The Apothecary's Widow

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “There’s more, sir.”

  Branek turned, wariness prickling his skin. “When you call me ‘sir,’ I know it can’t be good.”

  “The miners at Wheal Marya have threatened to find work elsewhere. The captain, Nerth Hockin, practically spit in my face. And the grass captain said he was leaving for another mining position up country at the week’s end.”

  “Indeed.” Dammit, he refrained from shouting. Branek thumped his glass onto the sideboard. “I’m sorry you were badly treated. I’ll speak with both of them before the problem intensifies.”

  * * *

  Jenna locked up the shop and walked to the stable to fetch her cart and horse. Luke had complained to her that Chenery came to his house last night and questioned him further, until his father, Magistrate Odgers, threw the man out with a demand he investigate elsewhere. Chenery was still set on harassing her.

  She couldn’t allow it, and must probe deeper into this murder.

  After the stable lad hitched up Josse, she plopped on her cart seat. Under a slap of the reins, the old gelding trundled along the cobbled streets, up the steep hill, along Pydar Street and into the country.

  She chewed on her lower lip. Her first foray into spying the previous day validated her suspicions. After she’d waited with nervous breath, Deacon Tregere admitted to Chenery that Mr. Pentreath had objected to his wife’s involvement with the Cemetery Committee, her pursuance over an issue of missing money. Mrs. Pentreath had also stated to the churchman that arranged marriages were a cross to bear, and husbands were recalcitrant creatures who took severe umbrage at guidance.

  Jenna was forced to slink out before the two men had entered the main church, wondering how far this “severe umbrage” had gone.

  Today, she intended to visit her old friend Sally Moyle. The squire’s cook loved to gab and would be a gushing stream of information.

  Jenna rode through the trees with their reddening leaves. Beneath them, the Autumn Squill’s purple flowers hugged the road. She slowed her horse when Polefant Place loomed ahead, long and golden in the sunlight. The manor was a lofty prospect with its fancy scrolled gables. It wasn’t as magnificent as Trewithen, which was a few miles away, but an impressive pile of limestone to harbor the quality who thought they were grander than she.

  She darted a glance around the area, reluctant for the squire to catch her here. Should she turn back and forget this folly?

  Two squirrels scrambled up a tree, startling her. No, she must go through with it. She drove the cart around to the back of the manor. The wind batted the pink and white roses that bloomed near a low wall, flinging their petals into the air. She alighted, hurried past the kitchen garden with its herbal scents, and knocked on the kitchen door. A shutter banged, and she stared over her shoulder, then knocked louder.

  “Who is it?” Sally’s gravelly voice poured out of the open lattice-paned window.

  “Jenna Rosedew, Sally. I’m coming in.” She opened the door and stepped onto the flagstone floor.

  Fragrant smells of yeasty bread and salty meat greeted her. The kitchen had two work tables, a stone sink, and a large cupboard with wrought iron hinges. The great hearth sat to the right with its spit jack, and an array of cast iron pots and pans hung on hooks to the side of the bread oven. The fire crackled low, and gave off a warm feeling that still didn’t welcome her.

  “Well, I’m not surprised to see you here, Jenna.” Sally waddled over, her fat cheeks flushed. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Not surprised, why is that?” Jenna suspected she knew the reason. She was engulfed in Sally’s wood-smoke embrace, and squeezed into the woman’s massive breasts.

  “I hear what’s been bandied about.” Sally stepped back, her smile genuine, but her eyes twinkled with curiosity. “Come sit, and I’ll pour you some tea.”

  Jenna sat at a small table near the hearth. Sally poured two servings into white crockery teacups. Dropping in two chunks of precious sugar, Jenna’s hand shook. “I’ll get to the point, Sal; ’tis all lies about me.” She’d swept the enormity of the problem aside with affront, but now she sagged in the chair, fighting tears. “I can’t believe anyone would suggest such disgusting charges.”

  “I know ’tis all lies.” Sally sat and pushed back her white cap, releasing strands of gray hair. She glared over at a maid who kneaded dough at one of the tables. “Step out, girl. Take your time in the garden.”

  Jenna sipped the hot tea as the maid scurried out. “How could anyone suspect that of me?”

