The Apothecary's Daughter (33 page)

er apron and gloves already black from cleaning the stove and
__alembic, Lilly decided she might as well clean the shop hearth
also. She thought about her recent encounter with Francis, when he
helped her with Mrs. Hagar, and realized she had never felt so flustered,
so … feminine, in his presence before.

As she knelt to her task, she heard a dog barking outside. She
thought little of it at first, but then the barking grew louder and more
fevered.

“Down, I say! ” She heard a man holler in false bravado.
“Down!”

She hurried across the shop and unlatched the door, just as a man
pushed it open, causing him to nearly topple into the shop, his hat
dropping to the floor. She put out her hands to stop his fall and to
keep the man from falling into her.

The Fowlers’ wolfhound tried to bound in behind the man, but Lilly forcibly shut the door on the long muzzle of the shaggy creature,
which likely weighed more than she did. The dog raised itself on its
rear haunches at the window and continued to bark.

“Go home, Bones!” she shouted. “Go home!”

The grey dog whimpered but dropped to all fours and trotted
away.

She turned from the window to look at Bones’s latest victim and
started.

“Dr. Graves! ” She was stunned to see him again. Especially here
in their shop.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Haswell.” He bowed awkwardly,
and she belatedly curtsied. They both reached for his fallen hat at the
same moment, their foreheads nearly colliding.

“Forgive me.” She straightened. “Oh! Forgive me! ” she repeated
more vehemently. “I have blackened your coat!”

He looked down at his tawny frock coat, one shoulder and sleeve
now marked with smeared black handprints, like the claw marks of
a wild animal.

“My tailor admonished me to choose the dark green,” he said
dryly, “but I would have my way.”

“I shall have it cleaned for you. I know an excellent laundress.”

His blue gaze swept her person. “Take no offense, Miss Haswell,
but you are in more need of a laundress than I.”

She looked down at her own attire, the sooty apron, the blackened
gloves. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.
“You have some ash, is it? along your cheekbone.”

She held up her soiled gloves. “Thank you, but I do not wish to
blacken your handkerchief as well.”

He hesitated. Was he about to wipe her cheek? Instead, he tucked
the piece of fine linen back into his pocket.

“Could be worse,” she said feebly. “At least it isn’t on my nose.”

“Actually-” he winced apologetically “there is a smudge there
as well.”

She began to put a hand up to shield her face, but remembered
her soiled gloves just in time. She rushed on nervously, “I am sorry about Bones. He is usually harmless but isn’t fond of strangers. He
did not bite you, I trust?”

“No. All bark and no bite, as they say. Although I rarely find
solace in that morsel of wisdom.”

“You have been bitten before?” she asked.

“Yes, and still bear the mark to prove it.” He pointed to a scar above
his upper lip and extending, though faintly, beneath his moustache
and nearly to his nose. “It is why I’ve taken to wearing a moustache,
unfashionable as it is.”

She nodded, taking in the short golden hairs, a shade darker than
the pale blond hair of his head and eyebrows. She had wondered.

“It isn’t very noticeable,” she said.

“The scar, or the moustache?”

She smiled to cover her embarrassment. “Neither one.”

He chuckled dryly. “I must say, this is not at all how I imagined
meeting you again.”

She peeled off her filthy gloves. “I shouldn’t think so. What brings
you to Bedsley Priors?”

She wished the words back as soon as she’d said them. Her heart
beat anxiously and her neck grew warm. She thought she had alienated
him with the news of her mother. Had she mistaken the matter?

He ignored her question and looked around the shop, arms behind
his back. “So, this is the famous Haswell’s.”

She sheepishly followed his gaze. “Well, yes. Though Tuesdays
are a slow day for us.”

“It is Wednesday.”

“Oh. Right.”

After a moment of awkward silence, a sudden thought came to
her. “Might I take you into my confidence?”

He straightened, eyes alert. “Of course.”

“My father is ill,” she began quietly.

His brows rose. “Is he? I am sorry to hear it.” He hesitated. “Is …
that why … you left? “

When she nodded, he expelled a long breath. “I see.”

“But he will see neither the village physician nor the new surgeon apothecary,” she continued, “for fear of his weakness becoming generally known.”

“I don’t follow.”

“He believes it will steal his credibility. The proverbial
`Physician, heal thyself.’ “

“Ah.” He nodded his understanding.

“Would you look in on him? There is bad blood, I am afraid,
between the local physician and my father.”

“Dr. Foster?”

“You have heard of him?”

“Well, yes. I “

“He can be difficult at times, I own,” Lilly said. “He rather resents
my father, I am afraid. And Father fears he would spread his plight
only too eagerly.”

“Miss Haswell, I think-“

“But if I explain that you are only visiting,” she hurried on, “he
might be willing to allow an examination.”

“But I am not.”

