THE QUACK DOCTORS

Patience, it may be remembered, had promised Blaize to give him her earnings to enable him to procure a fresh supply of medicine, and about a week after he had received the trifling amount (for he had been so constantly employed by the grocer that he had no opportunity of getting out before), he sallied forth to visit a neighbouring apothecary, named Parkhurst, from whom he had been in the habit of purchasing drugs, and who occupied a small shop not far from the grocer’s, on the opposite side of the street.  Parkhurst appeared overjoyed to see him, and, without giving him time to prefer his own request, inquired after his master’s family whether they were all well, especially fair Mistress Amabel and, further, what was the meaning of the large supplies of provision which he saw daily conveyed to the premises?  Blaize shook his head at the latter question, and for some time refused to answer it.  But being closely pressed by Parkhurst, he admitted that his master was about to shut up his house.

“Shut up his house!” exclaimed Parkhurst.  “I never heard of such a preposterous idea.  If he does so, not one of you will come out alive.  But I should hope that he will be dissuaded from his rash design.”

“Dissuaded!” echoed Blaize.  “You don’t know my master.  He’s as obstinate as a mule when he takes a thing into his head.  Nothing will turn him.  Besides, Doctor Hodges sanctions and even recommends the plan.”

“I have no opinion of Doctor Hodges,” sneered the apothecary.  “He is not fit to hold a candle before a learned friend of mine, a physician, who is now in that room.  The person I speak of thoroughly understands the pestilence, and never fails to cure every case that comes before him.  No shutting up houses with him.  He is in possession of an infallible remedy.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Blaize, pricking up his ears.  “What is his name?”

“His name!” cried Parkhurst, with a puzzled look.  “How strange it should slip my memory!  Ah, now I recollect.  It is Doctor Calixtus Bottesham.”

“A singular name, truly,” remarked Blaize; “but it sounds like that of a clever man.”

“Doctor Calixtus Bottesham is a wonderful man,” returned the apothecary.  “I have never met with his like.  I would trumpet forth his merits through the whole city, but that it would ruin my trade.  The plague is our harvest, as my friend Chowles, the coffin-maker, says, and it will not do to stop it ha! ha!”

“It is too serious a subject to laugh at,” returned Blaize, gravely.  “But are the doctor’s fees exorbitant?”

“To the last degree,” replied Parkhurst.  “I am afraid to state how much he asks.”

“I fear I shall not be able to consult him, then,” said Blaize, turning over the coin in his pocket; “and yet I should greatly like to do so.”

“Have no fear on that score,” returned the apothecary.  “I have been able to render him an important service, and he will do anything for me.  He shall give you his advice gratis.”

“Thank you! thank you!” cried Blaize, transported with delight.

“Wait here a moment, and I will ascertain whether he will see you,” replied Parkhurst.

So saying, he quitted the porter, who amused himself during his absence by studying the labels affixed to the jars and bottles on the shelves.  He had much ado to restrain himself from opening some of them, and tasting their contents.

Full a quarter of an hour elapsed before the apothecary appeared.

“I am sorry to have detained you so long,” he said; “but I had more difficulty with the doctor than I expected, and for some time he refused to see you on any terms, because he has a violent antipathy to Doctor Hodges, whom he regards as a mere pretender, and whose patient he conceives you to be.”

“I am not Doctor Hodges’ patient,” returned Blaize; “and I regard him as a pretender myself.”

“That opinion will recommend you to Doctor Bottesham,” replied Parkhurst; “and since I have smoothed the way for you, you will find him very affable and condescending.  He has often heard me speak of your master; and if it were not for his dislike of Doctor Hodges, whom he might accidentally encounter, he would call upon him.”

“I wish I could get my master to employ him instead of the other,” said Blaize.

“I wish so too,” cried Parkhurst, eagerly.  “Do you think it could be managed?”

“I fear not,” returned Blaize.

