The Lost Apothecary(72)

I took a deep breath. “They don’t believe I’ve been researching the apothecary. That’s why I told them you worked at the library.” I then faced the lead officer. “I’ve been to the library twice. I’ve looked through maps, I looked online...” I purposely said I, not we, because I meant to remove Gaynor from this—to place as much distance between her and my mess as I possibly could.

I exhaled as a clock on the wall ticked forward, another minute passed. Another minute stuck here, trying to explain myself, while James fought for his life. “These officers,” I said to Gaynor, “seem to think I’m somehow involved in my husband’s illness. He came down with a cold today, and I suggested he use a bit of eucalyptus oil. He was supposed to rub it into his chest, his skin, but he actually ingested it. Unfortunately, it’s highly toxic.” I eyed my notebook warily, wishing it would dissolve into thin air—wishing, in many ways, I hadn’t found the vial or learned about the apothecary at all.

I placed my hands on the table in front of me, ready to ask Gaynor what I needed of her. “The medics found my research notes and called the police. Can you please assure these men that you do work at the library, and that I’ve been twice to research the apothecary? That this isn’t just some lie I’ve made up on the spot?”

For a moment, Gaynor’s reaction put me at ease. I watched it unfold, her slow understanding of the coincidence, the terrible timing of it all. The fluorescent light above us continued to flicker as we all waited for Gaynor to speak. Perhaps she would come to my defense without asking anything about the research notes—without reading the notebook at all. Then, I wouldn’t have to explain the omission to her.

Gaynor took a breath to speak, but before she could say anything, the officer across from us placed his hand on my notebook and—to my horror—spun it around to face her.

I wanted to lunge across the table, throw the notebook aside and strangle him. He knew Gaynor had nearly come to my defense; he could see it as well as I could, and he’d saved his final trick for the eleventh hour.

There was nothing to do now but accept the inevitable. I watched carefully as Gaynor’s eyes flicked left and right on the page. This was it: the truth, at last, coming to light. The names of obscure poisons, copied from the apothecary’s register; random dates and names scribbled in the margins of the page, none of which Gaynor and I had researched together at the library; and, of course, the most incriminating line of all: Quantities of non-poisons needed to kill.

This was, I knew, the beginning of the end for our friendship. Gaynor would deny helping me with this level of research; any sane person would. Her confusion would only throw further doubt on my story in the eyes of the police, and that would be the end of it for me. I sat motionless, awaiting the cold, hard metal that would soon snap around my wrists.

Gaynor took a long, shaky breath and gazed at me, as though she meant to communicate something with just her eyes. But my own were welling quickly with tears, and my remorse was such that I almost wanted to be taken away in handcuffs. I wanted out of this goddamned room, away from the disappointed faces of these officers and my new friend.

Gaynor reached into her bag. “Yes, I can validate all of this research.” She pulled out her wallet, then withdrew a card. Handing it to one of the officers, she said, “Here’s my employee card. I can confirm that Caroline’s been to the library twice in recent days to research the apothecary, and I can request the camera footage if it’s needed for your investigation.”

I could hardly believe it. Gaynor had come to my defense, even after surely understanding there was something I hadn’t yet told her. I gaped at her, my body going limp in the chair. But I couldn’t offer an explanation yet, or even say thank you. That, by itself, would seem suspicious.

The officer at the table ran his thumb over Gaynor’s employee card as though checking the expiration and validity of it. Satisfied, he tossed it onto the table, where it slid several inches. Something buzzed in his pocket, and he withdrew a cell phone.

“Yes?” he said tersely into the device. I could hear a woman’s faint voice on the other end of the line, and the officer’s face hardened. I braced myself for news as he hung up the phone. “Mr. Parcewell would like to see you,” he said, standing from the chair. “We’ll show you to his room.”

“H-he’s okay then?” I stammered.

Gaynor reached again for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I wouldn’t say that quite yet,” the officer replied, “but he’s fully conscious, at least.”

With Gaynor remaining in the room behind us, the officers ushered me out, one with his hand near my lower back. I stiffened, saying, “I can find James’s room myself, thanks.”

He smirked. “Not a chance. We’re not quite finished yet.”

I paused. This did nothing to ease my worry about an impending arrest. What had the nurse told the officer on the phone? Whatever it was, he felt he needed to accompany me.

As we made our way down the hospital corridor, silent other than the heavy stomping of the officers’ boots, my spirits remained low. James’s room was just ahead, and it was with a sense of dread that I awaited what he meant to say to me—and the officers flanking my sides.



29

Eliza


February 11, 1791