The Lost Apothecary(66)

And so for the second time in two days, Nella and I parted ways. There was no doubt in my mind that, after today, I would not see her again. She did not want me there, and whether the magick tincture worked or not, it would be unwise to return. Despite this goodbye with my newfound friend, my heart felt light—the vials were cool against my skin, and full of possibility—and I was not so sad as the last time we said goodbye. I did not cry, and even Nella seemed distracted, like her heart was not as raw.

As we hugged a final time, I checked the clock behind her. Eight minutes had passed. I stuffed Tom Pepper’s magick book into an inner pocket of my gown. Although the tincture was now mixed and I had no need of the book, I could not bear to part with his gift. And I meant, someday very soon, to return to the shop. Perhaps we could open the book and try another spell or two together. The idea of it made the tips of my fingers tingle.

Though I could not return to the Amwell house with my tincture for another hour, I headed west because the route to the Amwells’ took me close to another place I was curious to see: the Clarence estate. While I had little interest in accepting Lady Clarence’s vacancy, my curiosity was piqued by the unseen place where Lord Clarence met his end. I walked toward the breathtaking dome of St. Paul’s, eventually turning onto Carter Lane, where Lady Clarence had said she lived.

Before me lay a half dozen terrace homes, identical in appearance, and on any other day I would have had no idea which one belonged to the Clarence family. But that was not the case today; the house at the far end, like a honeypot of bees, swarmed with people, and the buzz of uneasy conversation floated all about. I knew, instinctively, that this was the Clarence home—and something was awry. I stiffened, afraid to move closer.

Standing behind a row of hedges, I observed the scene. Indeed, there must have been more than twenty people running about, half of them constables in dark blue tailcoats. I did not see Lady Clarence anywhere. I shook my head, not understanding the reason for such excitement. I had seen, last night, the jar that Lady Clarence returned to Nella. She had given no hint of a crisis, and her greatest concern of the moment was that her lady’s maid had left abruptly. If she had been suspected of a crime, she would have mentioned it last night. Had something else happened at the house?

My courage built, and an idea struck me at once: I would approach the house, pretend interest in Lady Clarence’s vacancy, and perhaps learn the reason for so many visitors, so many constables. I stepped away from the shrub and walked casually toward the house like I was ignorant of the fact that a man died there, victim of a poison I prepared with my own hands.

Several men stood near the entry of the house. As I approached the front steps, I began to overhear fragments of their hushed, hurried conversation.

“He’s in the drawing room—came straightaway—”

“—image on his vial matches the maid’s wax impression, an identical match—”

My skin felt suddenly dewy with sweat, and one of the vials slipped deeper into my gown. I made my way slowly up each stair, remembering my feigned purpose for coming to the Clarence estate. No matter what I might see or hear, I could not forget myself. I approached the front door. No one minded me as they continued to converse.

“—have been reports of other deaths, similar in nature—”

“—repeat killer, perhaps—”

I stumbled, one foot tripping the other, and began to fall forward. Two arms appeared to catch me, and a constable with a scar on his left cheek lifted me back into a standing position.

“Lady Clarence,” I gasped. “I have come to speak with her.”

He frowned. “And for what purpose?”

I paused, my mind a cluttered mess of herbs and names and dates, like a page from Nella’s register. Repeat killer. The words echoed in my mind as though someone whispered them behind me. A bright light flashed behind my eyes and I feared I may collapse to the floor, but the man continued to hold me. “Maid—” I stammered. “I am here to speak with her about the vacancy for the housemaid.”

The man tilted his head at me, still frowning. “The lady’s maid left only yesterday. Has Lady Clarence already posted a vacancy?” Then he turned to look behind him, as though wanting to ask it directly of the mistress. “Come with me,” he said. “She’s in the parlor.”

We went in together, the constable leading me through the overcrowded foyer smelling of sweat and sour breath. Several more officers stood in a circle, discussing what appeared to be a drawing in a newspaper, but I could not make out the image. Above a side table lacquered in black-and-gold paint, an enormous mirror reflected the horror in my eyes. I turned my face away, wanting badly to escape this place of angry, red-faced men. I shouldn’t have come at all.

Lady Clarence sat in the parlor with a pair of constables. The moment she recognized me, she stood and let out a great breath of relief. “Oh, heavens,” she said. “Have you come about the vacancy? Come, let’s discuss and—”

One of the constables raised his hand. “Lady Clarence, we are not yet finished.”

“I won’t be but a few minutes with the child, sir.” She gave him not another word before wrapping her arm around me and rushing me from the room. Her skin felt damp and sticky; sweat beaded on her brow. Quickly, she pulled me up the stairs to the second story and took me into one of the rooms. It was pristinely arranged, the four-poster bed stiff as if never used. A cabinet, recently polished, reflected the buttercream light from the window.