by Tate, Kristy
“Because he is a saint?” Trent asked. He raised his voice as the curtain lowered and the house lights rose, signaling intermission.
Mercy spoke up. “Because he is dead.” The music ended on an ominous chord and the chatter of the patrons filled the house.
“Ah, then you will have to make do with me.”
“Perhaps,” Mercy smiled, “or my good friend, Eloise.” She turned to her friend, but Eloise’s chair was empty.
CHAPTER 12
Sleep Potion
Mix honey and apple cider vinegar together. Stir in hot milk. Add the oil from crushed snapdragon seeds and let steep.
From the Recipes of Mercy Faye
Mercy scanned the theater crowd. Standing on tiptoe, trying to hide her anxiety, she searched for Eloise. She peeked around the curtain shielding their box—Steele’s chair was empty as well. Mercy didn’t want to leave the box, mingle with the crowd and run the risk of meeting Steele, but she promised herself that she would if Eloise didn’t return by the count of twenty.
One. She should warn Eloise--tell her everything she knew about Steele.
Two. Eloise couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.
Three. Eloise needed to know about the Lucky Island ladies.
Four. Eloise was a bigger gossip than Tilly.
Five. Mercy should introduce her to Georgina, perhaps enlist her help.
Eloise slipped back into her seat looking flushed and happy.
“Oh thank goodness,” Mercy breathed. Sinking back into her chair, she slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze.
“Where did you go?” Miles demanded, looking like he wanted to heft his sister over his shoulder and carry her out of the theater.
Eloise sighed. “I needed a breath of fresh air.”
Miles looked uncomfortable. “Next time you need air, take me with you.”
Eloise put her hands on her hips. “Laws, Miles, I can’t have you supervising every breath I take and there are some places that are completely inappropriate for men.”
Miles flushed and took his seat with a humph.
Eloise turned her back on him and leaned her head on Mercy’s shoulder with a happy sigh. “I met him,” she whispered in Mercy ear.
Mercy didn’t need to ask who, the sickness in her belly answered her question. What to do? She took Eloise’s hand, as if she could hold her and keep her safe.
Eloise sat up and sent cautionary glances at Trent and Miles. “Mr. Steele is as sweet as he looks,” she whispered.
Mercy stared. Of course it was inevitable. Eloise met and entertained every available bachelor. A bounce of her curls, a curve to her lips, a look beneath her lashes, Eloise knew how to work her charms. Mercy, still holding her own internal debate could hardly focus on Eloise’s words. Eloise moved her lips, sounds came out, but Mercy couldn’t interpret the meaning.
“How?”
“How what?” Eloise frowned at her brother leaning in to eavesdrop.
Mercy raised her voice for Miles to hear. “Did you just go up to him and introduce yourself?” Seattle didn’t live by New York’s strict etiquette code, but she still didn’t think that Eloise would be so bold.
“Of course not. Mrs. Ludlum introduced us.” Eloise looked sadly at the bottle in her hand. “I didn’t get the chance to use the liquid love, but I will on our drive.”
“Liquid love? Drive?”
Eloise squeezed Mercy’s hand. “He’s picking me up for a drive through the park.”
“Just you?” Mercy’s voice squeaked. She couldn’t offer to accompany her, but some needed to.
“And the Ludlums.”
“When?” If she was going to warn Eloise she’d need to be able to squeak out more than one word at a time. Mercy didn’t know the Ludlums, but she hoped that they were a Viking sized family possessing incredible strength and a variety of weapons. She rallied her thoughts, but before she could begin spouting dire warnings, the house lights lowered and the horrible organ began to play.
“Hush,” Miles whispered to Eloise although Mercy wondered why he bothered. All around them the audience grew increasingly rowdy.
For once obedient, Eloise closed her mouth and settled back to watch the play.
Mercy lifted her fan so that it shielded her face and whispered, “You know his wife took her life.”
“So tragic,” Eloise sighed. “A man who has endured such heartbreak will need added compassion.”
“But--”
Eloise flushed hot. “You wouldn’t blame a man for his wife’s emotional vagrancies, would you?”
