Carriage House Suite
Our other room with no real stairs: one low step, a king bed, a patio and room for the dog.
See the suiteGround floor · Queen · Accessible
For thirty-seven years Dr. Ezra Pell sold remedies across a counter in this room. His wall of sixty-four labeled drawers is still here. So, guests tell us, is the smell of peppermint.
After Abigail Crane died in 1812 her daughter Hannah went to live with relations in Marblehead and the house was let to tenants. In 1834 Hannah, by then married, sold it to Dr. Ezra Pell, who opened an apothecary in the west front room on the ground floor. In the 1830s an apothecary was part pharmacist, part grocer and part family doctor, and Dr. Pell seems to have been all three. Salem's great shipping days were fading, the mills were coming, and the people who came through his door wanted cough syrup, castor oil, quinine for a fever, peppermint water for a baby with colic, and, inevitably, laudanum, which was sold freely to anyone who asked until long after his death.
He had a joiner build him a wall of drawers, eight across and eight high, each with a small brass pull and a painted label in abbreviated Latin: RAD. RHEI for rhubarb root, FOL. SENNAE for senna leaves, CORT. CINCH. for cinchona bark, and, third row from the bottom, FOL. MENTH. PIP., peppermint leaf. When the funeral parlor took over the house in 1889 the room became an office, and later an apartment kitchen, and the drawers were painted over a few times. The Fairweathers stripped them in 1992, took every one out, cleaned it and looked behind it, and found a few dried leaves still in the corners. Some of the labels are original; some were repainted by a sign painter from Marblehead, who matched the lettering so well that we've lost track of which.
Dr. Pell died in 1871 and the shop closed. He also planted a garden of medicinal herbs behind the house, which we have replanted along the south side of the house, by the Lantern Room porch. The free herb garden walk on Saturdays at 10 am starts at the garden gate.
The drawers take up the whole north wall, and the room is arranged to face them, so you fall asleep looking at sixty-four tiny brass pulls in the lamplight. The queen bed has a simple walnut frame set at a height of about 23 inches to the top of the mattress, with clear space on both sides. A reading chair and ottoman sit by the front window, and the old shop counter, shortened and refinished, serves as a desk and a place for luggage. Glass-stoppered bottles from the period line a high shelf (empty, and sealed, and staying that way). A pair of brass apothecary scales sits on the counter with a set of weights you are welcome to play with.
Most of the drawers are closed and a few still stick, as they surely did in 1850. One, at about shoulder height and marked PASTIL. MENTH. (peppermint lozenges), opens: we keep it full of peppermints for guests, which is about as close to a Dr. Pell remedy as we're prepared to go. For anything stronger, the bar's "Pell's Remedy" is peppermint, gin and bitters, which is safer than anything he sold.
The Apothecary is the only room in the main house without stairs, and when the Alcotts rebuilt its bathroom in 2015 they made it the inn's one fully accessible room. There is no elevator in the house. If you use a wheelchair or can't manage stairs, this is the room we built for you, and we hold it for guests who need it whenever we can. Please tell us when you book.
We are honest about what we can't do in a 1748 house; our accessibility page has the full story, including which parts of the building you can reach and which you can't.
| Season | Dates | From, per night |
|---|---|---|
| Winter | January – March | $239 |
| Spring | April – May | $269 |
| Summer & early fall | June – September | $309 |
| October | All month | $359 |
| Late fall & holidays | November – December | $279 |
Rates vary by season and day of the week. Taxes not included. Breakfast included. Weekend and October minimum stays apply.
First old inn I've stayed in where I didn't have to call ahead three times about the bathroom. It just worked. And at six in the morning the room smelled like a candy store, which nobody could explain.
— A guest, the Apothecary, May 2024