She stared at him, feeling slapped. “Not willing? But-“

“Of course I am willing,” he rushed to amend. “But I am not only
visiting. I am settling here.”

“What?” Her heart hammered. She faltered, “But … oh…”

“Dr. Foster is taking a partner, with an eye to retiring in a year
or two. I have accepted the situation. It’s provisional for now, but if
all goes well, I shall remain indefinitely.”

“You and … Dr. Foster. Oh, dear. I am sure he is a most capable
physician. It is only-“

“Miss Haswell, you needn’t worry on my account. Your father’s
condition and your opinions are safe with me.”

She sighed. “Thank you. So you are a licensed physician now?”

“Yes.” He bowed once more. “Dr. Adam Graves, at your
service.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Dr. Graves emerged from her
father’s surgery.

“Well? Lilly asked, laying aside the blocks of Castile soap she had
been wrapping in brown waxed paper.

He closed the door gingerly and joined her at the counter. “He is
resting comfortably. I do not think there is cause for alarm at present.”

“But what is it? Do you know? “

“I cannot discuss a patient’s condition without his consent.”

“He is my father.”

“And a grown and, may I add, stubborn man.”

That Lilly knew only too well.

“I can tell you he agreed that I might attend him now I am here,”
he said.

“I am relieved to hear it.”

Dr. Graves turned his hat around in his hands. “Miss Haswell,
there is something I would speak to you about….”

Her nerves jingled and she felt a thrill of hope. Had he come to
renew his suit? Her thoughts about Francis seemed foolish now.

He hesitated. “But I can see that you have a great deal on your
shoulders, and on your mind, at present. I will not press you.” He
cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I had better go and unpack. I
will be lodging in one of Dr. Foster’s spare rooms until things are …
settled between us.”

“Us” meaning he and Foster, or … ? She felt her palms grow
damp at the thought.

When Dr. Graves had taken his leave, promising to return soon,
Lilly knocked on the surgery door and warily let herself in.

“Father, how do you feel? “

He groaned and raised himself to a sitting position on the cot. “Like
a lump of bread dough that Maude has kneaded while vexed.”

“Thank you for seeing him.”

“And to what do I owe such an honor? He said he made your
acquaintance in London. Am Ito understand he is here to court
you?”

She shrugged. “He did once speak to Uncle on my account.
But-“

“I thought as much.” He chuckled. “I noticed your handprints
on his coat.”

Face burning, she hurried to change the subject. “I am not here to
talk about me, rather you. Dr. Graves would not divulge a thing.”

“I should hope not.”

“Father, please.”

“There isn’t a great deal to tell. He spent most of his time diagnosing what it is not. Not brain fever, nor typhus, nor several other
fates worse than death. He doesn’t believe it is anything contagious,
although he has not ruled that out completely. So you still need to
keep your distance.”

Is that why he’s been so aloof? she wondered. “What does he think
it might be?”

“Perhaps a compound of two fevers lung fever and
glandular.”

She sucked in a breath. “Not lung sickness? “

“He does not think it the consumption, no.,,

“I am relieved to hear it.”

“Don’t go planning my sixtieth birthday party yet, my dear. Lung
fever itself can be can be quite serious. But yes, there is reason to hope.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “And here I feared your London season in
vain. A physician, ey? Ali well, as long as he is nothing like Foster.”

A tincture of sage will give old men
the spirit and the advantages of youth.

DR. HILL, THE OLD MAN’S GUIDE TO HEALTH AND LONGER LIFE, 1764

n Thursday morning, before beginning her jaunt up Grey’s Hill,
Lilly stopped in at the coffeehouse to tell Mary the surprising
news about Dr. Graves coming as prospective partner to Dr. Foster.
She knew Mary was not fond of Dr. Foster, either, but whether out of
loyalty to Mr. Haswell or for reasons of her own, Lilly could not say.

“Are you certain it’s Foster he’s come to partner with?” Mary
asked, suggestively raising a brow in a manner that brought Christina
Price-Winters to mind.

Lilly made no attempt to hide her bemusement. “I am not at all
certain. I had thought things ended between us in London.” Promising
to tell Mary more later, Lilly continued on her way.

She reached the top of Grey’s Hill and stood catching her breath,
looking down at the village below. The church bells rang. She could see
several fine carriages in front of the church, the first of which began
to pull away. This was the morning Sir Henry and Miss Powell were to be married, she knew. Few had been invited to attend the wedding
breakfast, which she supposed was not surprising. Considering Sir
Henry’s advanced years, a private affair was more dignified.

“Miss Haswell.”

Lilly started and turned. “Mr. Marlow! I did not see you there.”

He rose and dusted off his breeches. “Seems I am quite invisible
these days.”

“Is the wedding finished already? “

“It is finished. My role in any case, which was to appear publicly
in full support of my father and his new bride. They shall now return
home for the wedding breakfast, but I find I cannot stomach it.”