The Apothecary's Daughter Part 33

CHAPTER 28.

he rain was relentless. A smoky grey sky poured leaden sheets of water on Bedsley Priors for three days without ceasing. Dr. Graves called on her father, who seemed to be steadily improving, but otherwise the shop and High Street were silent but for the pounding of rain on roof and cobbles. Rivulets streamed down the shop's windowpanes, and only occasionally did Lilly see some brave soul dash past on his way to the coffeehouse, where, by all appearances, half the men of Bedsley Priors were taking refuge.

Late on the third afternoon, the shop door burst open, startling Lilly as she sat at the dispensary counter reading a worn volume of Sterne's A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy. Francis rushed inside, carrying a canvas-wrapped bundle. Water streamed from his coat and the brim of his sodden hat.

"My goodness," Lilly said, closing the book. "What has happened to bring you out in this?"

Instead of answering, he asked, "Are we quite sure G.o.d has promised never to flood the earth again?"

She smiled. "Quite sure. Not the entire earth."

"Only Bedsley Priors, it seems."

Her father appeared at the surgery door and leaned against the jamb. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Baylor. Communing with the ducks again, are we? "

Francis held up the bundle. "I am returning the text you lent me. I did not wish it to get wet."

Charles Haswell's face wrinkled in confusion. "And so you carried it outside in this a ?

"It's the roof, you see. Now I understand why the old haberdashery remained vacant so long. The roof leaks during any hard rain. But after this storm, the ceiling has more holes than a sieve. I've had to roll up the carpets and pack away the bedding and all my clothes and papers. Mr. Shuttleworth is doing the same."

"And the shop?" her father asked.

"We've employed a score of basins and buckets abovestairs, and so far the shop below is fairly dry."

"Ah." It wasn't clear whether Charles Haswell was relieved or disappointed. He said, "You must bring over anything else you don't wish ruined. And you are more than welcome to stay here tonight."

Francis darted a look at Lilly. "I should not like to intrude, sir."

"No trouble. Unless you relish the prospect of sleeping in a puddle? "

Francis shook his head. "I was wondering how I would balance the stew pot on my abdomen all nighta."

"It's settled, then. You shall spend the night here." He hesitated, then added, "And do invite Shuttleworth as well. You are both welcome."

Three quarters of an hour later, both men rushed into the shop, b.u.mping into each other with cases and bundles in their arms, hat brims pulled low and coat collars high. Their boots left a glistening trail of water on the floorboards.

"Not fit for man nor water buffalo," Mr. Shuttleworth panted.

Her father gingerly took the man's valise. "Come, Shuttleworth, bring your things up to Charlie's room. He's gone to Marlow House to help batten down the place. Can't say we've needed him here these last few days. Sold two liquorice draughts and one plaster. How is business for you?"

"Quiet as well."

"Good, good," her father said, leading the way with unusual vigor. "I know a father-son from Alton Barnes who can put your roof to rights at a fair price. Shall I give you their names?"

"Most obliging, Mr. Haswell."

Lilly was surprised by her father's warm reception. Was he so pleased to learn his rival's business fared no better than his own? He turned back at the threshold. "And you may have your old room, Mr. Baylor if you do not mind the tight quarters."

"Not at all, sir."

As the two older men disappeared through the door, Lilly smiled up at Francis. "It will be just like old times."

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 a 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 s.h.i.+ny 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 a 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 s.h.i.+p, and maintains an address in Cheapside, though he can be home but rarely. He a"

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 c.o.c.ked 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, h.e.l.lo," 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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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?"