  “I don’t, o’ course, lass.” Sally pressed her hand with her rough, chapped fingers. “I’m certain the master don’t either.”

  “He asked if I was a vengeful person.” Jenna’s anger stiffened her spine.

  “Oh, la. He don’t know you, that’s all. Mr. Pentreath is a good man.”

  Jenna hadn’t expected such firm praise. “So you don’t think he’d have…” she glanced around the room, “killed his wife if he was dissatisfied?”

  “Never.” Sally slapped the table, jiggling the teacups. “He’s the most honest man I know. Dr. Treen, now, he has some grudge against the master, so he started the inquiry. Word is, the missus must have grumbled to Treen, as she an’ the doctor were good friends in church.”

  “Grumbled about what?” Jenna almost whispered as she leaned forward.

  “Well, ’tis no secret in this house.” Sally rearranged herself in her chair like a judge about to proclaim sentence. “Their marriage weren’t happy; no, sadly, not at all. I’ve been here since I were a scullery maid an’ worked for the master’s lovely parents. How I miss them, an’ the girls. When Miss Sophie came to live here as Mrs. Pentreath, now, she changed much in the place. No frills, not her.”

  “Many of the rich marry for status, an’ not love.” Jenna slowly stirred her tea, tapping the spoon against the inside of the cup. She’d once sounded as rough as her friend, but had smoothed her speech to deal with her better customers. “Exactly, how was their marriage unhappy?”

  “Mrs. Pentreath, she could smile an’ look mild to outsiders, but to her husband…chilly cold. She didn’t like the, you know, duties of a marriage.” Sally smirked before her lips turned into a frown. “Sad to say, but little wonder they had no children.”

  Jenna couldn’t imagine a marriage without the thrills of the bedroom. “Maybe he was too…ungentle with her. If Mr. Pentreath was wretched, doesn’t that give him reason to want his wife dead?”

  “Oh, naw. Not him. He tried to be sweet to her.” Sally’s double chin tightened as much as it could. “I said he was a good man, didn’t I? A kind an’ vigorous boy with high hopes for this place when he took over. He used to save small animals, and he loved his dogs. But she wouldn’t allow any dogs on the property.”

  Jenna fidgeted in her chair, taking in this new aspect of the squire. “Why did Mr. Pentreath marry her? Did she have a large dowry?”

  “His parents chose her, to merge their interests, so to speak. The missus’s folks owned a couple o’ rich tin mines.” Sally lumbered to her feet and poked at the fire in the hearth. “She were a pretty girl, in a delicate way, an’ quiet. I suppose she looked like a good match.”

  “Did Mr. Pentreath ever seek other women, since his wife didn’t care for their…relations?” Another, more accommodating female, would be a good reason to want a wife dead. He was a handsome man and could be a blatant womanizer.

  “Don’t think so. That wouldn’t be his way.” Sally brought a plate of fairings to the table. “Try these. They’re very tasty if I do say so.”

  Jenna picked up the biscuit and nibbled, savoring the ginger and cinnamon flavor as she contemplated. “Then maybe he honestly wondered at my guilt, and wasn’t trying to push the blame on me.” Though it hadn’t seemed that way at the time.

  “He wants justice, I know he does. They didn’t get on, but it were the mistress’s unbending ways, not his.” Sally sank down again, and the chair groaned with the insult. “Nothing I ever d
id was good enough for her neither.”

  “She sounds like a difficult mistress.” Jenna didn’t want to feel sorry for Mr. Pentreath. He might have brought his troubles on himself. His wife could have resented his mistreatment of her beneath the covers.

  “Don’t fret, lass.” Sally bit into a biscuit. “You’ll find the natterings will go elsewhere.”

  “I could be in gaol by then.” Jenna’s throat tightened, but she didn’t really believe she’d end up locked away. “If the constable hadn’t such a dislike for my late husband, Chenery might try harder to look at others. Or if my medications hadn’t been involved; yet I know they left my shop untainted.” Her fears rushed back. She rubbed her cheeks, wishing to soothe the effects of her restless nights. “An’ I trust Luke, who delivered them here.” It was obvious that someone in this house put the poison in the infusion. Her pulse jolted.

