The Apothecary’s Apprentice 45
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 45
“My dear, may I have your attention whilst the shop is quiet? I need to know your thoughts on the matter we spoke of.”
The master’s look did not waver and Jennet inwardly squirmed.
“Sir, I have much on my mind at present.”
“Wedlock will relieve you of worries. It will provide security and protection. What is there to ponder?
“You will be free of the goodwifery visits you have taken on,” Gryce added.
“Think how pleasant ’twill be not to have to turn out of an evening.”
So he is aware of my movements, Jennet thought with a twinge of unease.
“And remember,” Gryce continued, “my goodwill extends to your parents. Think on it, Jennet, and mind what I warned you initially.”
“That I was in danger of being reported to the guild?” Jennet retorted. “Sir, I am innocent of any wrong-doing.”
“That remains under question. The matter is out of my hands and the situation cannot be held off indefinitely.
“You do understand me, Jennet?”
“Yes, sir.”
She understood only too well. He was prepared to go ahead with his threat. How could she fight such authority?
Smiling silkily, Gryce returned to the task of sorting repeat remedies for housebound customers.
“Some of these are urgent. Best you take them now, Jennet. As to the other, I want your answer by noon tomorrow.”
Jennet scooped up the packages, left the shop and fled directly to the Crown and Sceptre and Thomas.
There had just been a delivery from the brewery, and Thomas, rolling kegs of ale into the cellar of the inn, stopped and listened to what Jennet had to say.
“It’s an ultimatum, Thomas. Wed the master or he’ll take action. I cannot agree to it!”
“Of course you cannot. The idea is preposterous.”
“I am to give him my answer by tomorrow noon. Thomas, what’s to do?”
He was smoothing his tousled hair, brushing down his shabby jerkin and breeches.
“I’m going to speak to Venables. I vow he is the one behind all this. If I am wrong, he is likely to know of the situation.”
“But your work . . .” Jennet began.
“To the devil with it! There are other innkeepers to skivvy for,” Thomas replied firmly. “Take heart, Jennet. I shall be back.”
Ignoring the shouts of the inn workers behind him, Thomas set off at a loping pace for Venables House.
In the comfortable parlour of Venables House, Reynard Venables addressed his daughter warmly.
“Honoria, is all well?”
“Wonderfully well, Father.”
Anthony grimaced from where he lounged on the cushioned settle.
“Fie, Honoria! You stink of the stable!”
“What do you expect, since it is where I have been for hours?” Honoria retorted.
“I know, little sister. So tell us, what news?”
“A fine colt foal. Falada is so proud it brings tears to my eyes.
“The herb gatherer woman did her work well. Our stableman swears he could not have coped without her.”
“You have paid her the purse of gold I gave you?” Venables queried.
“I have, Father, and directed her to the kitchen for food and rest. The foal was a trifle overdue – ’twas never an exact science, the woman said, and . . .”
Honoria was silenced by loud voices in the hallway beyond.
There was a rap on the parlour door and the housekeeper entered.
She looked flustered.
“Beg pardon, sir. There’s a rough-looking caller begging audience with you. Shall I have him thrown out?”
Venables frowned.
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“No, sir. He will speak with you and no other.”
Anthony yawned indolently.
“Oh, have the fellow shown in, Father. Let’s see what his business is with us. ’Twill relieve the tedium of the day.”
“Yes, do, Father. Let us not cloud the joy of the hour with ill favour,” Honoria added.
Venables gave the word and Thomas was admitted into the chamber.