The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(75)

"Indeed."

Bristow indicated Brockwell should walk ahead of him and, a moment later, we heard the front door open and close. Matt sat and rested his elbows on his knees. He raked his hands through his hair then down his face. He caught me watching and dropped his hands away.

"I know, I know," he muttered, unbuttoning his inside jacket pocket. "I'm getting it."

I closed the drawing room door and stood by it as his watch's magic soaked into his skin and his coloring returned to a more healthful hue. His eyes, however, remained shadowed, the bruise inflicted by Cyclops darker than ever. He returned his watch to his pocket and I stepped away from the door.

"Shall we visit Oakshot after you've rested?" I asked.

He nodded. "Hopefully he'll tell us more than he told Brockwell."

"I'm sure he will, particularly once we inform him we know that Hale was a magician and that the Cure-All might still hold some magic." I shot him a smile.

He did not return it. "And what if he asks how we know that?"

"We'll make something up. You're good at that, Matt, thinking up things as you go."

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "High praise indeed."

I smiled and picked up a book. He slept in that position for an hour. He would have slept longer but his aunt woke him when she entered.

"There you are, India," she declared. "I've come to ask you to read to me."

"Not this afternoon," I said. "We've got too much to do."

She clicked her tongue. "You're working her too hard, Matthew. And yourself. Look at you! You ought to be abed."

"I just rested," he said.

"It did nothing for you. Tell him, India."

I did not tell him anything. Matt wouldn't want to hear it. Besides, he was well aware that his watch wasn't working as efficiently as it used to. "I'll make sure he doesn't exert himself too much this afternoon, Miss Glass," I assured her.

"Good girl. If you weren't so sensible I would worry more." She turned her back to Matt and rested a hand on my shoulder. "But I trust you to do the right thing by my nephew." She squeezed my shoulder before letting go and walking out of the room.

I caught Matt watching me out of the corner of my eye, a frown disturbing his handsome features. "I don't need luncheon after those petit fours," I said. "I'm ready to leave when you are."

"Then we'll go now."



"That is no business of yours," Mr. Oakshot snapped in response to Matt's question about the purchase of the Cure-All. He turned away and marched back to his desk. "See yourselves out."

Matt strolled to the window overlooking the factory floor. The occasional shouted order or clinking of glass bottles could be heard over the grind and whir of the machinery. Mr. Oakshot's office provided no sanctuary from the incessant noise and I wondered how he could concentrate on his paperwork. There seemed to be more of it than the last time we visited.

"Are you removing Pitt's labels and replacing them with your own?" Matt pressed.

Mr. Oakshot glared at him. "Did you not hear me? Get out!"

"Did you purchase the remaining stock of Dr. Hale's Cure-All because you think its magical properties will make it a success for your company?"

The color drained from Mr. Oakshot's face, along with his temper. He slumped in his chair, suddenly looking like a man floundering in the depths of misery. "Pardon?" His whisper could barely be heard over the machinery. "Magic?"

"You heard me," Matt said. "And don't pretend you know nothing about magic. You're on the Court of Assistants at the Apothecary's Guild and the guilds are well aware that magic exists. Are you a magician, Mr. Oakshot?"

"Pardon?" he said again, his voice trembling. "No, of course not. I know nothing about magic." He did not meet our gazes and pretended to take great interest in his paperwork.

"You have a flourishing business here." Matt indicated the factory through the window. "You're considered the most successful apothecary in London. A singular trait of magicians is the exceptional quality of their work. Even I, who knows nothing about medicine, would assume you're a magician."

"Your logic is lacking, Mr. Glass." Mr. Oakshot thrust out his chin. "You accuse me of being a magician and yet assume that I bought the remaining stock of Hale's Cure-All because it contains magic. Wouldn't I be able to put magic into my own medicine if I were a magician?"

"Perhaps the particular spell in the Cure-All eludes you and you wish to study it."

Mr. Oakshot dropped the papers back onto the desk. They scattered, some falling to the floor. He scrubbed his hand across his jaw where gray whiskers had begun to sprout. The brief flare of defiance in his eyes extinguished, and he looked miserable again. "Don't spread those sort of rumors, Mr. Glass. I beg you. If the guild so much as think I'm a magician, they'll set out to ruin me."

"I won't tell the guild if you tell us the truth. You have my word. Why did you buy the remaining stock of Cure-All from Mr. Pitt if not to place your own label on it?"

He smacked his palm on his desk, knocking more papers off. "I don't want to sell it," he hissed. "I don't want that doctor's medicine here, or anywhere! Pitt is ceasing production since sales have all but stopped, so I bought the remaining stock off his hands and crushed every last bottle, burned every label, and tipped that bloody medicine into the sewers."