by Amanda Quick
Beatrice caught her breath. “Joshua, I must tell you that I don’t think that is a good plan—”
The muffled sound of an explosion in the basement stopped the conversation cold.
“Good grief,” Abigail said. She jumped to her feet and rushed toward the door. “Sara? Are you all right? Sara.”
Beatrice and Joshua followed Abigail out into the hall and down to the first floor. At the top of the basement stairs they stopped. Tendrils of smoke and the scent of powerful chemicals wafted up from the basement.
“Sara,” Abigail called anxiously. “Answer me.”
Sara appeared at the bottom of the steps. She climbed quickly through the drifting vapors. When she reached the doorway she stripped off her mask and goggles and gave them a triumphant smile.
“Good news, Mr. Gage,” she said. “I think I know the name of the apothecary who supplied the chemicals for the smoke devices and very likely for that Egyptian Water you described, as well. There is only one person in London who can be relied upon when it comes to obtaining rare and exotic chemicals like these.”
“Only one?” Joshua asked.
“As far as I am aware, Mrs. Grimshaw in Teaberry Lane is the only apothecary I know of who specializes in the preparation of compounds and formulas that possess paranormal properties.”
Thirty-Eight
If you say I told you so one more time I may be forced to take drastic action,” Joshua warned.
“Your threats do not frighten me in the least,” Beatrice said. She waved one gloved hand in an airy gesture. Yes, she was gloating, she thought, but she simply could not resist. “I trust that the next time I inform you that there is evidence of a paranormal nature you will pay closer attention to my conclusions.”
They were sitting in Joshua’s anonymous carriage. Henry, the driver, had stopped at the entrance to Teaberry Lane because the ancient cobbled passage was too narrow for the vehicle.
The lane was choked with fog. It was impossible to make out the sign above the apothecary shop but there was a faint glow in the window, indicating that the establishment was open for business.
Beatrice was intensely aware of the prowling energy that seethed in the intimate confines of the vehicle’s cab. The cold, tightly controlled anticipation of the wolf on the hunt was emanating from Joshua. She knew that he would not believe her if she informed him that there was a dark heat in his eyes so she did not mention it.
“I am not convinced that Mrs. Marsh was able to identify the apothecary because she detected traces of paranormal energy in the chemicals,” Joshua said. “But I have always respected her scientific talents. I don’t doubt for a moment that she observed something in the fluid that led her to her conclusions.”
“But you’re quite certain that whatever she detected was not of a paranormal nature,” Beatrice said.
“I believe I have mentioned on more than one occasion that there is no need to resort to the paranormal for an explanation whenever one encounters a phenomenon that one cannot otherwise explain.”
“Whatever you say,” Beatrice murmured. “You are, of course, the expert when it comes to criminal investigation.”
He shot her a quick, suspicious look. She smiled sweetly and blinked a few times.
“Huh.” He shook his head and cracked open the door. “You can forget the air of innocence. It does not work on me, remember?”
“Oh, right, I keep forgetting that small fact.”
“Let’s go interview Mrs. Grimshaw,” he growled.
He kicked down the steps, seized his cane and got out of the cab. He turned to give Beatrice his hand. She got the exciting little zing of intense awareness when his powerful hand closed around hers. She peeked up at him from under the brim of her bonnet, searching his face to see if he had felt the crackle of energy that flowed between them. But his profile was set in hard, unrevealing planes and angles. If he did feel anything unusual and inexplicable when they were close like this he was using his formidable powers of self-mastery to conceal his reaction.
Henry shifted on the box and looked down at Joshua. “I’ll wait here for ye, sir.”
“Thank you,” Joshua said. He surveyed the fog-shrouded lane. “You have your whistle, I assume?”
“Aye, sir. I’ll keep watch, just as I did in the old days. If I see anything worrisome, I’ll blow two blasts to alert you. Are you expecting trouble with the apothecary, then?”
“No, but lately I have miscalculated on occasion,” Joshua said. “I’m getting old, Henry.”
Henry chuckled. “Got a long ways to go before you’re as old as me, sir.”
