The Lost Apothecary(40)
“Little Eliza, at last, there was a knock on my door. And who do you think it was that had come to see me?”
“Frederick,” I said, leaning forward.
“No. His sister, Rissa. Except...she was not his sister. She told me, without hesitation, that she was his wife.”
I shook my head as though this memory of Nella’s was happening now, right in front of my eyes. “H-how did she know where to find you?” I stammered.
“She knew of my mother’s shop for women’s maladies. Remember, she was the one who first sent Frederick to me, when she badly needed the motherwort. She also knew he had a tendency, you might say, to skirt around. She asked me to share the truth with her. This was merely four weeks after I had lost the baby. I was still bleeding, still in a great deal of heartache, and so I revealed everything to her. Afterward, she told me that I was not his first mistress, and then she began to ask questions of the bottles and brews on my shelves. I told her what I have told you—that in large quantities, nearly anything is deadly—and to my great surprise, Rissa asked for nux vomica, which can be used in very small doses to treat fever, even plague. But it is, of course, rat poison. The same thing that killed your master.”
Nella spread her hands wide. “Upon her asking, I hesitated but a moment, then dispensed her a deadly quantity, free of charge, and advised her how to best disguise the flavor. Just as Frederick had slipped a poison to me, I instructed Rissa how to do the same. That, child, is how it began. With Rissa. With Frederick.
“After Rissa left, there was a sense of release within me. Vengeance is its own medicine.” She let out a small cough. “Frederick was dead the next day. I read it that week, in the papers. Doctors blamed it on heart failure.”
Nella’s coughing grew louder and rose into a full-blown fit. She clutched her stomach, her breath hoarse, for several minutes. At last she leaned forward, gasping. “My mother, my child, my lover. And so it went—like a tiny leak, slow and hushed at first, word began to spread through the city. I do not know who Rissa told first, or who that person told next, but the web of whispers began to spread. At some point they started leaving letters, and I was forced to build a wall in my shop to remain unseen. I had not the heart to close up the place of my mother’s legacy, no matter how I had spoiled it.”
She patted the hay beside her. “I know what it is to watch my child fall from my body at the hands of a man. And while my story is terrible, every woman has faced a man’s wickedness to some degree. Even you.” She placed a hand on the floor, steadying herself as she began to tilt to one side. “I am an apothecary, and it is my duty to dispense remedies to women. And so over the years they have come to me, and I have sold them what they wish. I have protected their secrets. I have borne the brunt of their burdens. Perhaps if I had bled again after the loss, if my womb were not scarred, I would have stopped long ago. But the absence of bleeding has been a constant reminder of Frederick’s betrayal and what he took from me.”
In the darkness, my brow furrowed into confusion. The absence of bleeding? I presumed she misspoke on account of her fatigue.
Slowly, Nella fell onto her side, yawning and weak. I knew that her story was nearly over, but although she appeared exhausted, I was wide-awake.
“It cannot go on forever, of course,” she whispered. “I am failing. And whereas I thought, long ago, that issuing such pain may ease my own, I was wrong. It has only grown worse, and my bones swell and ache with the passing of each week. I am sure that dispensing these poisons is destroying me from the inside, but how can I tear down what I have built? You heard Lady Clarence... My distinction is well-known.”
She cleared her throat, licked her lips. “It is a strange puzzle,” she concluded. “For as much as I have worked to fix women’s maladies, I cannot fix my own. My grief has never gone away, not in twenty years.” Speaking so quietly that I could hardly hear her, I wondered if she had not slipped into a sort of peaceful nightmare. “For this kind of pain, no such tincture exists.”
16
Caroline
Present day, Tuesday
When I stepped into the lobby of La Grande, dread hardened in my chest. Though I’d mulled over the apothecary for most of the train ride to the hotel, now the more urgent concern—my husband’s imminent arrival—pushed aside any thoughts of Bear Alley, the vial or the library documents.
Given the time needed to clear customs and catch a taxi, it seemed mathematically impossible for James to already be at the hotel. In spite of this, I hesitated in front of my room door, wondering if I should knock. Just in case.
No. This was my room, my trip. He was the interloper. I slid my keycard into the door and went inside.
Mercifully, the room was empty and everything inside was my own, albeit in tidier condition than I’d left it. The crisp white bed linens had been tucked neatly against the mattress, the kitchenette had been refreshed with clean mugs, and...shit. A vase of beautiful, baby blue hydrangeas sat on the small table near the door.
I pulled the tiny envelope from the center of the flower posy and opened it, hoping it was only an unwitting display of congratulations from one of our parents.
It wasn’t. The inscription was short, but I knew instantly who sent it. I’m sorry, the note began, and I have so much to make up to you, to explain to you. I will love you always. See you soon. J.