by Sarah Penner
“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.
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.
“It is all very bad, Eliza,” she whispered after she had shut the door. “You must go back to Nella immediately and tell her to leave. Both of you, as soon as possible, for she will be arrested and hanged—and you, too, possibly. They will not spare you on account of your age—oh, how impossible this whole thing is.”
“I do not understand,” I said, my lips trembling, words tumbling out. “You returned the jar and said all was well—”
“Oh, but it all fell apart last evening! You see, when my maid left yesterday, little did I know that she first divulged much to the constables. She told them I instructed her to put the contents of the jar into the glass, and she gave them a wax rubbing of the jar—it shows the little bear and the address. The address, thank heavens, has not yet been discerned, though I fear it is only a matter of time. And little use in returning the jar to Nella when the maid had already taken an impression of it, isn’t it? How terrible that maid is, and how cowardly! If she had any smarts, she would have stolen the jar itself to give to the police, but I suppose she was scared someone might walk in and catch her stuffing it into her gown.”
Lady Clarence sat on the bed and smoothed her skirts. “The image was printed overnight in a bulletin and put into the papers this morning, and shortly thereafter, a gentleman from St. James’s Square went straight to the authorities. Several weeks ago, following the unexpected death of his grown son—which they believed, first, to be gaol fever—he found a vial underneath the bed where his son died. He’d thought nothing of the vial at the time, until seeing the image in the newspaper. The exact image of the bear was on the vial he’d found!”
Lady Clarence paused to breathe, looking helplessly toward the window. “No address was on that man’s vial, thank heavens. I know little more than this, Eliza, but I have heard whispers between officers that there is another person, perhaps two, who came forward with something similar, look-alike containers that they discovered with the same little bear etching, and each of them has an account of an unexpected death among their close circles. Who knows how many there will be! But now there is talk of a repeat killer, and a great rush to identify the illegible address. They have deciphered a couple of the letters, so it is only a matter of time before they muster the mapmakers and trace every street.”
She ran her hand over the top of the dresser next to us, which was spotless until her fingerprints left an oily smear. “This matters greatly to me, of course,” she said, lowering her voice even further. “Late last evening, the bailiff confronted me about my maid’s claim that I killed my husband. And what could I do except deny it? So now, the illegible address is even more important to the authorities, as they intend to speak to the dispenser of the jar to determine who purchased it. And I am so glad you came, for how could I now escape such prying eyes to tell Nella of this? Would she give them my name? Oh, go now, and convince her otherwise! Tell her she must leave in an instant, otherwise they will find her and employ whatever tricks they must until she gives up her secrets.”
Lady Clarence shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “And to think I threatened to reveal her after she threw the powder in the fire! My God, how it has all turned against me. Go now, or we will all find ropes around our necks by nightfall.”
Of further questions, I had none. I did not care to know more about the man in the drawing room with the matching vial, or where the deceiving lady’s maid had run off to, or whether the poor Lord Clarence had even been laid yet in the ground. I knew all there was to know: it was more than Mr. Amwell’s spirit that haunted me now. The shadow of my mistake, which I thought removed only hours ago, had now returned with a vengeance. I must make haste to Nella’s at once. Except—
“What time is it?” I asked. The Tincture to Reverse Bad Fortune was, now more than ever, of utmost importance. Nothing else could save Nella, and me, from this predicament.
Lady Clarence gave me a surprised look. “There is a clock in the corridor,” she said. But as we made our way out of the room, I exhaled in frustration. The clock said it was not even half one; only twenty-eight minutes had passed since I stoppered the vial.
Out of the house I ran, pushing past the many uniformed men milling about in the foyer. Several of them watched as I left, and I overheard Lady Clarence tell them she turned me away for the vacancy. I dared not look behind me until I made it to Dean’s Court, and I was greatly relieved to see that no one had followed. To be very sure, I took a complicated, winding route back to the shop. When I reached 3 Back Alley, I shoved open the storage room door, and I did not even give Nella the courtesy of a knock on the hidden wall of shelves. Instead, I reached for the hidden lever and slid the door open.
Nella stood at her table, her register in front of her. She had turned it toward the middle. Her body was bent over the table, as though she meant to read one of her entries from long ago. At my abrupt entrance, she looked up at me.
“Nella, we must leave,” I cried. “Something terrible has happened. Lady Clarence’s lady’s maid, she told the authorities that—”
“You saw the paper,” Nella interrupted, her voice so thick that I wondered if she hadn’t taken a heavy dose of laudanum. “The maid gave them the wax rubbing. I know all about it.”
I stared back at her, stunned. She already knew of it? Why had she not yet left?
I looked at the clock by the door. Thirty-seven minutes had passed. I rushed forward to the shelf above the table, the contents of which I was now familia
r, and I pulled down the jar filled with tear-shaped drops, resin of frankincense. I had seen Nella take them once before, after rubbing at her swollen fingers.
“There is more,” I said. “Take some of these while I tell you.” I explained that I had passed by the Clarence home and heard it all from the mistress herself. After the papers were printed, another person—perhaps two or three or more—came forward with vials that were engraved with the same bear. All the vials were found in the days or weeks following untimely deaths, and now authorities believed the vials might be associated with a repeat killer.
“I had not heard that,” Nella said, her face calm. Had she gone mad? Did she not understand the urgency, and what this all meant? Only minutes ago she was the one telling me to make haste; why did she not do it herself?
“Nella, listen to me,” I pleaded. “You cannot stay. Remember the night when you helped me with the beetles? Somehow, you drew together your strength. Do it now, please!” Then I was struck by an idea. “We can go to the Amwells’ until we determine what to do next. It is the perfect place. No one will bother us there.” So long as Nella was with me, I felt I could stand to be inside the home while waiting for the tincture to finish curing. Mr. Amwell’s spirit would not harm me with her so close, would it?
“Easy, child,” Nella replied, putting a handful of resin pills into her mouth. “I do not intend to stay here.” She pushed the jar of frankincense aside. “I know where I am going, and I was about to leave, anyhow. But you mustn’t come with me. I will go alone.”
If my agreement was what she needed, she had it. I smiled at her and helped her with her coat. As I did so, I was reminded of my first visit to the shop, only a week before. How much had happened in recent days, and none of it good. I remembered sitting at the chair across from her, hesitant to drink the valerian hot brew, while Mr. Amwell and Lord Clarence were still alive and ignorant of the plans laid out before them. I remembered, too, my second visit—pleased with the success of the poisoned eggs but plagued with a new terror and crouching forward in pain as my belly bled.