The Apothecary's Shop

Mary stepped out into the garden, and surveyed her coming harvest with satisfaction.

The neat rows were filled with all sorts of herbs - lavender, feverfew, lemon balm, sage, rosemary, chamomile, bee balm. Bees buzzed in the drowsy heat, making the flowers nod more than the slight wind that was making the leaves tremble.

Her husband's two apprentices were right behind her, as was her daughter. They also carried the flat herb baskets perfect for collecting long-stemmed plants. They had done this before, or she would never have trusted them with their own pairs of shears.

They fanned out carefully. They knew which herbs needed to be collected today, how much of each, how many stems to cut with one snip. How to gently shake the bees off the flowers before placing the herbs in their baskets. How to trim some of the more yellowed or ratty leaves off as garden mulch.

Mary herself kept one eye on them as they worked. She knew there was a budding romance between the oldest apprentice, William, and her daughter, Elizabeth. If the two married, in due time of course, she would have no qualms having those two inherit the business and attached house. Jacob, on the other hand, was a different kettle of fish. The younger of the two apprentices, he simply wasn't as diligent at his tasks as he should be. He was fully apprenticed - they both were. Contract signed by all parties, money given in exchange for seven years of lessons, food, clothing, shelter. Will took things seriously, and looked on the blending of compounds for the shop as a thing he would master in due time. Jacob thought it was funny to waste supplies in senseless jokes, then wondered why he was punished.

Like now, for instance. He had snipped enough chamomile to fill dozens of sleep pillows, instead of just enough to dry for the tea caddy. Mary strode over, smacked him while he giggled, which stunned him into silence. "Sweeping. Now. And don't stop until I tell you." He sulked inside, whining the whole way.

"Mother, why is he still here? I don't understand why Father doesn't break the apprenticeship."

Mary sighed. "Because your father thinks the best of people, and does not like to punish misbehavior, and thinks Jacob will grow out of it. And he may, someday. But I am no longer willing to lose more of my hard-earned money for his tricks. I will speak to Edward tonight after dinner - which Jacob will not eat, since he thinks it is perfectly fine to waste food. Perhaps his belly will feel full with lots of fresh chamomile tea."

She smiled, hearing the rustling behind her. "And I know that when I turn around you won't be holding hands any more, and mayhap even more than that." And, sure enough, when she turned, smiling, they were a step apart, but very flushed for wearing their sun hats properly. Though the brims weren't sitting perfectly on their heads any more, like they fumbled for a kiss and forgot they'd get in the way. "That serious? Then I need to have some talks with you, both and separately. There are things you need to know about bodies, and what those urges mean. I don't want you doing things that you are not ready for. And I certainly don't want you two galloping off to Gretna Green in defiance of common sense!"

Will was serious, as always. "Mistress, I did not think you would.. um..."

"React sensibly? Young master, I am not blind, and I'm not that old yet. But she is too young to rear a child safely, and I know how the flame of desire can carry you farther than you intended. I remember well, those heady days of infatuation. But Elizabeth does not even have the menses, and if you have not studied the women's things with my husband, I will teach you. You will need to know them anyway, for your female customers. Edward foists them off on me, being too shy, but I will not shirk our duties to the women because he stutters with the womenfolk. Including myself, of course."

Elizabeth was now bright pink from the calm way her mother talked about her, but she also knew her mother well. And had attended when her mother was called in as a midwife when no others were available, and seen some of the things that can go very wrong in childbirth. And how Mary was able to save some that she thought were beyond saving. If her mother was that concerned, there were reasons. So she nodded. Besides, more lessons didn't seem like such an onerous chore, not from her mother.

Mary patted the basket she still held. "Let's get our bounty inside, and we will process them together. And if there are lingering looks and light touches, well, keep those touches to the hands, both of you, when we're working with the equipment, if you please."

They nodded and followed her into the still room. Some herbs were tied in bunches and hung on racks to dry, some were stripped of the flower heads and spread on cloth-covered pans to dry for tea or sleeping pillows. Some were macerated in a mortar with a pestle, and blended with a base to infuse the herb's essence with the wax or oil or vinegar and left to steep. Some were chopped fine and placed in the alembic which they carefully heated up and let the oily essence collect in a vessel. The strong, bright, healing scents of lemon, rosemary, and bergamot filled the chamber.

So many preparations, so many things to make. Cosmetics, soothing creams, perfumes. Blends to heal woulds, treat digestive problems, bring down fever, bring down the menses, clear up eye issues. Her husband officially belonged to The Worshipful Company of Grocers, and as such, he had training with excellent sources for high quality spices and ingredients. Also the protection of the law, now, with the government legitimizing their place in an official guild. Their guild had been in business for five hundred years, and Edward was not shy about showing his sealed and signed documents to any who asked. Unlike the quacks that would eel into town, selling their snake oil products, claiming their cure-alls were so much better than what the established businesses produced. Claiming to be "doctors" and "physicians" with no learning or training. Was Edward's shop more expensive? Yes, but not by enough to beggar anyone who needed them. More effective, as well. They were proud of their reputation and healthy customers.

She even had permission from the parish priest to collect petals from the blessed roses in the church yard. The church was new, but the roses were ancient, small scions transplanted from the oldest roses known in England. A petal or two were tucked into every sleeping sachet, or restorative teas, or into the crocks of rose perfume steeping for a few years to deepen the scent. But most were cooked and formed into rose beads, to be worn against the skin or strung on paternosters.

