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Authors: Henriette Gyland
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daughter.
She’d promised Gentleman George that she would be with him until the very end, and now George could meet his maker dressed like a true gentleman.
After her visit to Mr Isaacs, Cora made her way to the apothecary. In contrast to Mr Isaacs’ dusty premises, hidden away in a narrow side street, the apothecary’s shop on the High Street was a paragon of respectability. The bay-fronted window contained a three-tiered display of labelled brown jars, each with a description of the contents, and the pestle and mortar sign above the shop was newly painted.
Mr Byrd, the proprietor, greeted her with the time-honoured friendliness of a Hounslow trader. Because the town was the last major coaching stop en route to the west of England, trade was booming, and the shopkeepers were good-natured and content.
The apothecary was a rotund man in his fifties with a short grey horsehair wig befitting his profession and a pair of
pince-nez
glasses permanently perched on the end of a colossal nose.
‘What’ll it be today, Miss Mardell?’ he asked. ‘Some more of that tincture for your father’s chest ague?’
‘Yes, please. If you could prepare the same for him, I’d be much obliged, Mr Byrd.’
‘Certainly. If you’d be good enough to wait.’ He indicated that Cora should take a seat and began mixing the ingredients.
Cora sat down gingerly and looked about her. The counter, shelves and cupboards had all been painted a mossy green, and the oak floor had been polished to a high shine. As always when she entered Mr Byrd’s establishment, she was filled with a sense of awe at all the cures that existed.
On one wall hung a copy of Mr Byrd’s apothecary’s license and a certificate in minor surgery, and a large collection of delft drug jars and slender-necked bottles for storing medications lined the wall behind the counter together with several heavy tomes of pharmacy books. Implements for compounding, weighing and dispensing drugs stood on the counter where Mr Byrd was in the process of selecting the ingredients for Ned’s medicine.
In addition to prescribing remedies, Mr Byrd also made house calls to treat patients, acted as a surgeon and trained apprentices. His services were expensive and the only way Cora could afford them was through her clandestine activities. Today, however, with the money from the robbery and what Mr Isaacs had paid her for the ring and the watch, she was confident that she would be able to pay for the tincture without suffering the embarrassment of having to ask Mr Byrd for credit,
and
have money to spare at the same time.
Feeling optimistic about the future, she turned towards the door as the next customer walked in. The blood drained from her face with the shock of recognition. The man she had robbed – the handsome one, again – had just entered the shop, and he was staring right at her.
Her heart raced uncontrollably with fear and she rose from the chair. She didn’t have such a large bonnet to hide behind this time – would he recognise her? If he did, all he had to do was to point the finger and insist that she be searched and she would be caught red-handed, unable to offer a plausible explanation for why his engraved fob watch was nestling on the bottom of her basket. And then it would be prison and the gallows. Her gaze darted, looking for an escape route, but as her dupe was blocking the doorway, there was only one alternative: jumping over the apothecary counter and scarpering out the back.
Acknowledging her by raising his hat, he approached the counter and stood right next to her. Cora’s breath caught in her throat, and her hands moved as if on their own accord to hoist up her skirt in order to run.
But just as she was about to flee, the man was distracted by the apothecary. ‘Lord Halliford, it’s a pleasure to see you as always,’ he said obsequiously. ‘All’s well at Lampton Hall, I hope. Pray, how may I be of assistance?’
‘Some of your vinegar of
She’d promised Gentleman George that she would be with him until the very end, and now George could meet his maker dressed like a true gentleman.
After her visit to Mr Isaacs, Cora made her way to the apothecary. In contrast to Mr Isaacs’ dusty premises, hidden away in a narrow side street, the apothecary’s shop on the High Street was a paragon of respectability. The bay-fronted window contained a three-tiered display of labelled brown jars, each with a description of the contents, and the pestle and mortar sign above the shop was newly painted.
Mr Byrd, the proprietor, greeted her with the time-honoured friendliness of a Hounslow trader. Because the town was the last major coaching stop en route to the west of England, trade was booming, and the shopkeepers were good-natured and content.
The apothecary was a rotund man in his fifties with a short grey horsehair wig befitting his profession and a pair of
pince-nez
glasses permanently perched on the end of a colossal nose.
‘What’ll it be today, Miss Mardell?’ he asked. ‘Some more of that tincture for your father’s chest ague?’
‘Yes, please. If you could prepare the same for him, I’d be much obliged, Mr Byrd.’
‘Certainly. If you’d be good enough to wait.’ He indicated that Cora should take a seat and began mixing the ingredients.
Cora sat down gingerly and looked about her. The counter, shelves and cupboards had all been painted a mossy green, and the oak floor had been polished to a high shine. As always when she entered Mr Byrd’s establishment, she was filled with a sense of awe at all the cures that existed.
On one wall hung a copy of Mr Byrd’s apothecary’s license and a certificate in minor surgery, and a large collection of delft drug jars and slender-necked bottles for storing medications lined the wall behind the counter together with several heavy tomes of pharmacy books. Implements for compounding, weighing and dispensing drugs stood on the counter where Mr Byrd was in the process of selecting the ingredients for Ned’s medicine.
In addition to prescribing remedies, Mr Byrd also made house calls to treat patients, acted as a surgeon and trained apprentices. His services were expensive and the only way Cora could afford them was through her clandestine activities. Today, however, with the money from the robbery and what Mr Isaacs had paid her for the ring and the watch, she was confident that she would be able to pay for the tincture without suffering the embarrassment of having to ask Mr Byrd for credit,
and
have money to spare at the same time.
Feeling optimistic about the future, she turned towards the door as the next customer walked in. The blood drained from her face with the shock of recognition. The man she had robbed – the handsome one, again – had just entered the shop, and he was staring right at her.
Her heart raced uncontrollably with fear and she rose from the chair. She didn’t have such a large bonnet to hide behind this time – would he recognise her? If he did, all he had to do was to point the finger and insist that she be searched and she would be caught red-handed, unable to offer a plausible explanation for why his engraved fob watch was nestling on the bottom of her basket. And then it would be prison and the gallows. Her gaze darted, looking for an escape route, but as her dupe was blocking the doorway, there was only one alternative: jumping over the apothecary counter and scarpering out the back.
Acknowledging her by raising his hat, he approached the counter and stood right next to her. Cora’s breath caught in her throat, and her hands moved as if on their own accord to hoist up her skirt in order to run.
But just as she was about to flee, the man was distracted by the apothecary. ‘Lord Halliford, it’s a pleasure to see you as always,’ he said obsequiously. ‘All’s well at Lampton Hall, I hope. Pray, how may I be of assistance?’
‘Some of your vinegar of
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