The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele Book 3)

by C. J. Archer

  "You look terrible, but that's the tiredness. Go and rest and think nothing more about what happened. Indeed, nothing happened. Besides, I'd already forgotten it." I didn't wait to see or hear his reaction. I turned and walked away so he couldn't see that I'd lied. Because I hadn't forgotten it. How could I? He'd almost kissed me.

  The following morning, Matt and I prepared to visit the office of The Weekly Gazette to speak to Oscar Barratt about magic and magicians. We did not get out of the house, however. As we put on gloves and hats in the entrance hall, a firm knock rapped on the door.

  Bristow opened it to Commissioner Munro from Scotland Yard. Two police constables stood either side of him. It was not a social call, then.

  "Commissioner," Matt said, eyeing the constables. "To what do we owe this visit?"

  Munro's moustache dipped with the flattening of his lips. "I'm afraid I've come to arrest you for the murder of Dr. Hale."

  Chapter 3

  "Murder!" Matt bellowed.

  "Arrest him!" I blurted out, moving in front of Matt. "No, you cannot! He hasn't murdered anyone."

  "India," Matt said gently. "He said he has come to arrest me, not that he will." He arched his brows at the commissioner. "Isn't that why you've come in person, Munro?"

  The commissioner hesitated then nodded once. "May we come in? We don't wish to alarm your neighbors."

  "My neighbors are used to me being arrested," Matt said, standing aside.

  Munro's already stern countenance darkened further. "That was a misunderstanding."

  "Will you come into the drawing room?" I said, leading the way before Matt said something he regretted.

  "What's going on?" Willie asked from the staircase. "What's he doing here? What's happened?"

  "Dr. Hale is dead," Matt told her. "Munro wants to talk to us since we saw Hale yesterday."

  "Lucky you did or—" Willie sucked in her top lip then released it with a pop. "Never mind."

  "Perhaps keep Miss Glass away until the commissioner has left," I told her. She nodded and hurried back up the stairs.

  Munro ordered his constables to remain outside the drawing room, and Matt shut the door on them. I was itching to find out more about Dr. Hale, but politeness and concern dictated that I ask how the commissioner was coping with his son's death. It had only been two weeks since discovering his illegitimate son had been murdered by a fellow mapmaker's apprentice.

  "I am well," was all he said.

  "And the boy's mother?"

  "I haven't seen her since the funeral." When neither I nor Matt filled the ensuing silence, he added, "She won't get over Daniel's death. I have my work, but she has nothing."

  And no one, I might have added, but I did not. Munro was still married to his wife, although whether she knew about Daniel, I didn't know.

  "To the matter at hand," Munro said with military abruptness. "The detective inspector in charge of the case wanted to have you arrested. I told him I would speak to you first. I owe you that, Glass, considering…our history."

  "Thank you," Matt said cautiously.

  "Do you mean there is still a chance he will be arrested?" I asked. "But he didn't kill anyone! Why would he murder Dr. Hale? It's absurd. Your inspector is incompetent. Is it Nunce from Vine Street?"

  Matt rested his hand over mine, and I swallowed the rest of my questions and retorts. Hysteria would not help. I did, however, clutch his fingers. I wanted him to know that I wouldn't abandon him, no matter what Munro did.

  "Miss Steele, you seem to be under the impression that I am here to question Mr. Glass only. You, too, are under suspicion."

  I swallowed heavily and bit my tongue.

  Matt's grip tightened. "You'd better explain your reasoning," he growled.

  Munro clasped his hands over his stomach and eased back in the armchair. "You two went to see Hale yesterday."

  "So?"

  "You impersonated reporters from The Times."

  "You need more than that, Munro."

  "You, Mr. Glass, have excellent knowledge of poisons, and Dr. Hale was poisoned."

  I sucked in a breath and blinked at Matt. How much did he know about poisons? It was difficult to tell from his face. "That doesn't mean he would murder Dr. Hale," I said.

  "My detective inspector thinks otherwise. At the very least, it justifies this interrogation."

