The Apothecary’s Apprentice 26
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 26
In the garden was a cherry tree laden with ripening fruit. A pair of blackbirds nested there.
Thomas watched a bird swoop in with a beak full of grubs for the squawking young.
“Extraordinary how they choose to live here with all the din of the streets to contend with, when they could be somewhere more tranquil.”
“I expect they’ve become used to it,” Jennet reasoned. “There goes the hen bird.
“She laid five eggs. I stood on an upturned bucket and looked.”
Thomas shook his head in amusement.
“Patience never was your strong point, was it? You always found it hard to wait to see how many fledglings appeared.
“No doubt these young blackbirds will nest here themselves in due course.”
He broke off.
“What about you, Jennet?” he asked mildly.
“Could you live in a different environment, or are you happy in town?”
“I would settle anywhere that has a shop, a patch of ground to grow my physic plants and the peace to carry out my apothecary work.”
Jennet closed her lips firmly on the answer.
It wasn’t until after Thomas had left that she wondered if there had been a deeper reason behind Thomas’s query.
For some reason he was in her thoughts more than ever of late: the reassuring presence of him, intelligent and sensible.
And, around him, the confidence that came from travelling to distant realms that she could only dream of.
A week later, Jennet was inspecting the stillroom shelves when her grandmother gave a cry and the pewter bowl in her hand fell to the floor.
Jennet whirled round in alarm.
“Grandmother, what is it? You’ve gone white as flax.
“Here, sit down and rest,” she ordered. “ Let me get you a sup of spring water.”
She pulled out a stool from under the workbench and gently eased her grandmother down on it.
The goodwife was clutching at her chest and gasping, her face twisting in pain.
“Don’t fuss, child! I shall be all right in a moment. ’Tis that herring we had last night for supper. Off, it was.”
Jennet knew for a fact that the fish could not have been fresher. They had all eaten the same with no problems.
She recalled how her grandmother had pushed aside the breakfast gruel that morning, as if she couldn’t face it.
“You are unwell. Being on your feet here all day and going about your goodwifery round after is too much for you.”
“Fiddle-de-dee!” Her grandmother tutted.
“I’ve never suffered a day’s illness in my life, and I do not intend to start now.
“Overcome with the heat, I was. Open the window, can’t you?”
“Grandmother, I dare not,” Jennet replied. “The master insists on having it closed. The flies, you know.”
“What a to-do.” Eira sighed. “Where’s that spring water, girl?”
It was not like her grandmother to be irritable, and in silence Jennet poured her a cup of lukewarm water from the jug on the workbench.
She watched Eira as she sipped, her grandmother’s hand shaking so much that some of the liquid spilled.
“Better?” Jennet asked.
“Don’t mither me, Jennet. ’Twas only the heat. A good thunderstorm would clear the air.”
She continued to mutter and mumble, and Jennet went back to reviewing the stock on the shelves.
The thick stillroom smell of mingled herbs and spices, usually much loved, seemed suddenly overpowering.
She felt the trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.
Perhaps Grandmother was right about being affected by the heat.
To be continued…
