A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4)

by Anna Lee Huber

  Gage’s fingers tightened around me.

  “No,” I told the criminal, narrowing my eyes. “And well you know it,” I declared, determined not to show him any weakness. “I’m not a fool. I knew better than to come alone.” I lifted my chin. “You wouldn’t let me bring Sergeant Maclean, so I brought Mr. Gage.”

  A smirk curled the corners of Bonnie Brock’s mouth upward. “I see. Then I suppose your note wasna a poor excuse just to see me after all.”

  I felt the stirrings of alarm, but tamped them down. “You said you would take us to see the Chemist.”

  He turned the full force of his gaze back on me. “You. I said I’d take you to see the Chemist.”

  Gage raised himself up to his full height. “She goes nowhere without me.”

  Bonnie Brock’s mouth pressed into a tight line.

  I lifted a hand to intervene before he ordered one of his men to stick a knife in Gage’s ribs. “He helped to find your sister as well,” I reminded him. “It seems only fitting that he should share in the favor.”

  Bonnie Brock’s head tilted to the side, making his overly long, tawny hair fall over his shoulder. “From what I hear, he needed rescuin’ as well.”

  His men chuckled at the jab.

  He watched Gage for any sign of a reaction, but when Gage gave him none, he pushed away from the coach. “But I suppose we willna quibble. Ye willna need that.” He gestured over his shoulder at the carriage.

  I hesitated to follow, questioning one more time whether I was about to do something incredibly imprudent. Once we descended into the unruliest part of Edinburgh with its most notorious criminal, there was no turning back. And no way of knowing whether we would reemerge.

  Bonnie Brock noticed, pausing to look at me. “But ye will need to stay close. I canna control everyone. But no one within ten feet o’ me will harm ye.” His voice turned hard. “The rest risk my wrath to their own detriment.”

  I swallowed and shuffled forward a step before I was able to even out my stride into something more confident and sure. Gage hovered just beyond my shoulder, cupping my elbow.

  Bonnie Brock motioned with his head and one of his men moved up the street ahead of him. He turned to follow, not bothering to see if Gage and I fell in line. Presumably, his other two men brought up the rear.

  We moved quickly but carefully on silent feet, darting around the corner into the dark channel-like passage of one of the closes that ran between the buildings. This particular close was more like a long slope than a lane, plunging ever downward at such a steep angle that it was like descending into the abyss. In some spots the buildings pressed so tightly together that only a single person could pass between. I glanced upward, but in the darkness I could not see the narrow slice of sky that I had to remind myself was above.

  I wrinkled my nose against the musty, gut-churning stench. The rough stones were slick with any number of foul substances that I forbade myself to think about. I only hoped no one opened their windows above and decided to toss something out in those moments when we passed below. I braced for the shout of “gardeloo” that was supposed to proceed such an action. This was why New Town had been built—to alleviate overcrowding in the disease-ridden, packed houses of Old Town—but from all I had seen, the only thing the north section of town had provided was a more illustrious address for the upper classes.

  We turned left and right and left through a series of fast turns, until I was no longer certain in what direction we were walking except that we’d continued downhill. Every once in a while we would cross a wider street and hear the sounds of raucous merrymaking coming from one of its establishments. At the third such street we traversed, I slowed my steps, trying to read some of the signs adorning the shop fronts to figure out where exactly we were. However, Bonnie Brock either did not want us to recognize our surroundings, or was in too much of a hurry to allow me to dawdle, for he grabbed my hand and towed me behind him into the next close.

  I pulled against his grip, but he did not release my hand. Instead he murmured something to his man in front of him, who suddenly raced on ahead. Bonnie Brock also increased his pace, dragging me through another series of fast, sharp turns. I had to nearly run to keep up. By the time we reached a straighter stretch and I was able to glance behind me, I could no longer see Gage.

