The Apothecary’s Apprentice 04
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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Jennet flew home on joyful wings, her wooden pattens clopping nimbly along the cobbled streets, the bundle of very serviceable clothing in her arms.
She had got the apprenticeship! Wait till she told them at home.
And Thomas. Oh, how she longed to tell the glad news to Thomas.
He wasn’t due in Nantwich yet, so she would just have to be patient.
Thomas Tewke was a member of the nomadic herb gatherers who travelled the country, collecting, drying and distilling plants and roots to sell on the markets and to regular customers.
Thomas was also something of a mystery.
Found wandering alone and lost on the heath as a young child, he had been taken in by the leader of the herb gatherers, Amos Tewke, and his wife, Cecily.
A friendship had been forged between Thomas and Jennet, and they shared secrets and ambitions.
It was getting on for noon and the town was busy.
Dodging pedestrians and horse-drawn vehicles, Jennet crossed the square and entered the darkness of Queen Street.
She closed her mind to the abject poverty and her nostrils to the putrid air, and sped to the last of six terraced dwellings inhabited by the workers from the Venables mine.
“I am apprenticed to Master Gryce!” she cried, bursting into the cramped little houseplace.
Her mother, Alice, looked up from her stool at a small glassless window where she was making lace for the dealer that called, for which she was paid a pittance.
The indoor shutters were open to let in what little daylight there was, and the room was chilly despite the fire in the inglenook, over which simmered an evening meal in an iron pot.
Eira, small and quick, with black eyes and white hair, was rubbing dried leaves at the table.
Even the sharp whiff of sage and verbena could not mask the smell of damp that arose from the beaten earth of the floor and the walls that were blotched with moisture.
Smiles broke out on the faces of both women.
“My earnings won’t be much,” Jennet added.
“We’ll manage,” her mother said firmly.
Eira nodded.
“Indeed. Though, knowing Gryce, that’s no surprise. There’s a time you’ve been. Anxious, we were.”
Jennet explained what had happened.
“If Master Anthony had not turned up in the shop I would never have stood a chance.
“The way Master Gryce looked at me! As if I was dirt on the sole of his boot.”
“He’ll soon learn when he’s well off.” Eira nodded towards the bundle in Jennet’s arms. “What’s that you have there?”
“Some drabs of Mistress Gryce’s. I’m to wear them at the shop.”
“They go in the wash-tub first,” Alice declared. “When do you start, child?”
“Monday.” Jennet recalled her new master’s parting shot.
She shook out the voluminous brown farthingale and lighter coloured kirtle, releasing a new-mown hay scent of the woodruff tucked within the folds.
“This is far too big for me. It will have to be made over. Will I have it ready in time?”
“It shall be done,” Alice told her, and turned back to the lace on her lap, bobbins expertly flying.
“I’m not sure about your father’s thoughts on all this.
“Mixed, I expect, him being no supporter of Reynard Venables.”
Ned Parry, when he came in from work, exhausted and filthy from hours spent overseeing his team of men as they hewed rock salt from deep underground, was at first pleased at his daughter’s revelation.
On hearing how the appointment came about, however, his face tightened.
“Venables spoke in your defence? I’d never have believed it possible.”
“It was in gratitude, Father. They were at their wits’ end. It was thought the Lady Honoria had the smallpox.”
“Shame the man don’t show the same feelings for them slaving in his mine,” Ned growled.
“Have peace,” Eira bade her son. “Give the girl praise where due. Jennet has done well.”
Alice, serving potage into wooden bowls at the table, gave her husband a tired smile.
Years of making ends meet had furrowed her brow, brought shadows under her soft-blue eyes and robbed the lustre from her red-gold hair.
There had been lost babies, too, that no amount of skill on Eira’s part could save, and the trauma of family disownment for marrying beneath her.
“You are outspoken,” she told him. “We must consider our blessings.
“We have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, thanks to Reynard Venables.
“Would you have us lose home and hearth through your grumblings?”
“I’d sooner not see a child of mine hobnobbing with the likes of the Venables whelp,” Ned replied dourly.
Jennet’s chin came up.
“I wasn’t hobnobbing, Father. I was being taken to treat a patient. Anthony was worried for his twin.”
“Anthony, is it? We’ll have no more of that, my girl! No more familiarities.”
His tone brooked no argument and Jennet lowered her gaze demurely.
The family settled around the table to do justice to the meal of potage made from scrag end of mutton enriched with root vegetables and mint.
It crossed Jennet’s mind to wonder what sort of feast Anthony was sitting down to.
She had not missed the interest in his gaze as he beheld her. To her chagrin, some small part of her had been flattered by it.
She made an effort to fix her mind on the future and the apothecary shop she would own, where she would treat not only the wealthy, but the poor and needy as well.
Fetching young men, she told herself, played no part in her ambitions.
That went for Anthony, too, whose smile had sent her heart into a flutter.
To be continued…
