The Apothecary's Daughter (42 page)

At that, her brother gave a great burst of speed and reached the
top well before her. When she did reach the ridge of flat rocks between
her and the summit, Francis reached out his hand to her. Their eyes
met. She wondered what he had been thinking to challenge Roderick
Marlow. She wondered, too, at the strange mixture of triumph and
irritation and something else in his eyes now. Still, she took his offered
hand and allowed him to help her safely up and over. Charlie was
dancing an ungainly victory jig. Marlow and Shuttleworth were twin
bookends, panting figures with hands on knees. She walked slowly over
to join them, struggling to catch her own breath. It had been too long
since she had run or climbed. Her heart pounded, her lungs burned,
her side ached. She felt … wonderful.

Tears are often the telescope by which men see far into heaven.

HENRY WARD BEECHER

illy and Mary directed the arrangement of blankets and provisions atop Walker’s Hill.

“Join us, Mr. Briggs?” Mary asked the groom who helped carry
the hampers.

“I thank you no, mum.” Cecil Briggs jerked his thumb toward the
waiting horses. “My place is with the gristle and rub.”

“And mine is in the kitchen,” Mary said matter-of-factly, and
Lilly felt a pang at her friend’s humble self-regard.

“Go on now, miss,” Cecil urged. “Enjoy yourself.”

Mary’s eyes twinkled. “You would not refuse a leg of roast chicken
and an apple crowdy, would you?”

He smiled and self-consciously tugged on the brim of his hat.
“That I would not.”

Mrs. Tobias, the Marlows’ cook, had outdone herself. There was
enough food for thirty, Lilly guessed. A joint of cold roast beef, four roast chickens, two ham and veal pies, two pigeon pies, and stewed fruit
in glass bottles, as well as a basket of fresh fruit, lettuces, cucumbers,
and the promised lobster salad. There were also cheeses, bread, butter and jam, three pots of tea, and another hamper filled with bottles
of ginger-beer, ale, lemonade, and claret, which Roderick Marlow
helped himself to early and often. In her hamper, Mary had brought
a large plum pudding, lardy cakes, apple crowdies, jam puffs, and a
tin of mixed biscuits.

After they had eaten their fill, the ladies sat primly on the wide blankets while the men lounged at their leisure with legs outstretched.

Francis groaned with satisfaction. “I do not think I can move.”

“A fine meal, Miss Mary, Marlow,” Mr. Shuttleworth acknowledged, patting the buttons of his snug waistcoat.

“Yes,” Lilly added. “Do thank Mrs. Tobias for us.”

Marlow nodded and lifted his glass.

Mr. Shuttleworth set up his long telescope, mounted on a tripod
of poles, on the ridge facing south.

Mary leaned down, her cheek bunched up as she closed one eye to
look with the other through its lens. Mr. Shuttleworth hovered close,
a hand lightly on Mary’s shoulder to position her just so for the best
viewing, clearly enjoying his role as scientific explorer as well as the
excuse to stand so near the ladies.

“There it is!” Mary exclaimed, “At least I think it must be the
Salisbury Cathedral, although I have never seen it before.”

“I have. Allow me.” Marlow bent at the waist and peered through
the lens. “Indeed. The spire of Salisbury Cathedral. It is above twenty
miles from here. I would not have believed it.”

As Mr. Shuttleworth and Mary stood near one another, Lilly
noticed his gaze resting upon Mary’s profile. He frowned slightly and
peered closer yet. “I have never noticed that before.”

“What?” Mary asked self-consciously.

“That little scar along your jaw. A burn, was it?”

Lilly saw her friend nod, before looking away disconcerted. Lilly felt embarrassed on Mary’s behalf. She was not certain of the burn’s
origin but could well guess.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to give offense,” he said. “Why, it is
barely noticeable. It is only my being a surgeon, you see.”

“That’s all right. It was a long time ago.” Mary stepped away.
“Who is next?”

They all took turns looking through the telescope Lady Marlow,
Miss Robbins, Charlie, Francis. Lilly hung back, watching the surprise
and delight on each face. Charlie likely had no real idea what he was
seeing, but he seemed as caught up in the moment as everyone else.

Dr. Graves paused before taking his place at the scope. “Miss
Haswell? Will you not have a turn?”

“You go on. I do not mind waiting. I am enjoying seeing it through
everyone else’s eyes.”

Finally it was Lilly’s turn. She stepped close and leaned in. She was
small enough not to have to lean down very far. “I don’t no …”

“Here.” Mr. Shuttleworth stepped in very close, nearly cheek to
cheek with her, as she tilted her head away so he might take a look.
“Must have been jostled. Now, try again.” She felt his hand touch her
shoulder, much as he had Mary’s, but did not mind. There was something likeable and comfortable about Mr. Shuttleworth. And there it
was. Britain’s tallest spire. Could it really be twenty miles away? She
remembered a few years gone, standing on Grey’s Hill, wanting to
come here, to see this sight, wishing she could actually travel there
travel anywhere. Now she had. She had traveled far more than twenty
miles. Had lived in magnificent London. What joys she had imagined
in the great out there. Had she found them?

She looked up and realized she was alone with Mr. Shuttleworth.
Chagrined, she said, “I did not mean to monopolize it. Here. Have
a go.

“If you will stay and keep me company.”

“As you like.”