  My heart pounded even faster in alarm and I opened my mouth to protest. But before I could speak, Bonnie Brock tugged me into a dark recess on our right. One hasty glance around me revealed that it was the opening to a small courtyard surrounded by buildings.

  “Where is Gage?” I gasped.

  Bonnie Brock lifted his hand and pressed it against the wall just over my head. He leaned negligently against it, crowding into my space. “Oh, is he no’ wi’ us? I did tell ye both to stay close.”

  I drew my pistol from the pocket of my skirt and cocked it. Pressing it into Bonnie Brock’s midsection, I arched my chin upward. “Let’s try this again. Where is Gage?” I bit out.

  At the hard press of my gun, he didn’t even flinch. “It’s nice to see ye havena lost your bloodthirstiness,” he drawled. “Though I did warn ye . . .” In one swift move, he gripped the barrel of my pistol with his left hand and pointed it up in the air and wrapped his right hand around my throat. He lowered his face so that it was mere inches from mine. There was no indolence about him now, only restrained violence. He growled in a cold voice. “Dinna threaten me unless ye mean to follow through.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I swallowed, unable to nod or speak. The pressure he exerted did not cut off my air, but it was more than enough to frighten me, particularly as I’d never seen it coming. I blinked my eyes, fighting a wave of terrified tears, and prayed he would let me go. The darkness around us was so deep that even though I could feel the gust of his breath against my face, I could not read his expression to see how angry he truly was. His hand loosened around my throat, but he did not release me, instead backing me harder against the wall.

  “Release her.”

  My heart leapt in my chest at the sound of Gage’s voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his silhouette. He was standing at the ready with his pistol aimed at Bonnie Brock.

  Bonnie Brock slowly turned his head to look at him, still unfazed by yet another gun being drawn on him. “Ah, I see you’ve decided to join us,” he murmured in his deep burr.

  “No thanks to you,” Gage snapped back.

  “And ye were worried,” he said to me with a tsk. “Ye should have more faith in him if ye mean to marry him.”

  My eyes narrowed at this provoking pronouncement.

  “Stumps, Locke,” he barked.

  The two men that had been following Gage moved forward, flanking him.

  “Noo, why dinna we all sheath our weapons. We’ve kept the Chemist waitin’ long enough.”

  Gage hesitated, and for one breathless moment I was worried he was furious enough to do something rash. But then I heard the click of his pistol uncocking and he lowered his arm to his side. Bonnie Brock released my throat and stepped back, though he retained his grip on my gun barrel until he heard me release the hammer.

  He turned to walk into the court as if nothing extraordinary had happened. And perhaps for him it hadn’t. Maybe he faced down death every day.

  For me, it was a different matter. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my nerves, but my hand still trembled as I slipped the pistol back into the pocket of my dress. Gage pressed a steadying hand against the small of my back, as if he’d known I needed it, and we moved forward as one, following Bonnie Brock toward the far side of the court.

  It wasn’t until we were almost upon it that I saw the stairway leading downward into a shop in the cellar of one of the buildings. Much like Gage’s workshop, there were windows lining the wall at ground level to let some light into the space. However, unlike Gage’s, which were relatively clean despite the
sawdust, these windows were grimy and coated with soot built up at the corners.

  Bonnie Brock led us down into the shop, which I noticed had no sign to signify what it was. Stumps and Locke did not follow, but instead faded into the shadows nearby. I smiled wryly. If Bonnie Brock had men of this type in his employ, capable of disappearing at will, then clearly watching my movements was not a high priority. I found I was both relieved by this and annoyed that he still even bothered.

  Inside, the shop looked like any other apothecary, just more poorly kept. Large jars lined the shelves on the walls to our left and our right, some empty and some filled with an assortment of herbs and other substances, none of which I would have trusted were fresh. A long counter stretched across the back of the room, blocking access to a door leading to what was likely a storeroom. Was that where the man kept most of his supplies? Was the front of the shop merely for show? Or did the man throw together concoctions made from the rotting flora displayed before us? If so, I doubted our ability ever to pinpoint exactly what substance had killed Lady Drummond.