  "Who told you I am knowledgeable about poisons?" Matt asked. His tone was idle but the rigidity of his body implied otherwise.

  Munro steepled his thumbs. "That isn't important."

  "It is to me."

  "Where were you last night?" Munro asked.

  "Here, all night."

  "I can vouch for him," I said quickly.

  Munro's gaze dipped to my hand, linked with Matt's.

  Matt withdrew. "She means we were together in the sitting room until ten, along with my friends, cousin and aunt. They and the servants can testify that neither I nor India went anywhere."

  "And after ten?"

  "I went to bed, alone. You'll have to take my word as a gentleman that I didn't sneak out during the night and murder anyone."

  Munro's "Hmmm" gave nothing away and did not reassure me in the least. "Why did you visit Hale yesterday? Why pretend to be reporters?"

  "That's a private matter."

  Munro waited, but Matt remained silent. The two men eyed one another, neither looking away, but it was Munro who spoke first. "You're not helping your cause, Glass. Tell me why you were there yesterday."

  Matt still did not speak. Munro's nostrils flared but he let the silence drag and drag. It was a technique used by some to force the other person to talk. It didn't work on Matt but it did on me.

  "We read an article in The Weekly Gazette about a medical miracle Hale performed on a patient and hoped he could perform a similar miracle for us. Mr. Glass is ill, you see, and has been told by American doctors that there is no cure."

  Matt jerked around to face me, and I felt the full force of his ire. I lifted my chin. I did not regret telling Munro. This was not a time for his pride to dictate actions.

  "You don't look ill," Munro said.

  "We wanted to speak to Dr. Hale impartially," I told Munro. "We wanted to get a sense of how the miracle had been performed before we informed him of Matt's illness. That's why we pretended to be reporters."

  "And what did you learn?" Munro asked.

  "That the patient he saved probably wasn't dead but did, in fact, die soon afterward."

  "So my men also discovered. No miracle was performed. Your visit was wasted."

  It was far from being a waste from our point of view. We had a way to meet Chronos now, thanks to Hale. Thank goodness we'd spoken to him before his demise.

  Munro rose. "Thank you for being honest with me, Miss Steele, and I'm sorry to have alarmed you. We must consider all possibilities, and when I heard a man named Glass had visited Hale yesterday with his assistant, a Miss Steele, my curiosity was piqued."

  "Curiosity or suspicion?" Matt pressed.

  Munro ignored the question.

  "If you hadn't learned that I knew about poisons, you would not have come," Matt said. Again, Munro didn't answer. "I've never mentioned my interest in chemistry to you."

  "I like to thoroughly check the people who work for me," Munro finally said. "You are no exception, despite the task you and Miss Steele recently performed for me." He slapped his hands behind his back. "I hope you understand, Glass. I'm sure you would do the same."

  "My sources of information are always known to me. I trust them implicitly. I don't trust information passed on by strangers of unknown reputation."

  I suddenly realized what Matt was referring to. The commissioner had learned about Matt's interest in chemistry from someone who wanted to besmirch his reputation: Sheriff Payne. It had to be him. Payne had already visited Munro and tried to discredit Matt once. Thank goodness Munro hadn't taken the malicious sheriff's word at face value.

  "Thank you for coming here perso
nally, sir," I said. "We appreciate your effort to discover the truth."

  "I'll inform my detective that he must look elsewhere for suspects. He's young and enthusiastic, so I'm sure he'll uncover something soon enough."

  "Is it wise to leave a young man in charge of a murder case?" Matt asked.

  Munro bristled. "Are you questioning my methods?"

  "Perhaps I can help him," Matt went on. "Guide him down the right path, that sort of thing."

  "That would be a conflict of interest."

  "Only if I were guilty, which I am not."

  Munro grunted. "I'll keep your offer in mind."

  He opened the door and his constables fell into step behind him.

  Matt touched my shoulder and mouthed, "Ask him questions." Did he not think Munro would answer him but would say more to me?

  "How was Hale poisoned?" I asked, thinking quickly. "Was it in his food?"

  "That's not yet clear," Munro said, without breaking stride. "Although there was a bottle of his Cure-All found near the body, its contents spilled over his paperwork."