“There would be no harm in making the trial,” replied Parkhurst.  “But you shall now see the learned gentleman.  I ought to apprise you that he has two friends with him one a young gallant, named Hawkswood, whom he has recently cured of the distemper, and who is so much attached to him that he never leaves him; the other, a doctor, like himself, named Martin Furbisher, who always accompanies him in his visits to his patients, and prepares his mixtures for him.  You must not be surprised at their appearance.  And now come with me.”

With this, he led the way into a small room at the back of the shop, where three personages were seated at the table, with a flask of wine and glasses before them.  Blaize detected Doctor Bottesham at a glance.  He was an ancient-looking man, clad in a suit of rusty black, over which was thrown a velvet robe, very much soiled and faded, but originally trimmed with fur, and lined with yellow silk.  His powers of vision appeared to be feeble, for he wore a large green shade over his eyes, and a pair of spectacles of the same colour.  A venerable white beard descended almost to his waist.  His head was protected by a long flowing grey wig, over which he wore a black velvet cap.  His shoulders were high and round, his back bent, and he evidently required support when he moved, as a crutch-headed staff was reared against his chair.  On his left was a young, handsome, and richly-attired gallant, answering to the apothecary’s description of Hawkswood; and on the right sat a stout personage precisely habited like himself, except that he wore a broad-leaved hat, which completely overshadowed his features.  Notwithstanding this attempt at concealment, it was easy to perceive that Doctor Furbisher’s face was covered with scars, that he had a rubicund nose, studded with carbuncles, and a black patch over his left eye.

“Is this the young man who desires to consult me?” asked Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, in the cracked and quavering voice of old age, of Parkhurst.

“It is,” replied the apothecary, respectfully.  “Go forward,” he added to Blaize, “and speak for yourself.”

“What ails you?” pursued Bottesham, gazing at him through his spectacles.  “You look strong and hearty.”

“So I am, learned sir,” replied Blaize, bowing to the ground; “but understanding from Mr. Parkhurst that you have an infallible remedy against the plague, I would gladly procure it from you, as, if I should be attacked, I may not have an opportunity of consulting you.”

“Why not?” demanded Bottesham.  “I will come to you if you send for me.”

“Because,” replied Blaize, after a moment’s hesitation, “my master is about to shut up his house, and no one will be allowed to go forth, or to enter it, till the pestilence is at an end.”

“Your master must be mad to think of such a thing,” rejoined Bottesham.  “What say you, brother Furbisher? is that the way to keep off the plague?”

“Gallipots of Galen! no,” returned the other; “it is rather the way to invite its assaults.”

“When does your master talk of putting this fatal design for fatal it will be to him and all his household into execution?” demanded Bottesham.

“Very shortly, I believe,” replied Blaize.  “He meant to begin on the first of June, but as the pestilence is less violent than it was, Doctor Hodges has induced him to defer his purpose for a few days.”

“Doctor Hodges!” exclaimed Bottesham, contemptuously.  “It was an unfortunate day for your master when he admitted that sack-drinking impostor into his house.”

“I have no great opinion of his skill,” replied Blaize, “but, nevertheless, it must be admitted that he cured Master Stephen in a wonderful manner.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Bottesham, “that was mere accident.  I heard the particulars of the case from Parkhurst, and am satisfied the youth would have recovered without his aid.  But what a barbarian Mr. Bloundel must be to think of imprisoning his family in this way!”

“He certainly does not consult my inclinations in the matter,” returned Blaize.

“Nor those of his wife and daughter, I should imagine,” continued Bottesham.  “How do they like it?”

“I cannot exactly say,” answered Blaize.  “What a dreadful thing it would be if I should be attacked by the plague, and no assistance could be procured!”

“It would be still more dreadful if so angelic a creature as Bloundel’s daughter is represented to be for I have never seen her should be so seized,” observed Bottesham.  “I feel so much interested about her that I would do anything to preserve her from the fate with which she is menaced.”

“Were it not inconsistent with your years, learned sir, I might suspect you of a tenderer feeling towards her,” observed Blaize, archly.  “But, in good sooth, her charms are so extraordinary, that I should not be surprised at any effect they might produce.”