  A stoop-shouldered man hobbled out of the door to the back room. His hair was nearly all gray but for a few oddly spaced streaks of darker hair dispersed throughout. However, it was his eyes that were his most startling feature—wide and dark as pitch. Though as he came closer, I saw that it was his pupils that made them look that way, for they were dilated so much that only a thin sliver of dark brown could be seen around them.

  “Mr. Kincaid,” the man exclaimed. “So good teh see ye.” His voice lowered. “Did ye need some more o’ me special elixir to rid yerself o’ another pest?” His eyelids dipped to half-mast. “Or perhaps yer here for yer sister again. How . . .”

  “Nay. We’re here for information this time.”

  “Oh,” the Chemist replied, glancing at me and Gage as if he’d just noticed us. His eyes widened again as he studied us, though their expression remained curiously blank. I squirmed as his gaze dipped insolently down my form. “Ye need to rid yerself o’ a bairn,” he guessed, turning back toward his counter.

  “No!” I exclaimed, before he could say any more.

  Bonnie Brock’s eyes twinkled in amusement, and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

  “It’s not that.”

  “Oh.” The Chemist turned to look at us again. “Then it mun’ be you, lad,” he said to Gage, his gaze dipping low. “Canna make . . .”

  “We need information about one of your clients,” Gage interrupted sharply. “Someone who may have ordered a poison recently.”

  The Chemist glanced at Bonnie Brock, who nodded. “You’ll have teh be more particular than that. There’s a lot o’ people wantin’ me expertise wi’ that.”

  Gage and I glanced at each other.

  “They probably would have visited you early last week or the week before. Though I suppose it could have been earlier than that,” I added, discouraged. Lord Drummond or whoever the killer was might have been planning to kill Lady Drummond for some time. I approached the counter next to where the Chemist stood and pulled out of my pocket the sheet of foolscap I had jotted our list of potential poisons on. I smoothed out the paper and laid it on the counter. “We think the poison was made from one of these substances.”

  The Chemist looked back and forth between me and the paper, but made no move to take it.

  “He canna read, lass,” Bonnie Brock told me.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Um, well, then . . .” I picked up the page “. . . arsenic?”

  His head bobbed enthusiastically. “Me best blend. Like teh cut it wi’ soot,” he proclaimed proudly.

  “Do you sell a lot of it?” I wondered if this man understood he was helping people to kill. He spoke of his product as if it were a special blend of tea or a precisely distilled whiskey.

  “A few times a week. Sometimes twice a day.”

  My eyebrows shot skyward. I hoped some of those purchases were made to kill rats.

  In any case, that was a large number of potential clients to sort through, and I had little hope they would have stood out to this man. “Then, what about May lily?”

  He tilted his head. “If ye mean Our Lady’s tears, nay. Isna the season.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Gage. I hadn’t thought of that. It was March, after all. Not all organic poisons would be in season, or made from parts of plants that could be stored for a long time. I wanted to kick myself. We might have been able to narrow this list down further ourselves.

  I studied the remainder of the list. “I don’t suppose monkshood is? Or . . .”

  “No’ the flower. But it’s the leaves and roots that do the trick. I mixed up a nice batch o’ devil’s cap just the other week and sprinkled it into some cream. Scented it like flowers.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Cream? You mean skin cream?”

  “Aye. ’Twas in a fine jar. I woulda liked teh keep it for myself, for my collection, but the man insisted it had teh stay in that container.”

  “Can you describe the jar to me?”

  “Aye. ’Twas aboot yay high . . .” he illustrated with his hands “. . . and had white flowers on each side of the writing.”

  I glanced back at Gage, curious if he recognized the jar like I did. “And you dosed it with devil’s cap?” I wanted clarification.

  “Aye. Or monkshood, friar’s cap, bane o’ the wolf . . .” he gestured impatiently “. . . whatever you high flyers call it.”