  "Where was he found?"

  "The hospital, in his office, sitting at his desk. The type of poison is not known. The signs on the body don't match any that we know."

  "Hale was an apothecary," Matt said. "He might have made his own poison."

  "And swallowed it accidentally or deliberately?" Munro nodded slowly. "It's possible."

  Matt signaled that I should keep asking more questions, but Bristow was already opening the front door.

  "He was found at his desk at the hospital," I said, "but he was dismissed from his position, just as we left."

  "He was given until the end of the day," Munro said. "At five, when Dr. Ritter realized no one had seen Hale leave, he checked the office and found him dead."

  "How awful for him."

  "He sees dead people every day," Munro said with bland indifference. "I doubt the sight of one more affected him."

  Yes, but it was someone he knew, someone he worked with. "Does Dr. Hale have next of kin?" I asked.

  Matt nodded, satisfied with my question.

  "None that we are aware of. We're not yet sure who inherits or if there was a will at all."

  "Did he have enemies? Aside from Dr. Wiley, perhaps."

  Munro halted on the doorstep. His constables stopped too, like automaton with rusty mechanisms. "Wiley?"

  "You don't know about him?" Matt said, all innocence. "Are you sure you don't require my assistance?"

  Munro frowned. "Good day, Mr. Glass, Miss Steele."

  Bristow shut the door and Matt stared at it. "We need to investigate this. I'm not leaving our freedom in the hands of a young but enthusiastic detective. It's a recipe for wrongful arrest."

  "I quite agree." But I had a more pressing concern and needed to clear the air. I waited for Bristow to melt away toward the back of the house before speaking. "Matt, I'm sorry I told him about your illness, but I couldn't see any way out of it."

  He sighed. "Neither could I, but…"

  "But you’d still prefer he didn't know."

  "I prefer no one to know, India. Not even you." He smiled gently, softening the sting of his words. "But I understand why you told him, and I don't blame you."

  "I should hope not." I picked up my skirts and marched up the stairs. He quickly caught up to me.

  "Why?"

  "Because I am not to blame for your pride, Matt. You don't like people knowing because you don't like to appear weak."

  "Name any man who does."

  "Don't get snippy with me for pointing out your fault. It's only a minor one, after all, and you have few others of note, if any."

  "I'm thoroughly relieved," he muttered.

  I stopped on the landing. "Now you're upset."

  "I am not."

  "And you're acting like a child."

  He frowned. "I think you are upset with me."

  "Why would I be upset with you?"

  "For what happened in the carriage yesterday."

  "Not at all. I'd forgotten about it, to be honest." I continued up the stairs. He didn't follow until I was half way up.

  "I hadn't forgotten," he said quietly.

  We found the others in the sitting room, playing cards. Willie discarded her hand upon our entry, but the others continued.

  "Does he want you to investigate the murder?" Duke asked, discarding two cards and accepting another two from Cyclops.

  Matt shook his head. "Where's my aunt?"

  "In her parlor writing correspondence," Willie said. "Matt, what's wrong? You don't look so good. Do you need your watch already?"

  "No," he growled. "And will everyone stop talking about my health."

  "I was only askin'. You've got a temper this morning."

  Matt stood by the fireplace where a low fire warmed the room. "Munro didn't come to ask for my help in finding out who murdered Hale. He came to question us about our involvement in Hale's murder."

  Willie jumped up. "Question or arrest?" She stalked off to the door, hands on hips, only to stop and slam it shut.

  "He hasn't arrested them, Willie." Cyclops nodded at us. "They're still here."

  "I've a mind to chase him down and tell him what's what. He suspected you, and after everything you did for him, too!"

  "What did we do for him?" Matt shot back. "His son died."

  "That ain't your fault. If it weren't for you and India, the body would never have been found."

  Matt dragged his hand through his hair and scrubbed the back of his neck. "That's why he came here personally. He gave us the benefit of the doubt—"

  "Benefit of the doubt!" Willie threw her hands in the air and let them fall on her hips. "Why would he think you had anything to do with murdering Hale?"

