The Apothecary's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

however dearly we cling to it
ourselves.”
    “But with education, and special tutoring …” Lilly looked imploringly at the Elliotts. “I am certain in London, there must be many
opportunities for a boy like Charlie.”
    “I doubt that is the case,” Uncle Elliott said, his expression sober.
“And even if it were, I must be honest and tell you that I do not feel I
can name your son as my heir. While he would no doubt reap some
benefit, I have my own estate to think of. I must choose someone who
can manage it well.”
    It was Lilly’s turn to hang her head.
    “My dear.” Her aunt’s voice was surprisingly warm. “May I
say your concern for your brother is most admirable and touches
me deeply. A lesser girl might have begrudged her sibling such an
opportunity.”
    Looking up, Lilly slowly shook her head. “Never.”
    “I promise you this,” Ruth Elliott said. “If we hear of any special
school or teacher for boys of Charlie’s, well, special qualities, I shall
write you directly.”
    “Thank you.”
    Her aunt’s gaze lingered. “Do not take offense, my dear, but I
cannot help but wish that you were a boy.”
    They shared a rueful smile.
    “Now, are you really as bright as your brother boasts?”
     
    In Bartholomew Lane, the drink called coffee
which closes the orifice of the stomach, fortifies
the heat within, and maketh the heart lightsom … is to be
sold both in the morning and at three in the afternoon.
    LONDON PUBLIC ADVERTISER, 1657

CHAPTER 3

    n the coffeehouse the next morning, Lilly sat on her usual stool in the
kitchen. It had been her place for as long as she could remember, which
was long indeed. From the adjacent scullery came the rhythmic rustle,
rustle, rustle of scrubbing and an occasional tinny clang as the kitchen
girl, Jane, went about her work. Over this mild clatter, Lilly recounted
the Elliotts’ visit to her friend Mary, who stood at the worktable, cutting
ginger biscuits. Paying no heed, Charlie hunched at the little table in
the corner, picking out the caraway seeds from a piece of seedcake. He
counted each seed and laid it neatly on a plate beside the others.
    “If you don’t like it, Charlie, you needn’t eat it,” Mary said. Her
voice and round, pale blue eyes emanated irritation and affection
both.
    “Ninety-seven seeds, Mary. ‘At’s fine, fine.”
    With the back of her hand, Mary pushed a strand of dull strawberry hair from her milky round face. “You know I don’t like to see my good
baking wasted. At least feed it to the birds, all right?”
     
    Charlie nodded. “Birds likes seeds.” He put on his coat, then
carried the plate out the door to the kitchen garden.
    “Mind you bring back the plate,” Mary called after him.
    Though it was an autumn day, it was always warm in the kitchen,
so the window stood ajar. Lilly realized her brother had settled himself
on a bench beneath it, for through it, they heard him begin counting
all over again. “One, two, tree …”
    Lilly shook her head, chagrined.
    Mary said quietly, “Don’t fret about Charlie. Probably find a post
in a counting house one day and end up richer than the Marlows.”
    From the open window, Lilly heard quick footsteps on the stone
garden path. A female voice, in tense, pinched tones said, “Charlie
Haswell, you are a sneak and a spy.”
    Lilly’s mouth fell open and she turned toward the door. But Mary
placed a staying hand on her shoulder and shook her head, finger to
her lips.
    “If you tell anybody what you saw-“
    “I saw nofing,” Charlie said. “I was behind a tree.”
    “Heard then. Or thought you heard.” The girl attempted to whisper, but in her agitation her voice rose. Lilly recognized it as Dorothea
Robbins’s voice. “I will have you know I did not allow him to so much
as kiss my glove. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, miss.”
    “And you must promise that you won’t say anything. That you
will not even mention my