The others had wandered back to the picnic blankets. Cecil Briggs
and the footman had carried the food hampers away, but the beverage
hamper and Mary’s sweets hamper remained. Shoulder to shoulder at the scope, she and Mr. Shuttleworth turned their heads to regard
the rest of the group.

Mary was handing Charlie the biscuit tin, and Mr. Marlow was
opening another bottle of claret. Dr. Graves and Francis sat near one
another, forearms resting on raised knees. Though both men stared
out at the horizon, they were deep in conversation, the light of the
westerly afternoon sun turning their faces golden and causing them to
squint as they spoke. Miss Robbins and Lady Marlow sat together on
the opposite end of the blanket, talking and laughing like old friends.
How very unexpected. What a strange party they were.

Quietly, Mr. Shuttleworth said, “We stand apart, do we not?”

She turned to look at him, to search his countenance for the meaning of his odd statement. But he turned as well, so that they faced
one another, noses too close together. He did have a prominent nose.
She backed up a step, leaving him at the telescope. “What do you
mean? “

“We are here but not here,” he said softly. He turned away from
her to stare out to the west, past Milk Hill to the ridgeline diminishing
into the distance, the narrow canal cutting through the vale, and the
horizon beyond. He looked without aid of telescope, his hand resting
on its surface, chin resting on his hand.

She spoke as quietly as he had, “What do you see?”

He stared without speaking, then took a slow, deep breath.
“Tomorrow. The next day. Next year.”

She studied him for several moments, then asked gently, “Are you
leaving us, Mr. Shuttleworth?”

He inhaled again, seeming to return to himself. “Why would I?
I have my work here. I have settled here. I like life in Bedsley Priors.
It is what I wanted.”

Still he looked off into the distance, and she felt she understood
him.

She understood that he spoke to convince himself as well as her.
She understood he spoke a truth beyond his grasp.

Adam Graves felt restless at the sight of Miss Haswell and Mr. Shuttleworth in such intimate conversation. He believed the man
harmless but still resented him for monopolizing Miss Haswell. He
would not be so obtuse as to join them, but nor could he sit there any
longer, no matter how decent a chap Baylor seemed. He rose to stretch
his legs and for respite from the incessant chatter of Lady Marlow and
Miss Robbins, two lovely but vociferous creatures.

As he walked away from the group, a voice called after him.
“Graves.”

He looked back and saw Roderick Marlow rise a bit unsteadily to
amble after him. Reaching and then passing him, Marlow climbed
the steep incline to the ancient burial mound atop Walker’s Hill.

He called down, “Do you know what this mound is called?” The
man did not wait for a response. “Adam’s Grave. Did you know it?”

“I have heard that, yes.”

“Climb up with me, of boy.”

Adam was instantly wary. “Why?”

“I want to show you something.”

Adam frowned but climbed up anyway, his boots slipping on the
grassy slope.

Atop the mound, Roderick Marlow flopped a heavy arm across his
shoulders and laughed. “Adam Graves atop Adam’s Grave. Is that not
ironic? Mind you don’t fall.” Marlow crooked his arm around Adam’s
neck, an embrace bordering on a headlock. “What does Miss Haswell
see in you, I wonder?” He leaned in close, nearly nose to nose with
him. “You are a pretty quiz, I own.”

How much claret has the man had? Adam wondered.

“You are devoted to her, are you not?” Marlow asked.

Adam pulled away, disgusted. “And you are devoted to claret.”

“I am. It is my own prescription. Purely medicinal, I assure you.”
Marlow again peered at him. “Do you love Miss Haswell?”

The cheek! “That is none of your affair.” He was affronted as well
as perplexed. Was Marlow implying feelings toward Miss Haswell?
When every patient gossiped about how the man pined for the former Miss Powell? Still, Marlow’s question rang in his mind. Did he love her? He believed so. Did he not hope to marry her once he had
established himself?

Adam glimpsed Lady Marlow approaching the foot of the mound.
She called up to them coyly, “What are you two discussing, pray?”

“Not you, Cassandra,” Marlow snapped. “Of that I can assure
you.

Adam stepped nearer. “Might I offer you a hand up, Lady
Marlow? “

“Thank you. At least there is one gentleman among us.”

Adam gently pulled her atop the mound. The wind, even stronger
at this height, threatened to loose her hat. Tendrils of red hair escaped
from under it, blowing across her cheek. She was beautiful, indeed.
No wonder Marlow was perturbed. He felt that man’s glare upon him
and turned.

Marlow looked from the lady to him. “Careful, Graves. That
woman can knock the life out of you faster than any fall from Adam’s
Grave.”

“Pay him no mind, Doctor,” Lady Marlow said with a casual smile.
“Mr. Marlow enjoys playing the heartbroken lover. But if you were to
examine him, you would find he hasn’t a heart to break.”

“If I did,” Roderick Marlow said, eyes hard, “you can be certain
nothing you could say or do would touch it.”

She seared him with a look that belied her sweet tone. “Indeed? I
shall remember that, Roderick. I suggest you do so as well.”

AGAINST YE FALLING SICKNESS

Take purple foxgloves and polipodium of the oak. Boil them in bear
or ale and drinke ye decoction. One that fell with [this disease]
2 or 3 times in a month, had not a fitt for 16 months after.

-17TH CENTURY RECIPE, MYSTERY AND ART OF THE APOTHECARY