Joshua took Beatrice’s arm and started walking toward the door of the apothecary’s shop. The sound of their footsteps and the faint tap-tap-tap of Joshua’s cane echoed eerily in the fog. Beatrice glanced back and saw that Henry and the carriage were already no more than vague shadows in the mist.
The icy chill came out of nowhere just as they arrived at the door of the apothecary’s shop. The uneasy sensation stirred the hair on the back of her neck. She knew that Joshua felt her start of alarm because he stopped immediately, drawing her to a halt.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
She opened her senses and examined the front step of the establishment. The energy deposited by an untold number of people over the years had left a thick, churning miasma of paranormal currents. Many of the tracks were darkened with the taint of illness, pain, addiction and impending death. It was an apothecary shop, after all. Most of the people who went through the door were in search of a cure or at least temporary relief either for themselves or for someone else.
But some of the recent prints burned with another kind of heat, the familiar, seething energy she had come to know all too well.
“Joshua,” she whispered. “He was here not long ago but he left again.”
Joshua did not ask her whom she meant. He tightened his grip on her arm in a silent warning. She looked at him, startled, and saw that he was studying the windows.
“The shades have been drawn,” he said very quietly. He glanced at the windows of the rooms above the shop. “They are closed up there, too. Take out your stocking gun.”
She did not hesitate. Whipping up her skirts and petticoats, she removed the small weapon from its sheath.
“Go stand out of sight in that doorway,” he said, nodding toward the vaulted entrance of the neighboring building. “And do not hesitate to fire that gun if anyone so much as looks twice at you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but what are you planning to do?”
“Just go. Now.”
She hurried into the shelter of the nearby vestibule. From there she watched Joshua wrap a gloved hand around the door handle. She could see that he met resistance. The door was locked.
She wondered if he would try to pick the lock. But his methods proved far more efficient. He slammed the end of the ebony-and-steel cane into one of the windowpanes set into the upper half of the door.
Glass shattered. Joshua reached through the opening and unlocked the door.
He vanished inside.
A few seconds later a large, black glass bottle sailed through the doorway and landed in the middle of the lane. It shattered violently. There was a small explosive pop and a hiss. Flames leaped. They burned white-hot for a brief time before dying out.
There followed a deep silence. Beatrice held her breath.
Joshua appeared in the doorway. “You can come in now.” He looked at the gun in her hand. “Would you mind putting that away? Or at the very least stop aiming it at me?”
“Oh, sorry.” Beatrice hiked up her skirts and put the small pistol back into the dainty holster.
She hurried to the entrance of the shop and looked past Joshua. The body of an elderly woman was sprawled on the floor. The faint but unmista
kable scent of chloroform tainted the atmosphere.
“Dear heaven,” Beatrice whispered. “Is she—?”
“She’s still alive,” Joshua said. “We arrived in time. That firebomb was attached to a timing mechanism. It was set to go off in about ten minutes. He wanted time to make certain that he was well clear of the scene when the fire started.”
Thirty-Nine
Thank heavens you came here today,” Mrs. Grimshaw said. “He intended for me to die. He said it would look as though I had accidentally caused an explosion by mixing volatile chemicals together. He said the police would never know what had happened.”
There was a shiver in her voice and in her hands. Beatrice put a cup of hot tea in front of her and surveyed the elderly woman with concern. The apothecary was still in shock.
“Drink some tea,” Beatrice said gently.
Mrs. Grimshaw cheered up at the sight of the tea. She plucked a small packet from her voluminous apron and emptied half the contents into the cup. Leaning forward, she inhaled the vapors. They clearly had a therapeutic effect on her. Her voice and hands steadied.
She frowned, bewilderment clouding her face. “How did you discover that I was in danger?”
“We didn’t know,” Beatrice said. “Not with any degree of certainty.” She sat down at the small table and poured tea into Joshua’s cup and her own. “But Mr. Gage’s intuition guided us here today. He had a feeling that it was imperative we find you immediately.”
Mrs. Grimshaw had been badly frightened but she was otherwise uninjured. Beatrice had made tea while Joshua had gone outside to tell Henry what had occurred and to send him on a short errand. She did not know what the nature of the errand was but Henry had taken off at once.