“They would produce no effect on me,” replied Bottesham.  “I am long past such feelings.  But in regard to yourself.  You say you are afraid of the plague.  I will give you an electuary to drive away the panic;” and he produced a small jar, and handed it to the porter.  “It is composed of conserve of roses, gillyflowers, borage, candied citron, powder of laetificans Galeni, Roman zedoary, doronicum, and saffron.  You must take about the quantity of a large nutmeg, morning and evening.”

“You make me for ever your debtor, learned sir,” rejoined Blaize.  “What a charming mixture!”

“I will also add my remedy,” said Furbisher.  “It is a powder compounded of crabs’ eyes, burnt hartshorn, the black tops of crabs’ claws, the bone from a stag’s heart, unicorn’s horn, and salt of vipers.  You must take one or two drams not more in a glass of hot posset-drink, when you go to bed, and swallow another draught of the same potion to wash it down.”

“I will carefully observe your directions,” replied Blaize, thankfully receiving the powder.

“Of all things,” said Bottesham, claiming the porter’s attention by tapping him on the head with his cane, “take care never to be without vinegar.  It is the grand specific, not merely against the plague, but against all disorders.  It is food and physic, meat and medicine, drink and julep, cordial and antidote.  If you formerly took it as a sauce, now take it as a remedy.  To the sound it is a preservative from sickness, to the sick, a restorative to health.  It is like the sword which is worn not merely for ornament, but for defence.  Vinegar is my remedy against the plague.  It is a simple remedy, but an effectual one.  I have cured a thousand patients with it, and hope to cure a thousand more.  Take vinegar with all you eat, and flavour all you drink with it.  Has the plague taken away your appetite, vinegar will renew it.  Is your throat ulcerated, use vinegar as a gargle.  Are you disturbed with phlegmatic humours, vinegar will remove them.  Is your brain laden with vapours, throw vinegar on a hot shovel, and inhale its fumes, and you will obtain instantaneous relief.  Have you the headache, wet a napkin in vinegar, and apply it to your temples, and the pain will cease.  In short, there is no ailment that vinegar will not cure.  It is the grand panacea; and may be termed the elixir of long life.”

“I wonder its virtues have not been found out before,” observed Blaize, innocently.

“It is surprising how slow men are in discovering the most obvious truths,” replied Bottesham.  “But take my advice, and never be without it.”

“I never will,” returned Blaize.  “Heaven be praised, my master has just ordered in three tuns.  I’ll tap one of them directly.”

“That idea of the vinegar remedy is borrowed from Kemp’s late treatise on the pestilence and its cure,” muttered Furbisher.  “Before you enter upon the new system, young man,” he added aloud to Blaize, “let me recommend you to fortify your stomach with a glass of canary.”

And pouring out a bumper, he handed it to the porter, who swallowed it at a draught.

“And now,” said Bottesham, “to return to this mad scheme of your master’s is there no way of preventing it?”

“I am aware of none,” replied Blaize.

“Bolts and bars!” cried Furbisher, “something must be done for the fair Amabel.  We owe it to society not to permit so lovely a creature to be thus immured.  What say you, Hawkswood?” he added to the gallant by his side, who had not hitherto spoken.

“It would be unpardonable to permit it quite unpardonable,” replied this person.

“Might not some plan be devised to remove her for a short time, and frighten him out of his project?” said Bottesham.  “I would willingly assist in such a scheme.  I pledge you in a bumper, young man.  You appear a trusty servant.”

“I am so accounted, learned sir,” replied Blaize, upon whose brain the wine thus plentifully bestowed began to operate “and I may add, justly so.”

“You really will be doing your master a service if you can prevent him from committing this folly,” rejoined Bottesham.

“Let us have a bottle of burnt malmsey, with a few bruised raisins in it, Mr. Parkhurst.  This poor young man requires support.  Be seated, friend.”