  "If you let him finish," Duke said, "maybe he'd tell us."

  I sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside me. "You'll wear out the carpet with all that pacing, Willie. Come and sit with me, and Matt will tell you what happened."

  "Don't leave out no details," she told him, sitting dutifully.

  Matt told them why the police suspected us. "The commissioner's been talking to Payne," he finished. "Or his detective has. It must be he who put the notion in his head that I know about poisons."

  Willie once again shot to her feet. "If I knew where that low-down dog was staying I'd go there and blow his brains out."

  "And make matters worse for Matt," I told her.

  "Sit down, Willie," Duke snapped. "And stop going off half-cocked. Just listen, for once."

  She did not sit but stood by Matt, arms crossed, and glared daggers at Duke as if it were his fault that Matt was in this predicament. Poor Duke merely sighed.

  "You've got a plan to clear your name," Cyclops said, a smile flirting with his lips. "You're going to find the real killer."

  "I'm going to try," Matt said.

  "How?" I asked.

  "I don't know, yet, but I'm not leaving my fate to a young and enthusiastic detective who may be influenced by Payne."

  "I agree," I said. "So let's think about this. Where should we start? Get our hands on the poisoned bottle of Cure-All, speak to Dr. Ritter or Wiley, and perhaps the nurses? Sometimes you learn more from the lower orders than you do from those in charge."

  Matt drummed his fingers on the mantelpiece, nodding slowly. "Cyclops, Duke and Willie, see what you can learn at the hospital. There must be gossip about Hale's death."

  "How?" Duke asked. "None of us have medical knowledge. We can't pretend to be doctors."

  "One of you go in as a patient," I said. "And the other two as concerned friends."

  Duke squared up to Cyclops. "All right. Punch me in the jaw." He cricked his neck from side to side. "I'm ready."

  "I'll do it!" Willie pushed off from the mantel, but Matt caught her arm.

  "Or you could just feign illness," he said.

  "Spoil sport."

  "What will you two do?" Cyclops asked.

  "Visit
Oscar Barratt, the author of the article about Hale's medical miracle," Matt said. "Now we have something else to ask him—does he know who would want to murder Dr. Hale?"

  The office of The Weekly Gazette was as close to the headquarters of most of London's influential newspapers on Fleet Street as it could be without actually being on Fleet Street. We drove past the grand buildings of The Evening Standard and The Daily Telegraph and into a lane that looked like Fleet Street's rubbish dump. Sheets of newspaper flapped and rolled in the swirling breeze, piling up in doorways and against lamp posts. Where Fleet Street bustled with activity, and rightly earned its reputation as the heart of the London news scene, Lower Mire Lane felt as if it clung to its more sophisticated brother's coattails by its dirty fingernails. A freshly painted red sign above the The Weekly Gazette's door was a bright spot in an otherwise drab, deserted street.

  We had decided to use our real names and tell Oscar Barratt about our interest in magic, since we were quite sure he was aware magic existed. His articles, when analyzed with that in mind, certainly pointed in that direction. Matt hadn't forbidden me to mention my own magic, and I suspected he wanted to decide for himself if Barratt was a threat first. As did I.

  We asked a spotty faced lad in the outer office if Mr. Barratt was available and gave him our names.

  "What do you want to speak to him about?" he asked, sounding bored. Perhaps people walked in off the street all the time and asked to speak to a journalist. Or perhaps he simply disliked his job.

  "Dr. Hale's murder," Matt said.

  The youth's eyes lit up and he raced through a door behind a desk as if our arrival was the most exciting thing to happen to him all week.

  "That got quite a response," I said.

  "Salacious news always does, and The Weekly Gazette is one of the worst offenders," Matt said.

  "You dislike it? But I thought you enjoyed reading it. You buy it every week."

  "I buy almost every newspaper and journal I can get my hands on. You never know when something interesting crops up, as it did in yesterday's edition. I might read it, but I don't like the sensationalist nature of the reporting. It wouldn't surprise me if half of it were made up. At the very least, pertinent facts get left out or distorted."