“Have you thought that he might have driven her--”
“No,” Eloise said so loudly that Miles shushed her. She ignored her brother for the umpteenth time. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, would listen to malicious gossip.”
With an apologetic glance at Miles, Mercy whispered, “What do you mean me of all people?”
Trent leaned over and whispered in her ear. “My sister is singing. If you’re going to have a conversation, will you please include me? I’d like the distraction.”
Mercy shook her head. She didn’t want to distract Trent. She needed to thwart Eloise.
Miles leaned in and nodded at the tiny bottle in Eloise’s lap. “Is that what I think it is?”
Eloise looked studiously at the stage. Holding her shoulders stiff and her chin up, she pointedly ignored Miles. And Mercy.
“I can’t believe you spend your money on that snake oil,” Miles grumbled.
“Snake oil?” Mercy asked, glancing at the vial clasped in Eloise’s hand.
“Liquid Love,” Miles said, rolling his eyes.
“A love potion?” Curious, Mercy reached for the bottle, but Eloise snatched it away.
Mercy didn’t believe in love potions, but what if it worked? “Sweetie, you don’t need that. You already have at least half of Seattle’s men tripping over themselves.”
Eloise sighed. “I’m trying to watch the show.”
Mercy held her tongue and breath, waiting for something, some opportunity. When Chloe tried to hit a painfully high note, Miles bumped Eloise’s chair and the tiny vial rolled off Eloise’s lap and onto the floor. It landed beside Trent’s boot.
Mercy fluffed out her skirts so that they covered the vial. She used her shoe to nudge the vial between her feet. Trent looked at her, cocking his eyebrow in a question as she bumped her foot against his boot. She smiled, trying to look innocent. He took her hand and she wondered if he could feel her skittering pulse.
Eloise, realizing she’d lost the vial, looked at the floor. “My liquid love,” she whispered to Mercy.
Trent leaned over, “Have you lost something?”
“Her liquid love,” Mercy told him.
Eloise hit Mercy’s hand with her program and returned her attention to the stage, her lips pressed together tightly.
“I’m sorry,” Mercy whispered to Eloise, “but, if you’re embarrassed about it then maybe you shouldn’t use it.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Eloise lied. A scowl creased her forehead.
And I am not ashamed, Mercy thought as she slipped her foot from her shoe and curled her toes around the vial.
*****
The next morning shortly after dawn, Mercy stood in the back garden and watched the liquid love disappear into the roots of a rose bush. As it bubbled in the dirt, Mercy wondered what effect it would have on the bush. Of course a bush couldn’t fall in love, but it might lose its thorns, become less prickly. She glanced at the neighboring rhododendron. Maybe tomorrow she’d find the two plants intertwined. Perhaps next spring there’d be a baby rosedodendrom bush.
“Oh there you are, sweetie,” Tilly said from the backdoor way. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m looking for snap dragons.” Mercy cleared her throat. The liquid love had given her an idea. Although it was nice to think of baby rosedodendroms, she really didn’t believe in love potions, but she d
id believe in sleeping draughts. When her father was sick and in so much pain, she’d frequently made them for him.
“Snap dragons?” Tilly asked. She couldn’t have sounded more surprised if Mercy had said she was looking for fire breathing dragons.
“It’s a flower,” Mercy said. “Do they grow here? They’re abundant in New York.”
“Are you homesick, dear?” Concern touched Tilly’s voice.
Mercy glanced at the name stamped on the empty vial before slipping it into her apron pocket. “Auntie, I love it here, with you. It’s just sometimes, I miss certain things about New York. Today I miss snap dragons.” She walked up to the back porch and slipped her arm around her aunt’s ample waist. “And I miss baking.”
“Baking?” Again, the surprise. Mercy had already learned that her aunt avoided the kitchen, leaving most of the cooking to Lee and Young Lee.
“Would you mind if I made some tarts?” Mercy asked as she steered Tilly into the kitchen. “I’m getting tired of rice.”
“Well of course not, dear.”
“Auntie, have you ever heard of Dr. Merry?”