  Sally scrutinized her. “You have good standing as an apothecary, and your husband did, too.”

  “I pray I can count on that.” Jenna gripped the smooth crockery, then turned the cup in her hands. “Who do you think might be responsible for the lady’s death?”

  “Well, Mrs. Pentreath, she had her fingers in all of the church dealings at St. Margaret’s. She liked to be in control, she did.” Sally sniffed in disdain. “If I were the constable, I’d inquire with the church people. Maybe they got tired of Missus’s interfering ways.”

  “Chenery did visit the church—or so I heard.” But he’d only probed about the Pentreaths’ marriage. An interfering woman could simply be turned away, though it depended on the type of interference. Perhaps Horace could find out more for her from the congregation. “Did any of the clergy visit Mrs. Pentreath during her illness?”

  “Oh, ess, that Deacon Tregere came a couple o’ times, he did. Very concerned he was.”

  The kindly deacon? Jenna stood, her head dizzy with qualms. “Thank you for the tea, Sally. And your helpful advice. I’ll try to visit more often.”

  Mr. Pentreath still had the most to profit from his wife’s death. Jenna sighed. She wanted to know the truth. Was he as innocent as she? No one really knew what went on behind closed bedroom doors. The harsh fact was, such a disgruntled man might act out of character toward the source of his misery.

  Chapter Six

  Leaving the front steps of the manor, Branek helped his sister, Lady Nancarrow, alight from her coach. He kissed her cheek, his smile broad with delight to see her.

  “I came as soon as I could.” Lucinda touched his cheek, her flowered hat ruffling in the pleasant autumn breeze.

  “I’m so relieved you’re here.” Branek tucked her hand beneath his arm and motioned to his groom. Uther was an older man he’d kept on after letting go the younger one—who had no family to support—to save money. “Please take Lady Nancarrow’s carriage and horses to the stable.”

  Branek escorted Lucinda inside, closed the front door and turned to her in the hall.

  His sister removed her hat and cloak and handed them to her maid. Her rose-colored gown that split to show off a ruffled petticoat of similar color brightened the room.

  “You poor dear.” Lucinda faced him, gave her pretty moue and hugged him in a rustle of taffeta and fresh floral scent. “I’m so sorry I missed the illness, the funeral, everything.”

  Branek squeezed her close and kissed her again. He’d always adored Lucinda. At one year older, she was the sister most like him in nature. “Well, you did have your interests and priorities in Scotland.”

  “Scotland; that country is far too rainy and cold. John loves the hunting on his estate there, but I merely shiver and endure it for his sake. I’m glad to be back home in Falmouth.” She held her brother’s hand gently in both of hers for a minute. They stepped into the drawing room, a chamber created from a medieval solar. Bold plasterwork decorated the barrel ceiling. A fire in the grate radiated warmth. Lucinda’s presence pushed back the edges of his despair, polishing up the manor as it was in their youth.

  “You’re a doting wife.” Branek tried to smooth the envy from his tone. He needed to stop lamenting what he’d never had and work to make the present livable. “John is a fortunate man.”

  “A woman should try to make her husband happy.” Lucinda’s soft reply threaded with pity didn’t help. “A shame that Blanche couldn’t be here for you, since she’s in the last days of her ninth lying in in London. Our little sister breeds like a cat.” She spoke with affection and pulled him down beside her on the sofa. “Now, please tell me what happened. Sophie’s death appeared to come about so suddenly.”

  “In a moment. Ah, I need to visit Blanche.” A room full of squalling children might be a good distraction. “But you, my dear, remind me so much of Mother.” He gazed into her warm brown eyes. Her light brown hair, twisted up attractively in a braid loop, enhanced her fine jaw and chin—exactly their mother’s hair color and profile. He and Blanche shared the coal-black tresses of the Pentreaths.

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. I see more lines in my aging complexion.” She trailed a fingertip over her forehead. “Please, now tell me about your wife’s illness.”

  He closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he wanted to forget his woes and bask in his sister’s love.

  “At first the doctor thought it was the ague, but…she grew steadily—violently—worse.” With a wince, he explained the details. When he reached the poisoning aspect, and gave a summary of the autopsy, Lucinda’s mouth gaped.

