The Apothecary's Widow

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “One that you can manipulate, is that what you intend, Mr. Pentreath?” Quintrell’s little mouth curved into a stubborn frown. “If you did kill her, I won’t rest until you hang.”

  “But I did not, and I’ll swear that on your Bible! I intend to manipulate no one.” Branek slapped his hand down on the desk and the solicitor jumped. Two quills rattled in their holder. “I want the actual murderer, dammit! And so should you.”

  Quintrell slid his chair back, his face crumpling for an instant. “I do seek the truth. You don’t know what Sophie meant to me.” Tears dampened his eyes and he swiped them away. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “We pledged our hearts to one another when we were very young.”

  “That is unfortunate. Sophie rarely spoke of you in any form—that alone should have alerted me. Our marriage, sadly, was a huge mistake.” He let out a slow breath to soften his antagonism. “I am sorry for that, for both of us.” Perhaps her love for this man had kept her from ever opening up to Branek. “But I would never have—”

  “Since you were so miserable, I thought…. Who else would have wanted her dead?” Quintrell scooted his chair back toward his desk, eyes flashing with wariness. “I was told her personal maid has been arrested, under suspicion, but has made no confession.”

  “That’s true. Yet there’s no proof the girl did anything to Sophie.” Branek struggled to contain his sharpening emotions. “I know I never harmed her, I am not that sort of man. And I was always faithful to my marriage vows.” He glared at the cowering solicitor. “If you had gotten to know me, you would realize I’m decent.”

  Quintrell popped up his head like a rabbit from its hole, his mouth timorous. “Well, if it wasn’t you, sir, then it was someone who cared enough about you to commit the crime. An individual who had free access to your house.”

  “Then a capable new man needs to be brought in to uncover the murderer.” Branek ran the names of the people who might defend him so vociferously through his head. He kept coming back to lovelorn Grace. “I’m requesting that St. Aubyn remove Chenery from this case, and the constabulary.”

  “I only insisted on investigating you in order to vindicate her. Perhaps I…went too far. I had no idea, at the time, that the constable was a blunderer.” The solicitor stared down at his twisting hands then glanced again at Branek. “It’s my Christian duty to see that Justice is served.”

  “Then abandon Chenery. I’d hate to see the sheriff searching for a new solicitor. You won’t find justice in convicting me.” Branek leaned farther over the desk, needing to make certain of something else. “Is Charles Treen involved in your bribery scheme?”

  “Who? Oh, he was a friend of Sophie’s, but I hardly know the man.” Quintrell shrank back into his chair, though his bewilderment appeared genuine.

  “I’m off to St. Michael’s Mount to report your behavior. I am not without my own influence.” Branek pushed back from the desk and walked toward the door. “These are not idle threats. Good day, sir.”

  He stalked from the office and back outside. This part of the puzzle seemed to be solved. How wonderful it would be to pry Chenery off his back.

  Branek massaged the knot at his nape, then rubbed his sore palm—he had to stop striking inanimate objects. The breeze off the sea wafted over him, cooling his temper.

  His mind whirled over the solicitor’s words concerning suspects, though Branek had contemplated this aspect before, about caring and free access to his house.

  Grace aside, he thought of his other servants. Mrs. Sandrey acted much happier with no stern mistress, yet she seemed too timid to go to such a length. Sally, his cook? She had access to the food, but though she hadn’t liked Sophie, she seemed to take everything with a laugh and a shrug. He should be more like her.

  Of course, the deacon might still be to blame, although Odgers could get nothing but denial from the man. Was Branek grasping at proverbial straws?

  He stomped down the steps. The air turned colder as it swept up from the bay and he wrapped his cloak close around his shoulders. It was too late to catch the ferry; he’d need to wait for the ebbing tide to reveal the causeway so he could cross over to St. Michael’s Mount and speak with St. Aubyn.