With some hesitation, Blaize complied, and while the apothecary went in search of the wine, he observed to Bottesham, “I would gladly comply with your suggestion, learned sir, if I saw any means of doing so.”

“Could you not pretend to have the plague?” said Bottesham.  “I could then attend you.”

“I should be afraid of playing such a trick as that,” replied Blaize.  “Besides, I do not see what purpose it would answer.”

“It would enable me to get into the house,” returned Bottesham, “and then I might take measures for Amabel’s deliverance.”

“If you merely wish to get into the house,” replied Blaize, “that can be easily managed.  I will admit you this evening.”

“Without your master’s knowledge?” asked Bottesham, eagerly.

“Of course,” returned Blaize.

“But he has an apprentice?” said the doctor.

“Oh! you mean Leonard Holt,” replied Blaize.  “Yes, we must take care he doesn’t see you.  If you come about nine o’clock, he will be engaged with my master in putting away the things in the shop.”

“I will be punctual,” replied Bottesham, “and will bring Doctor Furbisher with me.  We will only stay a few minutes.  But here comes the burnt malmsey.  Fill the young man’s glass, Parkhurst.  I will insure you against the plague, if you will follow my advice.”

“But will you insure me against my master’s displeasure, if he finds me out?” said Blaize.

“I will provide you with a new one,” returned Bottesham.  “You shall serve me if you wish to change your place.”

“That would answer my purpose exactly,” thought Blaize.  “I need never be afraid of the plague if I live with him.  I will turn over your proposal, learned sir,” he added, aloud.

After priming him with another bumper of malmsey, Blaise’s new friends suffered him to depart.  On returning home, he proceeded to his own room, and feeling unusually drowsy, he threw himself on the bed, and almost instantly dropped asleep.  When he awoke, the fumes of the liquor had, in a great degree, evaporated, and he recalled, with considerable self-reproach, the promise he had given, and would gladly have recalled it, if it had been possible.  But it was now not far from the appointed hour, and he momentarily expected the arrival of the two doctors.  The only thing that consoled him was the store of medicine he had obtained, and, locking it up in his cupboard, he descended to the kitchen.  Fortunately, his mother was from home, so that he ran no risk from her; and, finding Patience alone, after some hesitation, he let her into the secret of his anticipated visitors.  She was greatly surprised, and expressed much uneasiness lest they should be discovered; as, if they were so, it would be sure to bring them both into trouble.

“What can they want with Mistress Amabel?” she cried.  “I should not wonder if Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, as you call him, turns out a lover in disguise.”

“A lover!” exclaimed Blaize.  “Your silly head is always running upon lovers.  He’s an old man old enough to be your grandfather, with a long white beard, reaching to his waist.  He a lover!  Mr. Bloundel is much more like one.”

“For all that, it looks suspicious,” returned Patience; “and I shall have my eyes about me on their arrival.”

Shortly after this, Blaize crept cautiously up to the back yard, and, opening the door, found, as he expected, Bottesham and his companion.  Motioning them to follow him, he led the way to the kitchen, where they arrived without observation.  Patience eyed the new-comers narrowly, and felt almost certain, from their appearance and manner, that her suspicions were correct.  All doubts were removed when Bottesham, slipping a purse into her hand, entreated her, on some plea or other, to induce Amabel to come into the kitchen.  At first she hesitated; but having a tender heart, inclining her to assist rather than oppose the course of any love-affair, her scruples were soon overcome.  Accordingly she hurried upstairs, and chancing to meet with her young mistress, who was about to retire to her own chamber, entreated her to come down with her for a moment in the kitchen.  Thinking it some unimportant matter, but yet wondering why Patience should appear so urgent, Amabel complied.  She was still more perplexed when she saw the two strangers, and would have instantly retired if Bottesham had not detained her.

“You will pardon the liberty I have taken in sending for you,” he said, “when I explain that I have done so to offer you counsel.”

“I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here,” she replied.

“Amabel,” returned Bottesham, in a low tone, but altering his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his features; “it is I Maurice Wyvil.”