“The chemist?”
Mercy flushed, remembering the chemist shop and when she’d almost hit Trent over the head with a yard stick.
“Why?” Tilly narrowed her eyes at Mercy. “You mustn’t involve yourself in his tricks. You want a man to love you because he loves you, not because he’s been chemically induced.”
Mercy laughed and her aunt noticeably relaxed in her arms. “I don’t need liquid love!” Mercy said. “I want snap dragon seeds.”
“It is planting season,” Tilly said, looking at her bedraggled garden, before closing the back door. “But, why would Dr. Merry have snap dragon seeds?”
“To cure my touch of homesickness,” Mercy told her as she went into the pantry and began pulling out the ingredients for tarts.
“You don’t need Dr. Merry, you need a seed catalogue.”
Mercy said, “I think I’ll check with Dr. Merry first.”
*****
The chemist shop sat on the boardwalk directly across The Lonely Stagg tavern. Pushing open the door, the smell of Lifebuoy soap assaulted Mercy and reminded her of how it felt to have Trent’s arms around her. She’d been holding a yard stick, ready to beat him, or anyone, away and yet he’d held onto her, steadied her.
She couldn’t think about Trent. She needed snapdragon seeds. For a sleeping potion. A potent sleeping potion. Turning her back on the Lifebuoy soap display, she headed for the counter. A tiny man with wire rimmed glasses bent over a seed catalogue. Mercy couldn’t wait for the snapdragon seeds; she needed them today. Peeking through the doorway, she saw a room lined with shelves filled with vials in a variety of sizes and shapes. A brown, odorless smoke curled out of a large pot sharing a table with what looked like a jar of frog legs.
The tiny man looked up from his catalogue, his large watery eyes piercing. “MayIhelpyou?” he mumbled, his voice low and gravelly.
Mercy cleared her throat, as if by so doing she could make him more understandable. “Yes, I’d like to purchase snapdragon seeds.”
He squinted at her, studying her and she flinched beneath his gaze. He took off his glasses, wiped them on his apron, put them back on and looked at her some more.
“Perhaps I should--” Mercy motioned towards the grain and seed shop down the street.
The man lifted his pointy finger to the ceiling, signaling for Mercy to stop or wait, she wasn’t sure which. He closed his catalogue and disappeared into the backroom. From the other side of the door came more mumbling.
Mercy tried to see if he was talking to someone other than himself, someone who also mumbled, because his conversation grew increasingly heated. Moments later he reappeared with three items: an envelope, a tea bag and a vial of clear liquid.
The little man looked triumphant as he laid his goods on the counter for Mercy’s inspection. “Snapdragonseedsmemoryeraserandsedative.”
“I beg your pardon,” Mercy shook her head. “I only need the snapdragon seeds.”
The man laid both hands flat on the counter and leveled his gaze at Mercy. “Thatsnottrue,” he practically barked.
Mercy fingered her coin purse. What had he said? She’d caught the snapdragon seeds. Pointing at the envelope, she said, “Snapdragon seeds.”
The man nodded. “Fordeepsleep.”
Mercy nodded and then laid her finger on the tea bag. “And this is--”
“Memoryeraser.”
Ohhh, very good. She hoped she’d never get close enough to Steele to serve him tea, but she immediately knew that a memory eraser could come in handy. She picked up the vial. “And this?”
“Averystrongsedative.”
“Like the sleeping potion.”
He shook his head. “Notatall.Thissuckstheviolenceoutofaman.”
Violence sucker. Interesting. Mercy picked up the vial, uncorked it and held it to her nose. It had a nutty odor.
“Itdoesn’tworkforwomen.”
Mercy smiled and asked. “How much?” Knowing that she’d pay whatever the price.
*****
The bell tower struck three as she hurried down the path, the tarts hidden beneath a cloth in the basket she carried over her arm. The May sun burned warm, clouds skittered across the sky with the light breeze, for once there wasn’t a hint of rain. It would have been a lovely day for a carriage ride, but if Mercy’s plan worked, as she was sure it would, Eloise would not spend the afternoon in Mr. Steele’s carriage.