They were not getting rich, but they did save enough to buy John French's book The Art of Distillation. They did not use lead utensils, which he specifically warned against. They had memorized as much of Hildegard von Bingen's book Physica as they could in the guild house, and even Hildegard warned against using lead back in the twelfth century. Copper or pottery or glass or wood, for the bowls or retorts or trays or kettles, that's what they used. For the health of their customers.

Luncheon was simple fare. Bread with butter, cheese, dredged asparagus, boiled beef. The dredging, dusting the spears with flour and frying them in butter, gave them a good taste. A pitcher of sekanjabin using the mint from the garden was a light and refreshing drink with a touch of vinegar and sugar. Jacob sat on a bench outside, nursing his large mug of hot chamomile tea and a small chunk of bread. With no butter.

Afternoon saw both husband and wife in the shop for sales. Men would stop by in the morning and women would usually come after luncheon, and Mary would serve and advise them while her husband attended to the menfolk. William sat in the corner, out of the way, listening and learning the patter of the trade - whom to flatter, whom to secretly confide in, whom to speak plainly to. What to blend specially in the shop, what ingredients to sell as is from the shelf jars and elaborate glass bottles placed strategically in windows, which compounds to prepare beforehand. Elizabeth listened as well, from the doorway, as Mary did the same with the female sort. More flattery, more conspiratorial tones, but the same quality goods.

They were getting more customers. And some with clothing that seemed of a higher quality than was usual for their town. It must be the summer season, then. Many of the newly-minted rich merchants liked to mimic the land owners, and would leave London in the hotter months to relax in the countryside.

Mary didn't mind the extra money. But she also didn't envy the maidservants and ladies in waiting their heavy silks and velvets and other frippery. And so many layers! Linen was the perfect choice - kept you cool in the summer, warm in the winter, and would take a bit of colorful embroidery to stand out without being ostentatious. She was pleased that she was deft with the sewing needle, and could clothe her family, plus the brace of maids, and apprentices. Two layers was more than enough for shop keepers, a kirtle over a chemise for the women, or two tunics and trews for the men.

Luckily the kitchen maid was quite adept at cooking, because she had dinner ready when they shut the shop in the late afternoon. A partridge, a hearty soup, a loaf of bread from the baker, a wedge of cheddar to share, and a lovely syllabub to wash it down. William excused himself to find Jacob so he could have another hearty mug of chamomile tea with some gruel left over from breakfast-

They heard yelling, even louder shouting, a solid thump! The maids hastily covered the food while the family rushed towards the commotion. They found William out in the yard, straddling Jacob, face down in the dirt. William was pummeling the younger boy's ribs, and his face was flushed with uncharacteristic anger.

"William! What are you doing? Stop this instant!"

"Sorry, Master, I caught him red-handed." Before they could comprehend what that meant, William hopped up, hauled Jacob up by his collar. And shook him, hard.

Rattle, rattle, clang, clatter! Silverware, Mary's silver looking glass that she thought she misplaced, dropped out of Jacob's clothing in a disordered heap. And, thumping on top of it all, was her husband's receipt book.

The book that contained all the recipes they used, in his own hand.

The noise brought one of the town's constables from down to road in a hurry. "Sorry, I was just sitting down with the missus to eat, are you all right? Oh dear." It was obvious what the problem was, and who was the culprit.

Mary was shaking with anger, but her husband surprisingly remained calm. "Yes, Constable, you are needed. This one has broken his apprentice contract, and I will meet with the lawyer tomorrow morning to see it done properly. I can bring the remaining money I was paid for his apprenticeship. But those are my clothes he is wearing, and I will not suffer them to leave my property on an ungrateful churl."

"Right." Mary stepped up, and undid the buttons on jacket and pants with her own hands. She didn't care how much she shook, she was determined to get the clothing she made with love and skill returned to her. She even made the buttons! More silverware fell as the jacket, then shirt, were removed. She left Jacob his small clothing, but slapped him hard as she turned.

"Bad, decision, boy. No one will take you on now, and even your parents might not take you back. To gaol with you, and the justice tomorrow, and these God-fearing people to their meal." Jacob was hauled off, stumbling to keep up with the constable's stride. The man wasn't waiting for a law breaker to get his feet under him.

Elizabeth was crying silent tears, and William had his arm around her. Mary picked up the stolen articles with a grim face, then urged them inside. Their dinner may be cold, but they had worked hard, and needed the strength it would give them for tomorrow's sudden chores.

They ate in silence, still stunned at the turn of events. And if they drank a bit more syllabub than necessary, no priest would condemn them.

But, true to her word, Mary took her daughter aside that night for the new lessons. She unlocked her trousseau chest, and Elizabeth was shocked to discover that her mother owned books! A copy of The Trotula, The Herbarium of Pseudo Apuleius, and Aristotle’s Masterpiece came out to rest on the table. "I know, Daughter mine, that there is pure twaddle written in these lines, and some others that have merit. So, we will decipher these things together, so you know what may come, being the woman's lot in life..."

The candle was the only thing giving light in the house, save for the kitchen fire that was banked for the morrow. And the household drifted into uneasy sleep.