The Lost Apothecary(51)
“So either way, then—”
“I’ll be seeing you. Good day, Eliza.”
I walked out the door in a dizzy haze, feeling a strange, new feeling, one I had not felt in my twelve years of life. It was foreign and nameless to me, but I felt sure it was not hunger or fatigue, for neither of those things had ever made my step so light and my face so warm. I hurried west, eventually walking along the south edge of St. Paul’s churchyard, to find a bench in the soft, quiet frontage of the church. A place where I could read every single spell and, perhaps, find one to take to the Amwell house today.
With all my might, I wished to find the perfect spell inside this book of maybe-magick. Something not only to remove spirits and mend all that was broken, but something that would permit me to share the good news with Tom Pepper as soon as possible.
20
Nella
February 10, 1791
The demon who decided, long ago, to crawl its way through my body—crunching and curling my bones, hardening my knuckles, wrapping its fingers around my wrists and hips—had begun, finally, to move upward into my skull. And why wouldn’t it? The skull is made of bone, just as what might be found in the hand or the chest. It is as susceptible as anything else.
But whereas this demon inflicted tightness and heat on my fingers and wrists, in my skull it took another form: an agitation, a tremor, a persistent tap tap tap inside of me.
Something was approaching, I felt sure of it.
Would it come from within, my bones melting into a single, hardened mass, leaving me crippled on the floor of my shop? Or would it come from the outside, dangling in front of me like a rope at the gallows?
I missed Eliza the moment I sent her away, and now, as I picked rosemary leaves from the stem, the lack of her companionship was as sticky and sharp as the residue on my fingers. Had it been cruel of me to dismiss her, no matter how petty I considered her fears? I did not truly believe the Amwell estate swarmed with ghosts, as Eliza seemed to think—but did my beliefs carry any weight if I was not the one sleeping at the place?
I wondered how she felt, returning to the Amwell house last night with a gown made filthy by our efforts, and gloves worn through, and a silly book on magick that couldn’t possibly remove ghosts that existed only in her colorful imagination. I hoped, in time, she would learn to replace such fanciful thoughts with real matters of the heart: a husband to love, children to feed, all the things I would never have for myself. And I prayed Eliza woke this morning anew, never to think of me again. For as much as I missed her pleasant chatter, longing was something with which I was well acquainted. I would manage just fine.
I had made my way through four stems of rosemary when there was a sudden commotion in the storage room: a panicked cry, then the incessant hammering of a fist against the hidden wall of shelves. I peeked out of the cleft to see Lady Clarence, her eyes wide as saucers. Given my heavy sense of foreboding over the course of the preceding day, I could not say I was all that surprised by her unexpected arrival. Still, her manner alarmed me.
“Nella!” she shouted, her hands flinging wildly about in front of her. “Hello? Are you in there?”
I opened the door quickly and ushered her in, no longer taken aback by the untarnished silver buckles on her shoes and the scalloped edges of her taffeta gown. But as I gazed over her, I noticed the material at the bottom edge of her skirt was smudged, as though she had traveled part of the way on foot.
“I have not more than ten minutes,” she cried, nearly falling into my arms, “and when I left, it was under pretense, something about the estate.”
I frowned at her nonsensical words, confusion surely writ all over my face.
“Oh, something has gone terribly wrong,” she said. “God, I will never...”
As she dabbed at her eyes, choking over her words, my mind raced with possibilities. Had she accidentally disposed of the powder? Had she managed to rub some in her eye or on her lips? I searched her face for blisters, pockets of pus, but saw none.
“Shhh,” I said, quieting her. “What has happened?”
“The beetles—” she hiccuped, like she had just sucked down something bitter. “The beetles. It all went awry.”
I could hardly believe my ears. Did the beetles cause no harm? I was sure that Eliza and I had gone to the correct field and harvested the blister beetles, rather than their harmless, bluish cousin. Yet it had been so dark, and how could I know for sure? I should have tested a few of them for the familiar burn upon the skin before roasting them.
“She is still alive?” I asked her, my hand on my throat. “I assure you, they were meant to be fatal.”
“Oh.” She laughed, a twisted grin upon her face, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. I could not make sense of it. “She is very much alive.”
My heart surged for a moment. Intermingled with the dismay that my poison failed, I was greatly relieved, too, that a woman did not die at my hands. Perhaps this gave me another chance to change Lady Clarence’s mind. But as I considered this, a knot formed in my belly. What if Lady Clarence thought I’d given her a false poison? What if she meant to reveal my shop to the authorities, as she had originally threatened?
Instinctively, I took a step back toward my register, but she went on. “It is him. My husband.” She let out a wail and covered her face. “He is dead. Lord Clarence is dead.”