The Apothecary’s Apprentice 34
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 34
Little escaped the notice of Reynard Venables.
If the Parrys but knew it, a watch had been kept on Gryce’s apothecary since the day they had taken up residence above the shop.
“I do not like it,” Reynard said to his son and daughter as they sat together over a carafe of wine.
Anthony topped up their goblets, the wine glowing crimson in the firelight.
Outside, a wind was getting up, moaning eerily in the wide chimney.
Anthony swirled his wine in thought, watching the play of light in the rich-smelling liquor.
For Jennet’s sake he did not want her folks to fall foul of his sire.
“Father, Master Parry is an invalid. What harm can he do us now?”
“My informant tells me he has the men on his side.
“The daughter is like-minded. Both addled with reformist nonsense.
“I’ll not have trouble at my mine. They need stopping before the entire workforce is involved.”
Anthony continued to swish his goblet gently, absently regarding the blood-red swirl of wine.
His betrothal to Jane Woodward was eminently suitable.
Jane was vivacious and pleasing to look upon, yet the fiery-haired, violet-eyed apprentice at Gryce’s shop was never far from his mind.
Clever, feisty Jennet. What a match that could have been.
She had returned the trifles he had given her, bunched in a square of linen and slipped to him in the town by a ragged urchin who had melted promptly into the crowds.
It had felt so final.
He looked up.
“I believe the herb gatherer fellow is very thick there. He was flung out of the group for illicit trading. The name escapes me.”
“Thomas Tewke,” Honoria supplied. “It was Agnetta Tewke who informed me about Falada’s condition.
“An August foaling, she said. Falada is late and the group has moved on, otherwise the girl might have advised me here.”
Anthony groaned.
“You worry too much over that wretched filly. She will foal when she is ready. They always do.”
“But the Tewke girl said August, and we are now into September. Falada is far from happy.
“Agnetta has special powers. She has a way with animals,” Honoria pressed.
Reynard nodded.
“Aye, I seem to recall Butts saying as much.”
“The bailiff? Could he find out where the gatherers have gone? Agnetta might be able to help.”
“The woman could have been wrong with the dates, my dear,” Reynard suggested in an attempt to banish the troubled pucker on his daughter’s brow.
“Never! Something is wrong. If anything should happen to Falada I would never forgive myself.”
“Leave it with me,” her father said. “I shall see what can be done.”
Pacified, Honoria settled back to sip her drink and fondle the soft ears of the spaniel on her lap.
Rain hammered against the mullioned casement of the shop.
It had been dark when Jennet had begun work that morning, and the lamp was still lit to dispel some of the gloom in the premises.
She ran a dusting cloth over the polished counter top and arranged the gleaming brass weighing scales in preparation for the day ahead.
If she hurried, she could get herself into the stillroom before the master appeared.
Avoiding his possessive look and insincere smiles had become necessary to her day.
She moved to unbolt the shop door and turn the notice that declared the place open for business.
“Eight of the clock and all’s well.”
The penetrating call of the passing town crier jolted her into realising that her grandmother was not yet down.
Jennet seized the lamp and went through to the stillroom to make sure.
All was dim and silent.
To be continued…
