The Apothecary’s Apprentice 16
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 16
She reached out and pressed his hand kindly.
“I’m sorry, Thomas. If I could see into the flames and discover your background for you, I would do so willingly.”
“And risk being labelled a witch and put away in some stinking dungeon? My Jennet of light and air and all good things that grow?” Thomas grinned, with a return of his better self.
“Nay, Jennet. I am not worthy of it,” he added.
“You are to me,” Jennet said quietly.
Warm brown eyes met sapphire-blue, and in that moment something stirred within Jennet, a sensation out of her experience and wholly confusing.
“Agnetta is coming.” Thomas’s voice broke the spell. “Cecily must have sent her to find me.”
He stood up, offered Jennet his hand and drew her to her feet.
“Tell your grandmama I shall see her at noon tomorrow.”
“I shall,” Jennet promised.
She watched him walk away with that distinctive stride of his, head proudly held and back straight.
She thought of his manner of speech.
There was no West Country drawl in Thomas’s voice, as with the Tewkeses who had given him their name.
Thomas spoke in a way all his own. The words he used were selective.
Grandmama, rarely grandmother. Mama, never mother or mam.
Where had the differences sprung from?
As Thomas and Agnetta headed towards the camp, Jennet wondered if Agnetta realised how fortunate she was to have Thomas as the guiding star on her horizon.
She sighed. It was doubtful that Anthony would ever be free to call her his own – and she had not found her headdress!
She turned to go, and the sun sank below the rim of the elm copse and shadows swept across the grassy wastes of the heath.
“Thomas Tewke! There’s lovely it is to see you,” Goodwife Parry said as Thomas stepped into the cottage with his wares.
“Good to see you, too, mistress.”
Close to the window gap, Jennet’s mother sat making lace, the bobbins flying under her nimble fingers.
“Mistress Parry. Good day to you.”
“Good day, Thomas. You are well?”
“I am. And yourselves?”
“We keep in good health. Though it grieves me that Ned has to work so hard for us to make ends meet.
“He does extra shifts at the mine, but I fear it takes its toll.”
Thomas recalled the stocky, fierce-browed Welshman with affection.
He admired Ned, and his views on better working conditions for the men under him.
He tried not to dwell on what Ned’s reaction might be at the prospect of his daughter engaging with the son of the mine owner.
“Ned always was a worker. He’s to be commended for it,” he said to Alice.
“That is true.” The bobbins continued to twist. “Forgive me if I do not stop. The dealer is due and this panel must be ready.”
“The light in here is not good for intricate work. Would that you had a more suitable workplace.”
“Amen to that,” Goodwife Parry said from the table where she was pounding dried roots. “You have my order, Thomas?”
“Every item and more besides. Nutmeg, coriander, cinnamon, and the fixatives, gum benzoin and orris root.”
He produced the slender packages.
“And the herbs that grow in the south where the climate is kinder. Nay, I ask no payment for those.”
He named a sum for the main order, which Goodwife Parry paid from a pot on the shelf.
Thomas put the payment away in his money belt and accepted the cup of small ale that was offered.
To be continued…
