The Apothecary’s Apprentice 17
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 17
They were discussing the rebuilding in the town following the Great Fire, when the door opened to admit the cloaked figure of the haberdashery dealer.
A grubby individual, thin-faced and scant-bearded, with unkempt grey hair and more gaps than yellowing teeth, he confronted Alice dourly.
“Well, woman? Hast my order ready?”
“I have, sir.” Alice Parry’s genteel voice betrayed none of her inner feelings.
Rising, she added the exquisite lace panel to others in her assignment and handed them to the dealer.
Eight pennies were slapped on to the table.
“Your payment, ma’am.”
“Sir, you have an extra panel. The rose bower.”
“What of it?”
Thomas frowned.
The man’s conduct was disgraceful, and the meagre reward for so accomplished a product seemed to him an insult.
He stood up to face the dealer.
“Lace of such perfection fetches a rare sum at the haberdashery marts. I see much on my travels and I am aware of costs.
“Your payment for many hours of skilled effort is miserly in the extreme.”
The atmosphere was suddenly tense.
The dealer’s eyes narrowed.
“Who might you be, that questions my rule of trading?”
“Thomas Tewke, sir, of near and far.” Thomas proffered a short bow.
“Hearken to me, Thomas Tewke. Those who cross Humphrey Maynard do well to guard their step.”
“In which case, sir, word might spread of a rival dealer whose rates are more fair than those of another,” Thomas retorted.
The two regarded each other across the cluttered space.
Maynard muttered a string of oaths, then turned and stormed out.
There was silence, into which dropped Alice Parry’s fretful sigh and the goodwife’s cluck of concern.
“Thomas, I fear you have made an enemy there.”
“So be it. The man is a rogue and needs taking to task.” He gave a smile of reassurance. “I shall take my leave. Till next time.”
He swept them a bow.
The sun was hot as Thomas set off homewards through the bustling thoroughfare.
He had not gone far when the urgent clanging of the town crier’s bell rose above the clop and clatter of the street.
“Oyez! Oyez! All able men to the Venables salt pits. Oyez! Oyez!”
Thomas stopped in his tracks.
The Venables mine? Ned Parry was foreman there!
Around him, confusion erupted.
Children cried, horses shied and barking dogs added to the general clamour.
Thomas started to run, sprinting towards the river bridge and the salt pits beyond.
Other men were doing the same, and women, some with infants in arms and hampered by older offspring clinging to their skirts, joined the surge.
“Please let Ned be safe.” Thomas’s plea was a mantra as he raced along.
The town crier’s bell continued to toll as the anxious crowd pressed on.
In the stillroom of the apothecary shop, Jennet looked up from stirring a scented bowl of pot pourri.
Wasn’t that the town crier’s bell?
Without a thought for her own interests, she left off what she was doing and barged out through the shop, narrowly avoiding a cluster of customers.
On the street, a stream of townsfolk surged by, and Jennet, catching the crier’s message, took her chance and joined the flow.
This was her father’s shift. He could be hurt, maimed or even dead!
Elbowed and jostled along, she ran with fear in her heart, while in the distance a thick black pall of smoke and dust rose from the salt pits and mine workings.