Standing on the porch, Mercy fought back her worry. She rapped so hard on the front door that she bruised her knuckles.
Laurel, Eloise’s maid, opened the door and curtsied. “Good afternoon, Miss.”
“Good day, Laurel.” Her voice sounded steady. Grateful wracking nerves were inaudible, Mercy took a deep breath to steady herself and asked for Eloise. She trailed after Laurel to the sitting room.
Mercy glanced at the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Carol hanging above the fireplace mantle and took a seat on the divan. In her imagination she could feel the cold gaze of Mr. Carol. You should be thanking me, she told him.
She’d learned from Eloise that Mr. Carol, a man with stern set to his lips and a rigid jaw, had uncompromising views on womanhood and marriage and Eloise’s inability to choose a suitor and settle down had caused such a frustration that after Eloise’s third broken engagement Mr. Carol had shipped his only daughter off to live under her brother’s eagle eye. Mercy prayed that Eloise wouldn’t choose Mr. Steele for her next fiancé, but, just in case God wasn’t listening Mercy’s prayers, Mercy had made tarts. Tarts that would ensure Eloise would spend the afternoon in her bed. Mercy knew proud, arrogant and filled with self importance Mr. Steele wouldn’t take kindly to being stood up. The Lord helps those who help themselves, she rationalized, but she wasn’t sure if the Lord would approve of friends drugging friends.
Mercy jumped to her feet when she heard footsteps in the hall. Her heart sped when she recognized the voices.
“She’s a pretty little filly,” Trent said. “Long legs. She may be more temperamental than you’d like.”
“Good teeth?” Miles asked.
Horses, Mercy breathed. They’re talking about horses. She tucked the basket behind her, the tarts were for Eloise only. She tried to sit still so that the men wouldn’t notice her. When the front door opened and then closed and the two men’s voices floated through the open window, she let out a sigh of relief. Please let them go far away, she prayed.
“Mercy?”
She whirled to see Eloise standing in the doorway. Her friend wore a green cotton dressed piped with a yellow silk trim and a trying to be polite expression on her face. Mercy took note that the men’s conversation had stopped when Eloise had spoken her name.
“You look so pretty,” Mercy said, hoping her tone could convince Eloise she hadn’t come to restart last night’s argument.
Eloise’s stiff back didn’t loosen an inch.
/> Mercy took a step forward. “I brought you a tart, two actually, to sweeten my apology.”
“Apology?” Eloise lifted an eyebrow and looked skeptical.
Mercy nodded. “I know I shouldn’t listen, or spread gossip…It’s wrong and I’m sorry.”
Eloise sniffed and looked a little mollified. “You wouldn’t even tell me who had told you --”
“You know the saying, a cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run.” Mercy lifted the cloth off the basket and released a warm, fragrant puff of air. “I didn’t want to get gossip-oil on my hands, but, I know you’re bright, intelligent and completely capable of forming your own judgments. I’m sorry if I tried to sway you.”
Eloise took a step closer, licked her lips and looked into the basket at the two tarts. “Are you going to eat also?”
Mercy shook her head. “I’ve had plenty. They were something of an experiment.” She thought of Tilly snoring in the sewing room, her head slumped onto the table and nestled in a pile of blue surge cotton.
Eloise looked down at her dress. “Maybe I should wait until after --”
“Oh please, they’re so much better when warm. Just one bite,” Mercy said, knowing that one bite would almost certainly lead to another. “It’s a new recipe I’ve just made and I’d like your opinion.”
Although, Tilly had enjoyed her tart.
“Perhaps if I’m careful not to get crumbs on my dress,” Eloise murmured as Mercy used a piece of linen to draw out the tart. Golden brown fluted crust, blackberries swirled in a creamy pudding -- Mercy cradled her creation in her outstretched hand. It looked and smelled like edible heaven.
“Please take one,” Mercy said. “Then I’ll know that you’ve truly forgiven me for being a bossy, nosy and gossip monger.”
“And a preachy priss,” Eloise added choosing the blackberry. “Oh, it’s still warm.”