The Lost Apothecary(32)

Frustrated, I sighed. Did I really think I could solve this with a simple web search? James would probably blame it on inadequate research techniques, which might have been better primed during undergrad if I’d read more textbooks and fewer novels during my long days at the university library.

The library. I jerked my head up and asked a passerby for the nearest Underground station, crossing my fingers that Gaynor would be working again today.

A short time later, I stepped inside the Maps Room, glad that I wasn’t rain-drenched and covered in stink like last time. I spotted Gaynor immediately, but she was in the middle of helping someone at a computer, so I waited patiently for her to finish.

After a few minutes, Gaynor made her way back to the desk. Upon seeing me, she gave me a smile. “You’re back! Did you learn anything about the vial?” she asked cheerily. Then she feigned a serious look. “Or did you go mudlarking again, and you’ve brought me another mystery?”

I laughed, feeling a surge of warmth toward her. “Neither, actually.” I told her about the hospital papers and the note by the unknown author, alluding to the apothecary’s involvement in multiple deaths. “The note was dated 1816. It mentioned a Bear Alley, which just so happens to be close to my hotel. I ventured over there this morning but didn’t see much.”

“You’re a budding researcher,” she said playfully. “And I would have done the exact same thing.” Gaynor tidied a few folders sitting in front of her, then put them aside. “Bear Alley, you said? Well, the etching on your vial did resemble a bear, though it seems a bit of a stretch that the two might be connected.”

“I agree.” I leaned my hip against the desk. “The whole story seems a bit of a stretch, to be honest, but...” I trailed off, my eyes falling on a stack of books behind Gaynor. “But what if it’s not? What if there’s something to it?”

“You think this apothecary might really have existed, then?” Gaynor crossed her arms, looking at me inquisitively.

I shook my head. “I’m not really sure what I think. Which is part of why I’m here. I thought I’d see if you have any old maps of the area—Bear Alley, I mean—from the early 1800s. And I thought you might be better at a simple web search, too. I tried Googling an apothecary killer in London, but didn’t turn up much.”

Gaynor’s face lit up at my request; as she’d told me when we first met, the old historical maps were her favorite. A subtle rush of envy seeped into me. With the passage of another day, I was that much closer to returning to my own job in Ohio—a job having nothing to do with history at all.

“Well, unlike yesterday,” she said, “I think I can actually help you on this. We have some excellent resources. Come with me.” She guided me over to one of the computers and motioned for me to sit. I felt, for the first time in a decade, like a student of history once again.

“All right, the best place to start is definitely with Rocque’s map from 1746. It’s a bit early for our time frame, but it was considered one of the most accurate and thorough plans of London for more than a century. It took Rocque a decade to survey and publish.” Gaynor clicked on an icon on the computer’s desktop and navigated to a screen covered in black-and-white boxes. “We can zoom into each square for a close-up of the streets, or simply type in a street name. So let’s type in Bear Alley, since that’s the street mentioned in the hospital note.”

She hit Enter, and immediately the map jumped to the only Bear Alley on the map. “To orient ourselves,” she explained, moving the map around, “let’s look at the surrounding area. St. Paul’s Cathedral is over here to the east, and the river’s down here to the south. Does this seem to be the same general area where you went today?”

I frowned, not feeling confident. The map was more than two hundred and fifty years old. I read the surrounding street names and recognized none of them: Fleet Prison, Meal Yard, Fleet Market. “Um, I can’t be sure,” I said, feeling silly. “I’m not great with maps in general. I only remember Farringdon Street, the main road I was on.”

Gaynor clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Brilliant. So we can overlay a present-day map on this Rocque map fairly easily.” She pressed a few more buttons and instantly, a second map was displayed on top of the first one. “Farringdon Street,” she said, “runs right here. It’s called Fleet Market on the old map so, at some point, the name changed. No big surprise there.”

With the second, current map on display, I instantly recognized the layout of the area—the present-day map even showed the intersection where the taxi nearly ran me over. “That’s it!” I exclaimed, leaning forward. “Yes, it’s definitely the right Bear Alley, then.”

“Perfect. Let’s go back to the old map and look around a bit more.” She removed the current map from the overlay and zoomed in as much as she could onto Bear Alley, as displayed on Rocque’s map.

“So this is interesting,” she said. “See this?” She pointed at a tiny line, thin as a strand of hair, protruding off Bear Alley. The line was labeled Back Al.

I hardly noticed the unexpected cramp that had begun to tug at my lower belly. “Yes, I see it,” I said. “Why is it interesting?” But as the words rolled off my tongue, my heart began to beat faster. The door.