The Lost Apothecary(31)
Meanwhile, Eliza’s head jerked back and forth as she looked at us on either side of her. She sat up straight, back rigid, lips pressed tightly together. When she asked to be my apprentice, I doubt she imagined an encounter like this one. Perhaps it would be enough to make her change her mind.
At once, there was a flurry of movement; I thought that Lady Clarence had dropped her money onto the table, for her hands darted around quickly. But then I realized, with horror, that one of her hands was reaching for the jar of powder, which Eliza and I had not yet corked, at the center of the table, and her other hand stretched open her pocket. She intended to take the lustrous green powder, no matter my wishes.
I lunged for the jar—snatching it from her fingertips at the last moment and bumping into Eliza with such force that she nearly fell off her box—and did the only thing that came to mind: I tossed the jar of poisonous cantharides powder into the flames of the fire behind me.
The flames exploded into a bright green flare, in an instant rendering the poison worthless. I stared at the fireplace in astonishment, hardly able to believe that a night and morning’s worth of work had just been so readily destroyed. My hands shaking, I turned very slowly to see Lady Clarence, flushed and astounded, and little Eliza, eyes wide as eggs, staring back at me.
“I cannot—” Lady Clarence stuttered. “I can’t—” Her eyes darted around the room like mice, searching for a second jar, more powder. “Have you gone mad? The party is tomorrow evening!”
“There is no more,” I told her, before motioning to the door.
Lady Clarence glared at me, then turned to Eliza. “My gloves,” she demanded. Eliza sprang into action, delicately lifting the gloves from the drying rack and handing them to Lady Clarence. She began to pull the gloves on, shoving her fingers deep into them one at a time. After several heavy breaths, she spoke again. “You can easily make me another batch, I’m sure,” she said.
God, this woman was insufferable. I threw my hands up in dismay. “Is there not some physician that you can bribe? Why must you put this on me, after I’ve refused you twice?”
She draped her veil over her face, the delicate strands of lace reminding me of hemlock leaves.
“You fool,” she retorted from behind her lace. “Don’t you think I’ve considered every physician, every known apothecary, in the city? I don’t want to be caught. Do you even know your own distinction?” She paused, straightening her gown. “It’s been a mistake to place my trust in you. But there’s little use in reversing my decision now.” She glanced down at her gloved hands, counting off a few fingers. “You made the powder in only a day, is that right?”
I furrowed my brow in confusion. What did it matter at this point? “Yes,” I muttered.
“Very good,” Lady Clarence said. “I will return tomorrow, as I understand that is ample time to prepare the powder anew, and you will give me a bowl of fresh cantharides, identical in appearance and form to those which you just foolishly ruined. I will be here at half one.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded, ready to push her out the door with Eliza’s help if I must.
“If you do not have the powders ready for me as I’ve asked,” Lady Clarence continued, “then you best gather your things and make haste, for I will go straight to the authorities and tell them all about your little shop, full of cobwebs and rat poison. And when I speak to them, I’ll make special note to proceed through the storage room and check behind the wall at the back. Every secret within this squalid hole will come to light.” She pulled her shawl tightly around her. “I’m the wife of a lord. Don’t try any tricks on me.” She yanked the door open and let herself out, slamming it shut behind her.
14
Caroline
Present day, Tuesday
With only a few hours left before James’s arrival, I didn’t have time to investigate the gated-off door, but my curiosity, piqued yesterday, now felt on fire. It seemed that every bit of information gleaned, beginning with the vial, then the cryptic hospital note about Bear Alley, and now the door at the back of the alley, presented a new piece of a tantalizing puzzle. I resolved to do more digging and return when I could.
As I made my way out of Bear Alley, the sun slipped behind a cloud, plunging me into a cool shadow. Assuming the apothecary did exist, I envisioned what she may have looked like: an elderly woman with white, scraggly hair, frayed at the ends from spending so much time over her cauldron, hurrying out of the cobblestoned alley in a black cape. Then I shook my head at my own imagination: she wasn’t a witch, and this wasn’t Harry Potter.
I thought back to the hospital note. Whoever wrote the note had said the men are dead—plural. It was frustratingly vague. And yet, if more than a few people had died because of the apothecary, there should be some reference, some record of the apothecary’s renown, online.
As I turned back onto Farringdon Street, I pulled out my phone, opened up my browser search bar and typed London Apothecary Killer 1800s.
The results were mixed: a few articles on the eighteenth-century gin obsession; a Wiki page on the Apothecaries Act of 1815; and an academic journal page on bone fractures. I clicked on the second page of search results, and a website with an inventory of London’s old criminal court—the Old Bailey—seemed the best search hit so far. I used my finger to scan the page, but it was terribly long and I had no idea how to do a document search on my cell phone. A moment later, the amount of data on the site froze my web browser. I cursed, swiping up on my phone to close the app altogether.