The Apothecary’s Apprentice 09
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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March came in with fierce winds that tore the straw from ill-built roofs and toppled chimneys into the streets.
Market traders saw their wares carried off on the wings of the gales, never to be seen again.
Washing was wrenched from the lines, and a barge carrying pelts to the tannery came to grief in the waters of the River Weaver, losing its precious cargo in the process.
Gradually the storms subsided and calm descended. The days began to lengthen. Spring was in the air.
Jennet was kept busy in the stillroom of the shop, and custom had increased due to her skills, learned from her grandmother, in producing cosmetics free from the harmful elements of those found in most face paints and powders.
There were also flower essences that Gryce had a carpenter put up an extra shelf to display.
“You are serving me well, Jennet,” the apothecary told her once her month’s trial was completed.
Jennet was counting the days to when Thomas would be here.
The trysts with Anthony Venables continued.
Each meeting brought another gift: a set of tiny gilt buttons for a bodice, a wisp of filmy headdress gauze, a pretty kerchief.
And, most startling of all, a hand-held looking-glass in which she saw her own face for the very first time.
“I cannot accept it,” she protested.
“Of course you can. Every woman requires the means to prink and preen. Take it, or I vow I shall be sorely offended.”
Anthony adopted an injured expression, but his blue eyes twinkled.
“Indeed, it could make me quite ill, and you would have to dose me with one of your vile potions!”
His teasing rarely failed.
She stowed the gift in the carved cedar-wood box with her other keepsakes.
Each night, in the guttering light of a taper, she took them out to look at them, locking everything safely away again.
No-one must discover them. No-one must learn of those stolen moments with Anthony.
In the main, Jennet’s powers of deception served her well, but Grandmother Eira was knowing.
“There’s eager you are to get away after Matins these Sundays,” she remarked casually.
“I listen to the skylarks on the heath,” Jennet was quick to reply.
“Skylarks, is it? Nightingales it was in my day, that put the stars in a maiden’s eyes.”
“I watch out for Thomas and the others,” Jennet struggled on, her cheeks burning.
“And not before time. Skylarks, indeed! You think I was born yesterday?
“The sooner Thomas shows his face, the better!”
They came in April.
A wisp of woodsmoke curling above the trees of the spinney, the imprint of horses’ hooves and cartwheels in soft ground of the track, and word spread through the town that the herb gatherers were here.
The moment the shop closed, Jennet ran through the gathering dusk to Beam Heath to the figure she knew would be waiting.
“Thomas!” she cried, clasping his outstretched hands. “At last.”
“Jennet! You are well? You look well.”
“Tes goodly tidings, Thomas. I am at Gryce’s apothecary shop. Tes an apprenticeship.”
Thomas smiled down into her eager face.
“Why, Jennet, ’tis what you have always craved. Does Henry Gryce treat you well? He will be a hard taskmaster, I warrant. Very exacting.”
“He is, but I can put up with that,” Jennet replied. “Is all fair with you, Thomas, and the others? Amos and Cecily? Agnetta?”
She spoke the latter’s name hesitantly. Every spring, when the company appeared, Jennet expected to hear of a nuptial date between Thomas and Agnetta Tewke.
Jennet was beginning to wonder if it ever would happen.
“All thriving,” Thomas confirmed. “Weary from the travelling and thankful to have arrived.
“One of the horses pulled out lame, so Agnetta dealt with that.”
Agnetta was good with animals. She knew instinctively what treatment was required. Jennet could not deny her that.
“It all made for delays,” Thomas continued. “Still, we are here now. How do your folks?”
“Fair enough.”
“Tell your grandmother I have the tender herbs she wanted. I shall call with them once we are settled.
“There is much to talk about, Jennet.” Thomas began a hasty narrative.
“We have three new members. That makes a score of us in all.
“And the council of herb gatherers is meeting here this time. The other groups will be coming for that.”
Suddenly, from the streets of Nantwich, the strident tones of the town-crier rang out, hollering the time of day.
Jennet threw an anxious glance over her shoulder.
“Thomas, I must go. Father will be home.”
“You will come Sunday? Directly after church?”
Jennet hesitated. She was due to meet Anthony then.
Last week he had kissed her.
“I shall be here as soon as I can,” she said, and took her leave.