The Apothecary’s Apprentice 37
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 37
“Eyebright, fennel, milk thistle?”
Frowning, Jennet contemplated the pouches of dried herbs on the window embrasure.
“Or could it be the ginkgo biloba?”
Thomas would have obtained the ginkgo for Grandmother.
It was a tender plant from warmer climes and could not survive in colder regions.
Was it what she sought for the purpose?
That morning when she was out on an errand for the master, she had been approached by a housewife with a brood of children around her.
“Mistress Parry? Canst help I? Tes my William.”
She pushed the child forward – a skinny, tow-haired rascal with inflamed eyes full of pus.
“Him’s fallen for this bad humour of the eyes. Him’ll not stop rubbing ’em.”
“Itches,” the boy mumbled.
“My little Annie has started with it an’ all. Your dear departed grandma would’ve cured it in a trice.
“Can you do aught, mistress?” the housewife implored. “I can pay.”
The woman did not look as if she had two farthings to rub together. Her children were underfed and sickly looking.
“Payment will not be necessary,” Jennet replied.
“Come, children. Let me see what’s what.”
Brother and sister subjected themselves to careful scrutiny.
“I liked Goodwife Parry,” the boy announced. “Her gived me liquorice off the market.”
Jennet smiled.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any today. I shall remember for another time.”
“Me, I liked her’n all,” the small girl lisped. “Her talked with a song in her words. But you’re prettier.”
“Why, thank you, Annie.” Jennet turned to the mother. “Your children have a malady of the eye that is infectious.”
“Mercy me! Will they all catch it? Canst help, lady?”
“I shall do my best. Tell me where you live and I shall bring you a remedy.
“Hear that, children? You must do as your mama tells you and not rub your eyes or it will make them worse.”
In her attic room that evening, Jennet consulted her grandmother’s simples box for the ingredients for infectious inflammation of the eye that Grandmother had called “red-rake”.
The scuffed and scratched wooden box contained a bewildering array of medicaments in small brown jars and glass bottles, as well as linen pouches of herbs gathered on heath and hedgerow.
If she were to continue in her grandmother’s footsteps, she would need to go gathering herself, Jennet thought. But how would she find the time?
She selected what she thought might comprise a cure for the children’s malady and took the packets to the latticed window where the light of the fading autumn day was better.
She remembered labelling them at her grandmother’s request.
It was the first time she had done so, relying herself upon her sense of smell to identify the varieties of roots and herbs.
Had Eira, Jennet wondered, had an inkling that her days were numbered?
She had previously shunned the need for penning and lettering, but this could have been her way of making sure that her grandchild would know what her hoard contained.
“Ginkgo. No, milk thistle.”
“Look lively, Jennet.” She could hear Eira’s voice in her head.
“Use the sense you were born with and remember what I told you!”
Jennet knew at once what was required.
“The milk thistle! One pinch distilled in spring water, and a smaller pinch each of the eyebright and the fennel.
“Oh, and a cleansing wash made from wild woodbine and plantain leaves in rain water gathered in June.”
Her grandmother had flasks of that a-plenty in a tall wooden cabinet in the next room.
The hay-time scent of sweet woodruff was still in the room, faint but discernable, and the spicy tang of germander.
Her head high, Jennet went to the tall medicines cupboard, found what she sought and took the flask back to her own room.
She must ask Thomas to help her move the cupboard here, so she could make this her workplace.
Dear Thomas. He had been right about holding her grandmother in her heart.
And Grandmother was not the only one to reside there.
“Oh, Thomas,” Jennet murmured. “I have loved you all along and I never realised it!”
To be continued…