  He slowed his pace as he approached the waterfront. Seagulls screeched overhead. Little fishing boats bobbed like driftwood near the horizon. The sun glistened on the water before dipping behind a cloud. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. Only one other person who felt a deep affinity with him had been present in the house. He punched down the revulsion that heaved inside him. He didn’t want to believe that any of these people—especially his oldest friend—could be responsible.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  At her front door, Jenna dismissed Luke for the day, prepared to close up shop. The boy trotted away like a colt over the cobbles, his long limbs swinging.

  The air smelled damp; the setting sun’s rays outlined the city in an orange glow, but dark clouds were moving in. A cold wind tugged at her cap.

  A man approached, his face coming to light under the pilchard oil lamp beside her door. Will Fenton raised his hand. “Mrs. Rosedew, uh, Jenna, may I come in for a moment?” He smiled and tipped his tricorn hat to her. “I need to purchase some Dover’s Powder.”

  “Of course, come in, Will.” She stood aside to allow his entrance. “Who has a fever or needs a good sweating?”

  “My oldest boy has a cold and the start of a fever.” He replaced his hat and rubbed his hands together. “A blustery evening it is.”

  “I hope a flaw isn’t on the way.” Jenna retrieved a bottle of the medicine made of powdered opium and ipecacuanha. “This should help your son. How is your wife, an’ other mites?”

  “Annie is well, and busy with the children. The others are fine so far. How do you fare?” The question seemed pointed, as if he knew something. But of course, he was probably aware of her relationship with his master, as close as their friendship was.

  “I’ve never been better.” She meant it, especially after her night with Branek. How sweet it was to wake up cuddled warmly against one another. He’d left early that morning to go to St. Michael’s Mount. A worry she hated to dwell on.

  “You do seem in high spirits.” Will accepted the bottle and gave her the coins in payment, his gaze inquisitive. “Your face shines like a young girl’s.”

  “Enough of that. You’re embarrassing me.” She turned away with a laugh. “Mr. Pentreath told me he won’t raise my rent, or sell, so that’s what pleases me.”

  “I’m glad for you. I know he…but that is estate business.” He scrutinized her again. “You do understand, with the social differences, that nothing will last between you. Mr. Pentreath surely intends to remarry.”

  The doubts she’d buried deep inside jabbed her once more. His comment seemed unkind, yet he spoke the painful truth. She raised her chin. “I’ll manage. I’m not an ignorant, green maid, an’ know what’s in store.”

  “Just so you are aware.” Despite the insensitivity of his words, Will smiled thoughtfully. “A proper marriage and children will keep the estate intact.”

  “You watch out for him well, don’t you? ’Tis good he has such a dear friend nearby.” She felt he lingered to know more about her and his employer. But she refused to feed the rumors, especially after his remark. She was going to offer Will some strengthening medicine since he still looked haggard, but now refrained. She plucked up a rag and wiped down her counter.

  “Mr. Pentreath’s welfare is always my concern, along with the running of the estate. I’ve been invaluable at both for many years.” He nodded as if congratulating himself. “It will be nice for everything to settle down finally.”

  “I’m certain you have done a good job.” She grew uneasy with him, but was unsure why. “Yet nothing will resolve until whoever murdered his lady wife is found.”

  The wind rattled against her bow window.

  “Perhaps.” He flicked his gaze about the room. “Or we may never find w
ho killed the mistress. Murders often go unsolved.” He shrugged. His cool voice held little reverence for the victim.

  Jenna remembered what Sally had told her. “I heard that Mrs. Pentreath threatened to discharge you. That must have been a shock.”

  Will’s gaze slanted, his skin coloring. His drawn face sharpened even more. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Forgive me for offending you.” The swift anger in his gaze disturbed her. But why shouldn’t he feel angry at such an insult from his employer’s wife. “It must have been quite the affront, after your long service.”

  “It would be, for anyone. A vicious threat.” His brows drew together, his mouth thinning. “Nevertheless, I really would like to know who told you that.”

