Free The Herbalist by Niamh Boyce

‘that quack in the square’.
He was worried about losing patients to Don Vikram Fernandes. The apple of Emily’s
eye. Customers were commenting about the girl’s carry-on. She was pestering the
herbalist, hanging around his stall. And if a certain someone was to be believed, she
had visited him alone.
    Emily had turned out to be surprisingly
efficient. She had done a great job on their window display – people had commented on it
– and Carmel was grateful, but there was a shiftiness about the girl. Her gestures were
theatrical, unnerving. The constant fiddling and babbling about Harlow, Gilbert and
Garbo was very wearing.
    But that wasn’t the real why of it,
why she wanted Emily at a distance. Carmel had visited the herbalist on the sly. She
wanted to get strong again, she wanted to have another baby; she was going to give it
one last try. If anyone could help her, he could; God knowsshe had
tried everything else. So it didn’t do that Emily was around. Not that the
herbalist didn’t seem discreet – he’d have to be in his line of work,
wouldn’t he? – but Emily … well, Emily had a habit of seeing things you
didn’t want her to see.
    When he first came, she wouldn’t have
dreamt of seeking him out, but that was before her baby was in the ground. Now she
didn’t care what she had to do, as long as no one knew. She could do her penance
later, after she’d had another child. She felt a change in herself – whether it
was a hardening or a softening she wasn’t sure. And there was the guilt. All the
time the guilt of wanting a living baby when poor Samuel was lost and alone in
limbo.
    Carmel had waited till it was dark one
evening and gone to his door, nervous as a girl. It had opened on the first soft knock.
Well, you’d swear she was royalty, he was so welcoming, so understanding. She
didn’t have to explain. He had just the thing, and wouldn’t tell anyone.
That’s the way Carmel wanted it: she needed the small bulb of dark liquid to
remain secret, as secret as her wish. It hadn’t taken a second and had cost her
one and six.
    Dan sat down on the settle bed, crossed his
legs and opened the
Sunday Press
.
    ‘I wrote to Finbar,’ Carmel
said; ‘told him that we’ll take the girl he was going to send before, when …
Anyway, we won’t need Emily any more – will you tell her?’
    ‘I thought Sad Eyes was a great
help?’ He straightened up. ‘And do you know what she told me? Did you know,
Carmel, that Carole Lombard and Clark Gable weren’t even properly
married?’
    ‘Ah, how would Emily know, she’s
full of nonsense. Dan, Grettie B says she’s besotted with that herbalist person;
it’s unseemly and reflects badly on us.’
    ‘Emily’s no worse than the rest
of them – sure isn’t every woman in the town lapping up his miracle elixirs? You
even.’ He winked at his wife.
    ‘What on earth do you mean?’
    ‘Lizzie saw you coming out of that
shack he calls a dispensary. Did Mr Sing-Song promise to make you look younger? The
thingswomen believe. Only a time machine could do that. Is that what
he has in there, Carmel, a time machine!’
    ‘Very funny. Lizzie must’ve been
on the lash because it wasn’t me she saw, mark my words.’
    She snapped her novel shut.
Brave New
World
indeed – she couldn’t make head nor tail of it. It vexed Carmel
that Dan thought she wanted wrinkle lotion. The whole thing vexed her.
    ‘Look, I’m sorry for laughing.
He’s only a con man, you know that, don’t you?’ He reached over and
touched her knee.
    ‘What would you know about
anything?’ Why was there a lump in her throat?
    ‘He’s just peddling hope,
Carmel.’ Dan’s tone had softened.
    ‘What have you got against
hope?’ She gave him a water-eyed glance.
    ‘Nothing.’ He held her hand, and
dared to say the unmentionable. ‘Did you think he could help us have children, is
that it?’
    She couldn’t speak.
    ‘So what now?’ he said.
‘Bed?’
    ‘Why not.’
    She poked the