  “Oh, my heavens! What a dreadful situation. Now I feel twice as guilty I wasn’t here to console you.” She squeezed his wrist. “Whom do they suspect of administering the poison?”

  “Me, for one, if the implications are to be believed. Of course, I had the most reason to behave in a heinous fashion” His bitter laugh failed to cloak his disgust. Sarcasm usually helped him glaze over his deeper anxieties.

  “Branek! Don’t even tease about such a thing.”

  Mrs. Sandrey sailed in, rattling dishes on a tea tray. She set it on a low table before them. “I had Cook prepare her special tea. Anything else I can get for you, Lady Nancarrow?”

  “Not at the moment, dear Mrs. Sandrey, thank you.” Lucinda smiled up at the housekeeper. “It’s good to see you. I hope you’re well.”

  “Very well, thank you, m’lady. I’m most pleased to see you here, an’ looking so lovely. I hope you bring the children next time.” The housekeeper grinned, something she did more often lately, dipped her head, and left the room.

  “Mrs. Sandrey seems quite content with the mistress no longer lording over her.” Branek couldn’t stop his blunt cynicism, but the change in his housekeeper still surprised him.

  “She is rather blissful.” Lucinda turned to study him. “Poor Branek, you are out of sorts, and that’s understandable. I know your marriage was a terrible mistake, but I also know you could never do such a thing as to…murder her.”

  “Bland and predictable, am I?” He raked a hand through his hair, feeling exhausted suddenly, as if he might crumple into a corner.

  “Not at all. You were the most precocious brother. How you used to adore life.” She rubbed his arm. “I’m really sorry our father chose the wrong bride for you.”

  His weariness pressed down harder, like the hand of retribution. “Sophie seemed nice, and suitable, at first.” He’d had misgivings about his betrothed’s subdued and pious manner. But he’d hoped after marriage that Sophie would blossom under his warmth and tender efforts. And his father so desired that merger of mining concerns. What a fool Branek had been not to protest. He sighed heavily. “I asked her for a separation about four years ago.” He’d wanted his home back, the way it was before he married. A less stifling atmosphere, a happier staff.

  “Did you?” Lucinda inhaled sharply. “I wish you had written to me about it. What did Sophie say to that?”

  “She was humiliated and refused. I couldn’t afford to initiate divorce proceedings with so much of my money tied up in Virginia tobacco, a
nd the war had started.” Dragging his private ignominy through Parliament—and with no proof of any adultery—the ordeal hadn’t appealed to him, either. He gripped the sofa arm as frustration reverberated through his muscles. “Sophie only wished to preserve her standing in the community. My personal happiness didn’t matter.” He groaned and released the upholstered arm. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that. Sophie and I had little affection for one another, but she did not deserve to die the way she did.”

  “Of course she didn’t. I’m so sorry, my dearest, for your suffering as well.” Lucinda clasped his shoulder, then poured a cup of tea and handed it to him. “Still, don’t tell the constable these private details, or he will suspect you.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s that dunderhead Chenery who is constable. And he acts as if he already suspects me.” Branek slumped his shoulders. “I’ve bottled up my aggravations for so long, they’re seeping out in ugly ways.”

  “I can fathom why. But whom do you suspect? What about the apothecary, since the medicine was adulterated?” Lucinda tapped her chin. “I remember the Rosedews. He was a large and loud man, wasn’t he? I’d never heard anything bad said about them, though I haven’t been around Truro much these last years.”

  “I spoke to Cornelius Cardew a few days ago. He gave Mrs. Rosedew a solid recommendation.” Branek had been surprised to hear that from the mayor, who he considered a decent judge of character. The widow had acted genuinely shocked by the accusation. Regrettably, Cardew wasn’t certain he still wanted to purchase the building that housed her shop, which left Branek with the rent issue.

  “Did Sophie have any enemies?”

  “Enemies? Resentment from my people for her strict management, and….” He almost added his own resentment but swallowed the unkind words. That grinding worry that he’d been too weak to control or satisfy his wife surfaced again, and he shoved it down into the cracks of his mind, to examine later when he was alone. He rubbed his temples. “I can’t think of any obvious suspects.”