  “I don’t remember, but it’s not important.” She rushed out the words, her heart skipping in disquiet. She backed behind her counter, anxious to change the subject. “Are you all right? You still look a mite ill yourself.”

  “I’m fine. However….” He closed his eyes for an instant. “Now you must forgive me.” He wheezed in a slow breath, as if to force himself to calm down, yet his hands clasped and unclasped the bottle. “I’m only surprised someone would spread such a malicious tale.”

  “It hardly matters now.” Jenna wanted him to leave, her skin dimpling. She’d never felt this way around Will before, and it threw her off balance. She edged toward her door. “I must close up for the night, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course.” He didn’t move. “Please—don’t mention such gossip again to anyone. It won’t serve any purpose.” A flash of warning passed over his gaze, then vanished. “Thank you for the powder. I give you good night.” He walked out the door, the bottle neck gripped in a strangle-hold.

  Jenna bolted the door and stepped away. “It hardly matters now,” she whispered. She rubbed her cheeks, her thoughts dipping to dangerous places. She needed to inform Branek about his wife’s threat toward Will. Surely that wouldn’t have sent a good man over the edge.

  * * *

  Branek sat at the small kitchen table in the wing-backed chair where he’d once spent a turbulent night. He relaxed, surround by the homey smells of Jenna’s kitchen. “St. Aubyn promised to dismiss Chenery immediately and appoint a better man. He had no idea that his solicitor was promoting a less than stellar constable.”

  Jenna placed two glasses of the brandy he’d brought before them and sat. “Thanks be to God. To get that prickly burr of a man out of my hair will be a blessing.”

  Branek smiled and clasped her hand. “I hope I intimidated Quintrell enough for him to relinquish his scheme to condemn me. He might fear for his own position.” He sipped the smooth brandy, but her loving gaze was far more comforting. How had he survived so long without affection? He raised her hand and kissed it; her skin tasted like herbs.

  “I have something to tell you as well. But I hope it’s of no import.” She squeezed his fingers. “First, Sally your cook told me your butler overheard Mrs. Pentreath threaten to discharge Will. It happened not long before her illness. Night before last, Will was here an’ I mentioned that. He became…I don’t know, rather agitated an’ wanted to know who told me such a tale. It bothered me, his anger.”

  Branek fidgeted in the chair, his own concerns over Will resurfacing; but he had to be mistaken. Of all his staff, Will would be the last person he’d suspect of foul play. Yet there had been much discontent between his estate manager and Sophie in those days before she fell ill. Years before that, if he was honest with himself. “I will speak to Will. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

  “I hope that it is.” She caressed his arm and sipped from her glass. “I’m sorry your wife’s cousin saw fit to put the constable on your trail, wasting time that could’ve been spent on finding the true kill—guilty person.”

  “Indeed. Let us leave that for now.” He absorbed her empathy, her touch, like a warm balm on his flesh. “We need to have normal conversations. Tell me about your son, how you met your husband. Your hopes as a girl. I want to know everything about you.” His barbed existence softened and faded as pleasure closed around him. He gazed into her face. Love was a powerful force he had little experience with, but knew he needed it to survive, to flourish—and with this woman.

  She talked of her contented times growing up with her parents, her meeting Lemuel at only sixteen, in this very shop, and raising their son, Robby, who now ran his own apothecary shop in Bodmin.

  “Tell me about yourself, too,” she said, her hand cupped under her chin. She trailed her other hand over his sleeve. “About your youth at Polefant Place, your sisters an’ parents. Your plans for the estate.” Her smile invited him to expand.

  They conversed softly, finishing their drinks as the candles guttered low. The brandy heated him and eased away the tension of the last few days.

  “I invested in tobacco shipping, a good trade at the time, to keep the money coming in. And we had the tin mines. But I wanted my estate to be the finest producer of wool. With the additional sheep I purchased, it may still happen. And I’d have many children to enjoy the land as well as I have.” He noticed her gaze change when he mentioned children.

  “You deserved that.” She gave him a sad smile.

