The Lost Apothecary(86)
The Maps Room now felt as familiar and comfortable to me as the underground train stations. I spotted Gaynor near one of the stacks toward the center of the room, rearranging a pile of books at her feet.
“Psst,” I whispered, sneaking up behind her.
She jumped and turned around. “Hi! You can’t stay away, can you?”
I grinned. “As it turns out, I have news.”
“More news?” She lowered her voice and said, “Please tell me you didn’t break down another door.” At seeing the smile still on my face, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. What is it, then? Something more on the apothecary?” She grabbed a book from the floor and pushed it into place on one of the shelves.
“This news is about me, actually.”
She paused, suspending another book in midair as she looked at me. “Do tell.”
I took a deep breath, still in disbelief that I’d done it. I’d done it. After all the outrageous things I’d done in London this week, it was this that most surprised me. “I applied to grad school at Cambridge last night.”
In an instant, Gaynor’s eyes filled with tears, catching the reflection of the lights overhead. She set the book down and placed a hand on each of my shoulders. “Caroline, I am so completely proud of you.”
I coughed, a knot in my throat. I’d called Rose a short while ago to tell her the news, too. She’d burst into happy tears, calling me the bravest woman she knew.
Brave. It wasn’t a label I would have given myself back in Ohio, but I realized now that she was right. What I’d done was brave—even a bit mad—but it was authentic and true to the real me. And despite how different my life looked from Rose’s now, her support reminded me that it was okay for friends to venture down different paths.
I looked at Gaynor, thankful for this unlikely friendship, too. I thought of my very first time in this room; rain-drenched, grieving and directionless, I’d approached Gaynor—a total stranger—with nothing but a glass vial in my pocket. A glass vial and a question. Now, I stood before her again, bearing almost no semblance to that person. I was still grieving, yes, but I’d uncovered so much about myself, enough to propel me in another direction altogether. A direction I felt I was meant to pursue long ago.
“It’s not a history degree, but a master’s program in English studies,” I explained. “Eighteenth century and Romantic studies. The coursework includes various antiquated texts and works of literature, as well as research methods.” I felt the degree in English studies would bridge my interest in history, literature and research. “I’ll submit my dissertation at the end of the program,” I added, though my voice shook at the word dissertation. Gaynor raised her eyebrows as I explained, “The lost apothecary—her shop, her register, the obscure ingredients she used—I’m hoping to make these the subject of my research. An academic, preservationist approach to sharing what I’ve found.”
“My God, you sound like a scholar already.” She grinned, then added, “I think it’s absolutely brilliant. And you won’t be so far at all! We should plan a few weekend getaways. Maybe hop over to Paris on the train?”
My stomach flipped at the thought of it. “Of course. The program starts after the first of the year, so we’ve got plenty of time to plan a few ideas.”
Though I could hardly wait to get started, in truth it was probably best the program didn’t start for another six months. I had some difficult conversations ahead of me—my parents and James, to start—and I’d need to train my replacement at the family business; secure student housing at Cambridge; and complete the paperwork for a marital separation, which I’d initiated online last night...
As if reading my thoughts, Gaynor wrung her hands together and asked in a hesitant voice, “It’s really none of my business, but does your husband know yet?”
“He knows we need to be apart for a time, but he doesn’t know I plan to return to the UK while we sort out our lives. I’m calling him tonight to tell him that I’ve applied.”
I also intended to call my parents and tell them, finally, the truth about what James had done. Whereas a few days ago, I’d meant to protect them from the news, now I realized how unreasonable that was. Gaynor and Rose had reminded me of the importance of surrounding myself with people who supported and encouraged me and my desires. This encouragement had been missing for far too long, and I was ready to reclaim it.
Gaynor resumed placing books on the shelf, looking over at me as she did so. “And the program, how long is it?” she asked.
“Nine months.”
Nine months, the same amount of time I had so desperately wished to carry a baby. I smiled, the irony not lost on me. A child might not have been in my immediate future, but something else—a long-lost dream—had taken its place.
After saying goodbye to Gaynor, I made my way to the second floor. I hoped she wouldn’t spot me turning into the Humanities Reading Room. Admittedly, at this very moment, I meant to avoid her; for this task, I wanted to be alone and away from any prying eyes, however well-intentioned they may be.
I walked to one of the library-issued PCs at the back of the room. It was only a few days ago that Gaynor and I sat together at an identical computer upstairs, and I hadn’t yet forgotten the basics of navigating the library’s search tools. I opened the main British Library page and clicked Search the Main Catalogue. Then I navigated to the digitized newspaper records, where Gaynor and I had attempted our own fruitless search on the apothecary killer.