  I paused to stare at him, wondering if he meant to insult me, or if he just didn’t understand what the term “high flyer” meant. I suspected it was the latter, for in my dowdy dress and cloak I clearly was not dressed like a strumpet.

  “This man who had you put monkshood in the cream. Did he give you a name?”

  The Chemist shared a look with Bonnie Brock and smiled. “Naïve, this one is? Nay, lass.”

  “Then can you describe him?”

  “Canna do that either.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Canna. He wore a hood and hid his face. But I can tell ye he was as bland as toast, and he spoke like a nob.”

  “So he was a gentleman?”

  He shrugged. “Mayhap.”

  Or a gentleman’s servant. Either way, it could have been Lord Drummond.

  I thanked the Chemist and hurried up the steps ahead of Gage and Bonnie Brock, anxious to be on our way now that I knew how the poison had been administered.

  “Ye have what ye need then?” Bonnie Brock asked, curiosity shining in his eyes.

  “Yes.” I began to turn away, but then stopped to add, “Except safe passage back to Gage’s carriage.” I arched my eyebrows in expectation, not trusting that the man wouldn’t abandon us here if I didn’t specify.

  His lips quirked in amusement.

  Our motley band resumed our trek, this time headed toward Castlehill. My legs burned from the exertion of walking uphill. I could tell little about our journey except that I was almost certain we were taking a different route than the one we’d taken earlier, and Bonnie Brock seemed particularly vigilant, pausing at each juncture with another lane or close. By the time we reached the long slope, my breathing was more like pants. At the top, I nearly collapsed, leaning against the wall behind me. Gage moved to take my arm.

  Bonnie Brock stood to the side, his face in deepest shadow. “Noo we’re even,” he declared in a firm voice.

  I started to nod, but just that quickly he had vanished. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. I knew he had merely dipped back into the close or turned into another wynd or passageway, but I still half expected to peer around the corner and find nothing there.

  Gage helped me across the street to where his carriage still waited. We didn’t speak until we were seated safely inside. However, when he instructed his footman to tell the coachman to retur
n to Charlotte Square, I protested.

  “No. Hanover Street.”

  Gage turned to me in surprise.

  “I’ll explain on the way. But we need to go to the Drummonds’ town house. Now.”

  “As she says,” he told his footman.

  The door shut and we heard the hushed conversation of the servants just before the carriage rolled forward.

  He reached up to turn the interior lamp brighter. “I take it you recognized that jar of cream our queer chemist described to you.”

  “He did seem slightly mad, didn’t he?”

  His eyebrows arched upward. “To say the least.”

  “Likely from all the poisons he’s been handling. I doubt that back room of his gets much fresh air, and if he’s handling substances like arsenic and aconite . . . monkshood,” I clarified, “then he’s risking exposure. Some of my pigments contain those things, which is why I always mix my paints in a well-ventilated space while wearing gloves, and sometimes a mask.” I shook my head at the man’s risky behavior. I knew of too many painters who had not bothered with such safety precautions and had poisoned themselves.

  “But to answer your question, yes. I would wager quite a large sum that that jar of skin cream came from Hinkley’s. Which is the type of cream I know for a fact that Lady Drummond used. She had them send a jar of it and some of their other ointments to Alana to help with her dry skin.” I frowned, not liking the idea of my sister using the same product that had been used to murder Lady Drummond, even though I knew the poison had been added to the unction later, and so was not a risk to Alana.

  He frowned. “I thought you believed she’d ingested the poison with her breakfast or by eating some of her sugared plums.”

  “I did, but if you’ll recall we also read that monkshood, or devil’s cap, as the Chemist called it, could be absorbed through the skin. That, in fact, there had been many incidences of people accidentally poisoning themselves by handling parts of the flower with bare hands.” I paused, feeling something tug at my memory. “Devil’s cap. Now where have I heard that name recently?”