The Apothecary's Daughter (35 page)

His gaze lingered on her. “Will it?”

She hesitated. “Here, let me help you with your wet things.” She
took his hat while he hung his coat on a peg, then followed her through
the laboratory-kitchen and into the stark former pantry. “I am afraid
I have not had time to make this bed yet.”

“Then I shall help you.”

She reached down and picked up the edge of the dust cover. A bed
of less than a yard’s width lay between them. On its far side, Francis
reached down and picked up the cloth’s other edge. He brought up
his two corners to meet hers. Their fingers grazed as she took the thin
material from him. Then he moved to the foot of the bed and took
one end while she took the other, and again they brought the corners
toward each other, Francis stepping around the bed to close the gap
between them. This time when she tried to take his corners, he held
on, their hands touching, his face dipped close to look into hers. Taking a shallow breath, she tugged harder until he let go.

He helped her put on the fresh sheets, tucking the corners and
spreading the blanket while she plumped the pillow.

The task accomplished, he thrust his hand toward her, as Mr.
Shuttleworth might. “You are very kind, Miss Haswell. Thank you.”

Hesitantly, she put her smaller hand in his. “You are very welcome,
Mr. Baylor.”

Instead of releasing her hand, he held it with gentle firmness. His
large brown eyes seemed filled with some unspoken message as well
as a glint of humor. “How do you make your hands colder than the
outside air?”

She said with a shaky laugh, “It is a gift.”

He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes focused on
hers. Her heart pounded as he pressed his warm lips to her cool fingers.
She felt a rush of pleasure and nervous tension at the intimate act.

He straightened, but kept his eyes lowered. Quietly, he asked,
“You and Dr. Graves were … acquainted in London?”

At the mention of Dr. Graves, Lilly blinked. The pleasure she felt
dissolved. She shook her head to clear away the unsettling emotions.

He mistook the gesture and furrowed his brow. “No?”

“No. I mean, yes.”

Tension stiffened his voice and posture. “The physician of whom
your aunt disapproved?”

She nodded and gently pulled away her hand. “Well, I hope you
will be comfortable. Do let me know if you want for anything.”

He took a slow, deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “I
want a great many things, Miss Haswell.”

His eyes were strangely sorrowful.

She did not ask what he wanted. She was not sure she wished to
know.

The rain and chilly weather of the previous week brought with
it summer colds and ague, which kept Mr. Shuttleworth and Francis
quite busy into the following week of sunny, warm days.

They had met Dr. Graves a few more times, when he had entered
the shop in the company of Dr. Foster. The younger physician was
a bit formal and starched, Francis thought, and suspected his stiff
demeanor hid insecurities natural to any new medical man. Francis
determined to be as kind and helpful as he could be, even though the
new man was treating Mr. Haswell, which Francis could not help but
consider a vague snub.

While Dr. Foster frequented Shuttleworth’s, his new partner
went more often to Haswell’s. Francis knew Mr. Haswell was not the
primary reason. Nor could he blame the man.

He thought back to that rainy night spent in his old bed beneath
Lilly’s room. What bittersweet memories that had evoked, of all the
nights he had slept there before, comforted yet taunted by his awareness of her lying in her own bed above him. Should he have told her
how she affected him?

She was so much the same, yet different too. Her face somewhat
thinner, her curves somewhat fuller, though that might be due to the
cut of the gowns she now wore. She was as clever and charming as
ever, yet she seemed less approachable than before, as though painted
with a shiny veneer that kept her true self out of reach. He realized
dully that she thought herself above him. She likely always had, but
her time in London had served to increase the perceived distance.
Maybe it is better this way, he told himself. He could not allow her
return to disturb his carefully laid plans. Besides, what chance did he
stand against a handsome London physician?

Early one morning, a rap sounded from the shop door below, while
Lilly was in her bedchamber. She ran lightly down the stairs to answer
the door, dressed, but with her hair still down.

She unlocked the door and opened it to Dr. Graves. He stared at
her, then away, clearing his throat.

She pushed her long hair behind her shoulder. “I was not quite
finished dressing.”

“No … um, your hair is beautiful,” he faltered.

“Thank you,” she said, self-consciously pleased, and gestured him
inside. “Are you here to check on Father? I fear he is still sleeping.”

“No. I shall come back later for that.” Again he stared at her.

“Did you need something?”

