The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(18)

He glanced at Matt too and sighed. "I'm glad my article worked," he said. "It's a pity Hale died before we could speak to him further about his magic."

"More than a pity for Hale and his family," Matt said.

"He had no family. I asked him that when we met, because I was curious about his magic. His parents died when he was young and a grandfather raised him. It was he who taught him about his apothecary magic."

"Do you know who inherits his estate?" Matt asked.

Barratt shook his head. "Not a clue. You sound as if you want to discover who killed him. Is this a new venture for the two of you, after your previous investigative successes?"

"No," I said at the same time that Matt said, "Yes."

Barratt laughed softly. "Whatever your reasons, I'll try to help if I can." He leaned forward. "As long as I am the only reporter you speak to once you learn who killed Hale."

"If we learn who killed him," I said.

"Mr. Glass?" Barratt asked. "Do you promise?"

"That'll depend on how helpful you are to us," Matt said.

"That's only fair. What else do you wish to know about Hale?"

"Did you speak to Dr. Wiley at all?"

"The doctor who declared the patient dead? Not at all, but we did pass him in the corridor as Hale walked with me. If looks could kill, he would certainly be a suspect."

"What about Dr. Ritter, the principal?"

"I didn't meet him. Hale did imply that the hospital board wouldn't be happy with his story making it into the newspapers, but he laughed it off. He mentioned no names."

"Was Hale eager for you to mention his magic in the article?" I asked.

Barratt nodded. "He thought gathering all the London magicians together was a good idea. He doesn't—didn't—want magic to disappear from the world altogether, even rather useless magic, like mine. He thought my articles were as good a way as any to draw magicians out." He rubbed his forehead. "I still can't believe he's gone. He was the only openly magical person I'd met."

"He had nothing to fear," I said. "Since he didn't work as an apothecary, he didn't need the guild's approval."

"Even I have to be careful to keep my magic secret from the guilds," Barratt admitted. "If the Inkmaker's Guild learned about me, they would trace my magic back to my family and throw them out of the guild."

"And they'd have to give up their business," I said quietly. No guild membership meant no license to create and sell. It was the law. "Hale had no family so it was not a concern for him."

"The English system of guilds is archaic and unfair," Matt said. "It should be changed. Any man and woman should be allowed to manufacture goods or own shops, not just guild members."

"Spoken like a foreigner," Barratt said with a humorless laugh. "There is a lot at stake here. The guilds will hold onto their power with every breath in their body, and they have friends in parliament who will not change the law. I'm afraid it's not going away." His eyes flashed as he picked up the pen and dipped it into the inkwell. He wrote something on the paper in front of him. "Unless the public demands it, of course. Then parliamentarians will have to take notice."

"Is that what you're trying to ultimately achieve?" Matt asked. "Public attention?"

"Very slowly and carefully, Mr. Glass. Perhaps one day the public will embrace magic again, but we need to reintroduce it in such a way that they're not afraid of us. The first step is to bring it into their consciousness."

"Through newspaper reports," I said.

"Through newspaper reports that show the good magic can do."

"You're not going to show the negative?" Matt asked. "Editing out the facts again?"

Barratt passed me a blank piece of paper. "Hold this, please, Miss Steele. You are correct, Mr. Glass, I have only written about the positive aspects of magic, but that's only because I haven't been presented with any negative. All the harm has come from the artless in their persecution of magicians." He smiled at me then began his melodic chant.

The fresh words rose from his page and floated through the air, dancing rhythmically, coiling, rising and dipping to the music of his spell. Then finally the words settled on the page I held flat on my palms.

"'Twenty-four Lowther Street, Chelsea,'" I read.

"My home," he said. "I live alone. Please visit me anytime—there or here. I'll be happy to discuss magic with you, Miss Steele. Or, indeed, anything you'd like."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Barratt. Very kind indeed." I folded the page and tucked it into my reticule.

Matt scrubbed his jaw then stood. "We should go, India."

"But I have more questions." I turned to Barratt. "It doesn't sound like Dr. Hale would have killed himself. Not if he was making those plans with you. Is that your conclusion too?"

"It is," Barratt said. "He was enthusiastic about the future. You think he took his own life?"

"It's a possibility, but one I also dismiss. He didn't seem like the type. Nor do I think he put the poison into the bottle of Cure-All by accident. Why would he be using poisons, in his profession, anyway?"