The Apothecary's Daughter by Charlotte Betts

helping him in his dispensary.’
    Mr Driscoll sucked his teeth. ‘Be able to give my wife a purge, then, if she needs it?’ He threw back his head and roared
     with laughter until his face was as claret as his coat.
    Susannah judged it best not to join in.
    Mistress Driscoll returned with her daughters, fat as butterballs and remarkable only for their plainness. They came forward
     slowly and curtsied as low as their solid little legs would let them, while their father looked on approvingly.
    ‘Poppets, aren’t they?’
    ‘Indeed,’ said Susannah, thinking that only their father could admire their little pudding faces. At least they didn’t look
     as if they could cause too much trouble.

    Arabella wore a gloating face of insufferable triumph at having got her own way but Susannah attempted to ignore it. A strange
     tranquillity had descended upon her as she accepted the inevitable, almost a sense of relief that she would no longer wear
     herself out in fighting with her stepmother. There were only a few days before she was obliged to take up her new post and
     she was determined to make the most of them.
    Cornelius absented himself from the shop at every possiblemoment and avoided being alone with her. Susannah tried to ignore the pain caused by his behaviour by busying herself with
     turning out the dispensary store cupboards and leaving all in good order. Ned was minding the shop and she ignored the bell
     every time the door opened since he’d have to become used to managing on his own. She was sweeping the dispensary floor when
     she heard a voice behind her.
    ‘My, aren’t you industrious?’ Henry Savage leaned against the wall, watching her as she worked.
    ‘Henry!’ Susannah clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Mr Savage! What brings you here?’ Her pulse quickened and she hoped her
     sudden blush didn’t betray her.
    Henry smiled. ‘Take off your apron; we’re going out. I want to show you something.’
    ‘I can’t …’
    ‘Why not?’
    Why not, indeed, she thought. This might be the last irresponsible thing she ever did now that she had a lonely old age in
     service to look forward to. She was conscious that she wore her work dress, patched in places and stained with mercury. ‘I
     cannot go out like this! I must at least wash my face.’
    Henry took the broom from her hands and rested it against the cupboard. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped a
     smut from her cheek. ‘Perfect!’ he said, then took her arm and ushered her out of the door.
    ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
    ‘You’ll know soon enough.’
    They walked along Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, around St Paul’s Cathedral and past Susannah’s favourite bookshop and then
     cut through the maze of alleys until they reached a row of smart town houses in a courtyard off Watling Street. They were
     new enough that the stonework was still pale, barely touched by the greasy smoke stains that darkened the older, neighbouring
     properties. Henry escorted Susannah up the steps, drew a key from his pocket and opened the door.
    Ignoring her questions, he led her from elegant room to elegant room, even showing her the kitchen. The high ceilings echoed
     back their footsteps as they explored. There were signs that the previous owners had left in a hurry; dead flowers in a vase,
     drawers left open and a child’s rag doll lying forlornly upon the stairs.
    ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What do you think of it?’
    She sensed he wanted her approval and pushed away the thought that the house seemed lonely, empty. ‘It’s a wonderful house,’
     she said. ‘So spacious. But why are we here?’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I not a man of my word? I said that I’d come back in a month. And I thought you might wish to see
     the house I intend to make my home.’
    ‘But …’ Embarrassed, she looked away. ‘Miss Thynne …’
    It was Henry’s turn to look discomfited. ‘Ah! So you’ve heard about her?’
    ‘My stepmother tells me