The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(11)

All hopes Estelle had of fleeing London were dashed upon her return to Whitecombe Street.

In their absence, someone had entered the apothecary shop through the back door, smashed glass bottles and emptied the drawers of dried herbs over the floor. The sweet aroma lingered in the air to irritate her nostrils. A bookshelf lay upturned, the precious pages of text ripped from their bindings and strewn about the room. And yet amid the chaos, there seemed something orderly about the mess, something structured, purposeful.

“Oh, Mr Erstwhile, who would do such a terrible thing?” Mrs Erstwhile swayed as she struggled to stand.

Estelle fetched a wooden stool and guided the woman to the seat lest she collapse into a distressed heap. “Sit for a moment and catch your breath.”

“Whoever did this has no heart, no conscience.” Mr Erstwhile brushed a hand through his mop of white hair and sighed. “If I find out Mr Potter had something to do with it, I’ll … Lord knows what I shall do.”

Guilt flared. Estelle could not help but picture one particular cold and callous Frenchman. In all honesty, she hoped she was wrong and that Mr Potter was the man responsible. The apothecary despised competition and was forever spreading lies to cause mischief and steal Mr Erstwhile’s customers.

But what if Faucheux had come?

Estelle’s stomach roiled at the prospect. She mentally shook herself. They were eighty miles from Dover. What need had a smuggler to come so far inland?

“We cannot open tomorrow, not with the shop in such dreadful disarray.” Mr Erstwhile bent down, scooped a handful of herbs and brought them to his nose. “See if you can find the drawer for rosemary.”

Estelle took the lamp from the counter and scanned the labels on the drawers scattered about the floor. She found the one he needed and handed it to him. “We should do as much as we can tonight.” So much for her plan to leave. The Erstwhiles were good people. They’d given her a place to stay, and a means to make a living when she’d had barely five shillings to her name. The least she could do was offer her help. “We should save what herbs we can.”

Mr Erstwhile stared at the pools of liquid on the floor amid the remnants of broken glass. “It would be wise to wait until daylight. No doubt most things will need replacing.”

As the son of a gentleman, and one who had dedicated his life to curing ailments, Mr Erstwhile had funds aplenty. A day or two at most and he would be back in business again.

“I can visit Mr Broom in the morning and place an order for provisions.” She had a good mind to call in on Mr Potter to gauge his reaction upon hearing the news. The skills she’d learnt in France meant she could read the involuntary tics of a liar, could hear the hitch in the voice of the guilty.

“Take yourselves off to bed,” Mr Erstwhile said. “I’ll secure the back door and then follow you upstairs.” He rummaged underneath the counter, withdrew the metal cash box and opened it with the key retrieved from his waistcoat pocket. “One thing is clear. This was not the work of an opportune thief with ten starving mouths to feed.”

Estelle stepped closer and examined the box. The gold sovereigns shone in the dim light. If money was not the motive, then that left jealousy or revenge. The Erstwhiles were not the sort to be cruel or unkind. And so she couldn’t help but think this vile act was in some way connected to her.

“What a dreadful end to what was an entertaining evening.” Mrs Erstwhile attempted to stand but wobbled and dropped back onto the seat. “Help me, Miss Brown, won’t you? My head is spinning, and I have a peculiar pain in my stomach.”

“Of course.” Estelle wasn’t sure if the woman’s sudden illness was a consequence of finding the shop in such a shambles. She offered her arm. “Hold on to me, and I’ll escort you to your bedchamber.”

Mrs Erstwhile gripped Estelle’s elbow. “Thank you. Had I not given Gwen a few days off to visit her sister I would call on her to assist me.”

“Perhaps it is best Gwen wasn’t here.” Had the culprit been watching the premises? Did he know the house was empty?

“You’re right.” Mrs Erstwhile clutched her stomach as she hobbled through to the hall. “Good heavens. I cannot recall the last time I felt so queer.”

These strange symptoms had taken the woman suddenly. Mr Hungerford’s servants were plagued by a similar malady, so he’d said. Or could Ross have been suffering from a contagious illness? Had he been taken unawares, just like Mrs Erstwhile, and had no choice but to collapse in the alley? But then she recalled the bruise beneath his chin. Had he been robbed, or attacked by a jealous lover during a row?

Shaking all thoughts of Ross Sandford aside — for what did it matter when she was leaving London in a few days — she assisted Mrs Erstwhile into bed. Estelle left the woman cuddling a chamber pot and returned to the shop to speak to Mr Erstwhile.

Lost in thought, he was staring at nothing of any consequence. Although he’d suggested they leave tidying the shop until the morning, Estelle sensed he had no desire to go to bed. And so she lit a few candles, picked up a wooden drawer and placed it on the countertop.

“I should go and find a brush and scuttle.”

It took a moment for the gentleman to reply. “What? Yes, perhaps that is wise.”

“A few hours of hard work and you may still be able to open tomorrow.”