Glancing around and seeing the shop empty, he went on in lower
tones, “Miss Haswell, when I first arrived, I mentioned there was
something I wanted to say to you.”

Lilly’s heart began to pound. “Yes?”

“I have been waiting for an opportune time. I did not wish to
spring it upon you when I saw how ill your father was.”

She nodded, mouth dry.

“I must tell you, Miss Haswell. I was disappointed when I called
on the Elliotts and discovered you gone. Your aunt was rather vague
about the reason.”

Lilly could well imagine.

“But considering, well, everything,” he continued, “I believe I
understand why you left without a word of farewell.”

“I did not think you would mind, after our last conversation about
my mother.”

“It is precisely that conversation I wish to speak of now.”

Oh dear.

“The day after we spoke, I went to see my brother, a solicitor, as I
believe I mentioned. He contracted a runner on my behalf to discover
information about the former lieutenant James Wells.”

Lilly was taken aback. This was not what she had expected him
to say.

Dr. Graves continued, “It seems Wells now works aboard a convict
transport ship, and maintains an address in Cheapside, though he can
be home but rarely. He …”

He paused and Lilly held her breath, trying to guess the thoughts
behind his grim mouth, his serious blue eyes.

“He was married two years ago.” Graves extracted a small slip
of paper from his pocket and glanced at it. “To a German woman,
according to the record. A Gertrude Kistinger, now Wells.”

He handed her the paper and she silently stared at it. He looked
at her expectantly, then cocked his head to one side. Clearly she was
not reacting as he had thought she would.

“Is that not good news? Your mother is not with Wells, as you
feared.”

Was it good news? Just because she was no longer with Wells, did
that mean she never was? And where was she now? Her fragile link
to her mother, if a link it could be called, had been broken as easily
as a spider’s web.

“Thank you for inquiring for me.” She wondered, though, if he
had done so to help her, or merely to gauge the threat of scandal for
himself.

“I thought you would be pleased,” he said hopefully. “It can no
longer come between us.”

She looked up into his warm blue eyes and angelic face and felt
her own face and heart warm in response. Perhaps he was right.
Perhaps nothing stood between them after all.

The door bell rang and Lilly stepped back. Hannah Primmel
timidly entered the shop.

“Hannah, hello,” Lilly said, striding to the counter. She hoped
Hannah did not notice her blush, or would at least not read anything
untoward in it if she did.

“Hello, Miss Haswell.” The poor girl had the misfortune of skin
continually plagued with blemishes and had therefore earned the monikers Carbuncle Face and Hannah Pimples from cruel lads. Seeing Dr.
Graves, the girl hung her head, as she habitually did, as though that
might keep people from noticing her face.

“I am very pleased to see you,” Lilly said. “I hoped you would
come in.

Hannah glanced up eagerly. “Did you?”

“Yes.” Lilly leaned closer, speaking in confidential tones. “I have
something I would very much like you to try.”

Her eagerness faded. “I haven’t much money.”

“This is a complimentary sample. Apply it for a fortnight and
report on its efficacy. Will you do that for me?”

Hannah smiled. “Of course I will. Thank you, Miss Haswell.”

“Thank me later if you are pleased with the results.”

When Hannah left, Dr. Graves approached the counter and asked
quietly, “What did you give her?”

Lilly sighed. “Neither Gowland’s nor chamomile was bringing
about the improvement I had hoped for. I have now given her an ointment of lemon juice, rose water, and silver supplement.”

“Culpeper’s Remedy,” he said.

“Right. Of course, Culpeper also recommended rubbing fresh
butter on one’s face of a morning. But that always seemed to worsen
the problem when I experienced bouts of the same.”

“You, Miss Haswell? I would have thought you had always been
perfect.”

She glanced at him, surprised that his flattery was not delivered
with a smile. Instead, his expression was oddly sober.

“By the way,” he added, “you might wish to be careful about prescribing physic.”

The warmth she felt turned to annoyance. “I was not prescribing.
It is a simple, known remedy.”

“I am only cautioning you. A woman compounding medicines
is one thing, but prescribing is another. If Dr. Foster had seen that
just now, he might think you were overstepping. He might …” He
grimaced. “Just be careful.”

I like dreams of the future better than the history of the past.

-PATRICK HENRY

illy received a letter from her uncle, which surprised and mildly
1 alarmed her, for she had received a letter only a few days before.
She hoped the Elliotts were both in good health.