The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(29)

"I don't regret it," he went on. "Even though he's dead now, and you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, I don't regret confronting him."

I looked to Matt to see if he wanted to take over questioning, but he gave his head half a shake, which I took to mean he wanted me to continue. "You knew Dr. Hale personally, since he was an apothecary before he became a physician," I said.

Mr. Oakshot nodded. "He was a good apothecary, so when he gave it all up to become a doctor, I was surprised."

"How good was he?"

His back stiffened. "One of the best in London. Why?"

"There are strange rumors about him."

"What kind of rumors?"

"The journalist who reported on the medical miracle he recently performed implied he was a magician."

Mr. Oakshot's eyes briefly flared, and his gaze flicked to Matt then back to me. He swallowed heavily. "You've been reading too many fairytales, Miss Steele. There's no such thing as magic. Those rumors are the product of fertile minds trying to sell more newspapers."

"You think the journalist made it up?"

"What other explanation is there for such nonsense? Dr. Hale was a great apothecary who gave up his business to become a doctor. Like me, he got to be great through hard work and a talent for chemistry. There's no secret to success, Miss Steele. No magic."

"Thank you for confirming that," I said. There was no point in pressing him further. Unlike Mr. Pitt, Mr. Oakshot would not admit the existence of magic to us. "Are you an active member of the Apothecary's Guild?" I asked instead.

"I'm on the Court of Assistants."

The Court of Assistants was the inner sanctum of any guild. Its members awarded prizes, issued pensions to infirm members or widows, and oversaw guild finances and memberships. If someone in the Apothecary's Guild knew Dr. Hale was a magician, then Mr. Oakshot would likely also know. I was quite sure someone at the guild knew—or at least suspected.

His elevated position in the guild settled it for me—I would not tell him that I was magical, or that we even knew that Dr. Hale was poisoned by magic-infused medicine. The risk was too great.

But what about Mr. Oakshot himself? Was he a magician, as Mr. Pitt implied, and had managed to keep it a secret from the rest of the guild members?

I glanced around the office. Glasses and a decanter sat on the sideboard and a tall bookcase held herbal books, not medicines as Pitt's apothecary's shop did. What appeared to be a recipe book lay open on the desk with a mortar and pestle beside it and a collection of dark red berries, seeds and roots in a bowl. I counted only five bottles and three pots on the desk, all with the distinctive Oakshot labels of a leafy oak tree. Why did he have them in here and not on the factory floor? Had he been placing spells on their contents? Or on the raw ingredients?

"May I?" I asked, picking up a bottle of stomach bitters and removing the cork stopper. "Juniper?"

"Among other things." He closed the recipe book and glanced at Matt behind me.

I replaced the stopper and picked up another bottle to smell it too. Like the first, I sensed no magical warmth.

Mr. Oakshot watched me intently, a frown striking across his forehead. He looked as if he would ask me what I was doing when I reached for the third bottle, but Matt distracted him.

"Do you go down to the factory floor yourself?" Matt asked.

"Occasionally, but my presence is largely unnecessary," Mr. Oakshot said. "My foreman oversees the work. I remain up here, managing the orders as well as creating new medicines, from time to time."

"You still keep your hand in, even after building this empire?" Matt indicated the window and the factory below.

"It may be an empire in England, Mr. Glass, but I haven't yet conquered the rest of the world. My wife and I planned to establish a factory on the continent." He trailed his fingers across the polished wooden surface of the desk. "All that has been put on hold, now. It may never happen."

"Why not? You're still young, and think of what you would leave to your children."

Mr. Oakshot sighed. "I simply don't have the energy at the moment."

"Perhaps one day."

"Perhaps."

I picked up the last pot and made a show of smelling the greyish cream inside. It was not warm.

"I have to ask another question about Dr. Hale," Matt said quietly. He waited until Mr. Oakshot nodded before continuing. "Where were you the day he died?"

"I've told the police this already," Mr. Oakshot said. "I was here. My foreman can vouch for me."

"All day?"

"I stepped out briefly to go home and see that my children were well cared for. I went nowhere near the hospital. I'd said my piece to Hale and wanted to avoid that place and him."

"Did you know he was poisoned?" Matt asked.

"I read it in this morning's newspaper. The poison was most likely in the bottle of Cure-All that he kept in his desk." He humphed a humorless laugh. "I find that particularly satisfying."

"Why?"

"Because his Cure-All outsold mine ever since it came onto the market. Its enormous sales have profited both Hale and Pitt. But just today, orders of my Cure-All rose dramatically. I suspect the trend to continue as pharmacies around the country find they can't give away Dr. Hale's Cure-All anymore." His eyes gleamed and the twist of his lips made me shiver. "As I said, it's very satisfying."