“Ah!” she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment.

“I told you we should meet again,” he rejoined; “and I have kept my word.”

“Think not to deceive me, my lord,” she returned, controlling her emotion by a powerful effort.  “I am aware you are not Maurice Wyvil, but the Earl of Rochester.  Your love is as false as your character.  Mistress Mallet is the real object of your regards.  You see I am acquainted with your perfidy.”

“Amabel, you are deceived,” replied Rochester.  “On my soul, you are.  When I have an opportunity of explaining myself more fully, I will prove to you that I was induced by the king, for an especial purpose, to pay feigned addresses to the lady you have named.  But I never loved her.  You alone are the possessor of my heart, and shall be the sharer of my title.  You shall be Countess of Rochester.”

“Could I believe you?” she cried.

“You may believe me,” he answered.  “Do not blight my hopes and your own happiness a second time.  Your father is about to shut up his house for a twelvemonth, if the plague lasts so long.  This done, we shall meet no more, for access to you will be impossible.  Do not hesitate, or you will for ever rue your irresolution.”

“I know not what to do,” cried Amabel, distractedly.

“Then I will decide for you,” replied the earl, grasping her hand.  “Come!”

While this was passing, Furbisher, or rather, as will be surmised, Pillichody, had taken Blaize aside, and engaged his attention by dilating upon the efficacy of a roasted onion filled with treacle in the expulsion of the plague.  Patience stationed herself near the door, not with a view of interfering with the lovers, but rather of assisting them; and at the very moment that the earl seized his mistress’s hand, and would have drawn her forward, she ran towards them, and hastily whispered, “Leonard Holt is coming downstairs.”

“Ah!  I am lost!” cried Amabel.

“Fear nothing,” said the earl.  “Keep near me, and I will soon dispose of him.”

As he spoke, the apprentice entered the kitchen, and, greatly surprised by the appearance of the strangers, angrily demanded from Blaize who they were.

“They are two doctors come to give me advice respecting the plague,” stammered the porter.

“How did they get into the house?” inquired Leonard.

“I let them in through the back door,” replied Blaize.

“Then let them out by the same way,” rejoined the apprentice.  “May I ask what you are doing here?” he added, to Amabel.

“What is that to you, fellow?” cried Rochester, in his assumed voice.

“Much, as you shall find, my lord,” replied the apprentice; “for, in spite of your disguise, I know you.  Quit the house instantly with your companion, or I will give the alarm, and Amabel well knows what the consequences will be.”

“You must go, my lord,” she replied.

“I will not stir unless you accompany me,” said Rochester.

“Then I have no alternative,” rejoined Leonard.  “You know your father’s determination I would willingly spare you, Amabel.”

“Oh, goodness! what will become of us?” cried Patience “if there isn’t Mr. Bloundel coming downstairs.”

“Amabel,” said Leonard, sternly, “the next moment decides your fate.  If the earl departs, I will keep your secret.”

“You hear that, my lord,” she cried; “I command you to leave me.”

And disengaging herself from him, and hastily passing her father, who at that moment entered the kitchen, she rushed upstairs.

On hearing the alarm of the grocer’s approach, Pillichody took refuge in a cupboard, the door of which stood invitingly open, so that Bloundel only perceived the earl.

“What is the matter?” he cried, gazing around him.  “Whom have we here?”

“It is a quack doctor, whom Blaize has been consulting about the plague,” returned Leonard.

“See him instantly out of the house,” rejoined the grocer, angrily, “and take care he never enters it again.  I will have no such charlatans here.”

Leonard motioned Rochester to follow him, and the latter reluctantly obeyed.

As soon as Bloundel had retired, Leonard, who had meanwhile provided himself with his cudgel, descended to the kitchen, where he dragged Pillichody from his hiding-place, and conducted him to the back door.  But he did not suffer him to depart without belabouring him soundly.  Locking the door, he then went in search of Blaize, and administered a similar chastisement to him.