  He clasped her wrist. “Have I upset you?”

  “I’m all right. We must talk of the bad as well as the good.” She patted his hand. “My husband was a demanding man, an’ I thought it was love in the early years, his control over me. But I were so young, an’ became used to it. Not that I didn’t fight back. I did, many times.” She sighed. “Robby left Truro for Bodmin as soon as he could to get out from under Lem’s heavy hand.

  “I loved learning about the apothecary’s trade; that kept me happy. Then, as I told you, Lem became even more irascible. That’s when he took up with a doxy. He had no reason to, so I’ll never understand it. But I don’t care anymore.” She half-laughed, with a slight shrug. “They deserved each other.”

  “I’m sorry that you suffered.” He held her hand close. His regrets about himself pressed down on him. “I don’t think my wife and I were ever content together. She was stiff and pious, always trying to reform me, and I, well, I used to have a sense of humor. Our marriage was arranged, as so many are. And many fail, but with the strict laws and expense of divorce, couples are forced to stay together. We never found common ground to bring happiness.” And they’d had no children to bind them.

  “I held in my wants, my needs—at least when I could—and now wonder at my full capacity for the gentler aspects of life.” He would never admit that to anyone else, but he could tell her anything.

  “No, don’t wonder about it. I can see it in your eyes. Your intimate time with me.” She reached out and traced her finger along his jaw. “You have much capacity, if only it needs more coaxing. An’ just so you know, my love for you is far more than it was for my husband.”

  He stood and pulled her to her feet, his arms closing around her. She melted against him and he kissed her lips that tasted of the smokiness of brandy. He squeezed her tightly, his heart burring.

  He wanted to offer her so much, but what would he give up? He’d have little trouble turning his back on society and the strict code of conduct he’d been raised to emulate. His respect for his own class had clouded in these last years. Their superficial, stilted ideas of behavior held no interest for him. He had a solution formulating. Yet, with his gloomy past, he hesitated at slipping too quickly off the edge of their passion.

  * * *

  Two evenings later, a light rain started to fall as Jenna and Branek left Mrs. Vigus’s tavern. They’d shared a meal there under the widow’s knowing gaze and nods. The cold drizzle chilled Jenna’s cheeks as they walked down the path. Their lantern sent circles of light into the darkening landscape. The frosty mists of mid-November skirled along the ground.

  “I haven’t yet spoken to Will. He’s been over at Camborne with his family. His mother-in-law is very ill. He should be back by tomorrow
.” Branek slowed his step. “But I really can’t believe he’d do such a thing.”

  “The new investigation must sort it out. I wish someone would. What has happened with Grace?” Jenna was loathe to absolve the maid since she’d recently learned the chit had thrown herself at Branek. “Could Will an’ she have worked together?”

  “I doubt that. Grace still insists on her innocence concerning Sophie.” He sighed. “She’s secure in gaol, but I don’t wish to see her hang if all she’s guilty of is stealing a candlestick.”

  They crossed the West Bridge. The River Kenwyn gurgled below. A night bird called out.

  Jenna hugged his arm to her side. “The deacon is in gaol too, for his embezzling. I s’pose he’s no longer under suspicion for your wife?”

  “I’m tempted to rule him out. The new man, a Constable Sholl, will have to question him further.” Branek slowed his pace again. “I’m beginning to think we need Torquemada.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “A torturer during the Spanish Inquisition.” Branek chuckled dryly, his voice easier, and she wished all would reconcile so they could enjoy their time together.

  He’d insisted on escorting her out this evening, but she suggested the quieter, less frequented place of The Swan on Kenwyn. She didn’t want to listen to what the gossips would say. Even if their relationship had been innocent, people would whisper. Absorbing the warmth of his arm, she doubted she could hide her feelings for him out among others. She was only surprised that he was so open to the scandal.

  On her part, any infamy might deter her customers again, the ones to whom reputation mattered. She’d regret that and would have to devise a way to survive.