to wear it. I wish to know how it came to be here.”

Ruth Elliott looked at her, confused. Did her aunt truly not know
this had been her mother’s? Or was she hesitating, trying to figure out
a plausible explanation?

“What do you mean, my dear?”

Lilly did not want to believe her aunt capable of deception, and
the innocent question seemed genuine enough.

“Where did it come from?”

“I … I don’t know. I think … if I remember correctly, it is a piece
your uncle acquired.”

“Acquired? From whom? “

The older woman stared at the necklace as though it held the
answer, her face stretched in concentration. “I think he said he purchased it at auction. I don’t recall where.”

“Auction?” Was it possible? Lilly could hardly credit such a coincidence. Unless her uncle had bid on the piece because he had recognized
it. “When? How long ago?”