The Lost Apothecary(65)
Everyone turned to look at me, like it was the first time they’d noticed my presence.
“Were you with him when he drank it?”
I nodded.
“And does the oil belong to you?”
Again, I nodded.
“Right, then.” The paramedic turned back to James. “You’ll be coming with us.”
“T-to the hospital?” James muttered, lifting his head slightly from the floor. Knowing James, he wanted to fight this, to magically make himself well, to insist that he’d be fine if only they’d give him a few minutes.
“Yes, to the hospital,” the paramedic confirmed. “While the risk of seizure has likely passed at this point, central nervous depression is common for several hours after ingestion, and the delayed onset of more serious symptoms is not atypical.” The medic turned to me. “Very unsafe, this one,” he said, holding up the vial. “If you’ve got kids, I suggest you toss it altogether. Isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with accidental ingestion of this stuff.”
As if I didn’t feel guilty and childless enough.
“Mr. Parcewell.” In the bathroom, one of the paramedics took hold of James’s shoulder. “Mr. Parcewell, sir, stay with me,” the medic said again, his voice urgent.
I rushed into the bathroom and saw that James’s head had lolled to one side and his eyes had rolled back. He was unconscious. I lurched forward, reaching for him, but a pair of hands held me back.
At once there was a flurry of activity: unintelligible messages relayed on radios, the shriek of steel as a gurney was brought in from the hallway. Several men lifted my husband from the floor, his arms drooping on either side of him. I began to sob, and the hotel staff stepped into the hallway to clear the space; even they looked fearful, and the woman in the navy blue suit trembled slightly as she nervously adjusted her uniform. A quiet soberness fell over the room as the paramedics, well trained, made quick work of getting James onto the gurney and out of the bathroom.
They rushed James into the hall and toward the elevators. In a matter of seconds, the space had emptied, leaving just me and a single medic. A moment ago, he’d been on a phone call at the edge of the room, near the window. Now, he kneeled on the floor near the table and unzipped the front pocket of a large canvas bag.
“I can go with him, in the ambulance?” I asked through tears, already making my way to the door.
“You can ride along with us, yes, ma’am.” This gave me a measure of comfort, though something in his cool tone concerned me, and he appeared hesitant to look me in the eye. Then, my breath caught. Next to the medic’s bag, I saw my notebook, which had fallen open to a page of my notes from earlier that morning. “I’ll be bringing this along,” he said, lifting my notebook from the floor. “We have two officers waiting at the hospital. They’d like to discuss a few things with you.”
“O-officers?” I stammered. “I don’t understand—”
The medic looked hard at me. Then, with a steady motion of his hand, he pointed to my handwriting at the top of the notebook page:
Quantities of non-poisons needed to kill.
25
Eliza
February 11, 1791
Nella was meant to be gone for an hour, and I was horrified when she returned in less than half that. It was time enough to find and blend the ingredients as needed for the Tincture to Reverse Bad Fortune, but not enough to tidy my mess and replace the vials on the shelves.
Once inside, she found me with filthy hands and two hot brews, which served only as disguise, just as she taught me—something to show her in the event she returned early, because I did not want her to know I had used her vials to try magick. The hot brews were meant to deceive her and so I couldn’t help but feel somewhat like Frederick, who had also blended tinctures behind Nella’s back. But whereas he meant to use them against her, I meant her no harm.
Something seemed to worry Nella, and despite the mess upon which she’d stumbled, she was not as angry with me as I would have expected. Breathless, she stated that I must leave at once and begged me to return to the Amwell house.
No matter. Most of my work was complete. Just moments before she stepped inside, I poured the newly mixed potion into two vials, both of which I found sitting out with the other empty containers on the surface of her main workspace. I thought it prudent to prepare two vials, in case one slipped and shattered. Only four inches high or so, the vials were identical in all but color. One was the color of soft daylight—a pale, translucent blue—and the other, a pastel, rose-colored pink.
I had been sure to check twice, three times: the vials were etched only with the image of the bear—no words. The vials were now tucked inside my dress against my chest.
Nella seemed relieved when I agreed to comply with her wishes and leave the shop. But I did not intend to return immediately to the Amwell house, as she believed. According to the magick book, the tincture must cure for sixty-six minutes, and I finished the blending only four minutes ago, at exactly one o’clock. For this reason, I could not go to the Amwell house. Not yet.
I offered to clean up the mess I’d made, but she shook her head, calling it a worthless task as things now stood. Though I wasn’t sure what she meant by this, I placed my hand over my chest, where the vials were secured. Soon, I hoped things would return to normal. In only weeks, my mistress would return from Norwich and we could resume our long, comfortable days together in her drawing room, free of Mr. Amwell altogether—in any form.