Mrs. Grimshaw gave Joshua a thoughtful look. “I vow, you must have some psychical talent, sir, to know that I was in trouble.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Beatrice said. She smiled across the table at Joshua.
He shot her an irritated glance and turned back to Mrs. Grimshaw. “It was not paranormal talent that brought us to your doorstep this morning. It was logic and deductive reasoning, and, I might add, a bit of damned good luck.”
Mrs. Grimshaw glanced at Beatrice, a question in her eyes.
“Mr. Gage does not believe in the paranormal,” Beatrice explained.
Mrs. Grimshaw’s expression cleared. “Ah, that explains it. Well, he’s not the first man of talent to deny his own ability, and I daresay he won’t be the last.”
Beatrice tried to hide a smile but she knew Joshua saw it. He looked pained but he did not pursue the subject.
“I regret that I cannot give you more time to recover from your ordeal, Mrs. Grimshaw,” he said. “But there is considerable urgency in this affair. We must move quickly or others may die. Will you please tell me what happened here today?”
“Certainly, sir, but I’m afraid I do not know a great deal about this situation myself. All I can tell you is that shortly before you arrived, one of my regular customers, the one who always buys my special compound of salts, entered the shop and asked me to make up his usual order. I thought nothing of it. I turned away to mix the compound. When it was ready I started to set it on the counter. But he was suddenly behind me. Moved like a cat in the night, he did. He clamped a wet cloth over my face. I remember smelling the chloroform and listening to him tell me that I was going to die in a great fire and then nothing else until you roused me.”
Joshua’s mouth tightened. “This is my fault, Mrs. Grimshaw. The villain I am pursuing reasoned that sooner or later I would find you and that you might be able to lead me to him. He wanted you dead but not before he got a fresh supply of the salts.”
Mrs. Grimshaw’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand. Who is this villain?”
“The man who tried to murder you and burn down your shop today works for him,” Joshua said. “His name is Lancing. He’s a scientist who has been using a professional killer to run errands for him for nearly a year.”
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Grimshaw whispered, stunned.
“Can you describe the man who bought the salts and tried to murder you?”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Grimshaw said. She collected herself with a visible effort. “He never gave me his name, just told me that he had been sent to buy the salts and some other rare chemicals that only I can supply. I never liked him but he always paid immediately. Never asked for credit. One can’t always be too choosy when it comes to customers.”
“So true,” Beatrice said. “What else can you tell us?”
“Oh, he was quite distinctive. A foreigner, no question about it. Spoke English but with a heavy accent. He was tall. He always wore a low-crowned hat but I could tell that he was quite bald. Had a face like a skull and the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen.”
“Yes,” Joshua said. “That description fits the professional assassin.”
Mrs. Grimshaw shuddered. “See here, do you think he will come back when he realizes that he failed?”
“No, because he will know that there is no point in taking that risk,” Joshua said. “But to be on the safe side, I am going to ask an old associate of mine to send a couple of men to keep watch on you and your shop until this affair is concluded.”
Mrs. Grimshaw’s eyes widened. “Bodyguards, do you mean?”
“Yes. I sent our coachman off with a message a short time ago. Your watchers should arrive shortly. We will not leave you until they get here.”
Mrs. Grimshaw heaved a sigh of relief. “I am very grateful to you, sir. But I really don’t understand why this Mr. Lancing you speak of would send his servant to murder me. I told you, I’m the only apothecary in London who can supply him with the chemicals he requires.”
“I think Lancing is convinced that he will not be needing a steady supply of the rare chemicals much longer,” Joshua said. “He believes that he is nearing the end of his grand experiment.”
Forty
I did not know that crime lords went about in such high style,” Beatrice said, marveling at the fine carriage that was approaching.
“Mr. Weaver controls a profitable slice of the London underworld,” Joshua said. “He specializes in gambling establishments and taverns. But he also provides financial services to those who cannot obtain such services from respectable banks.”
“At rather high interest rates, I expect.”
“He is a businessman at heart,” Joshua said.
He watched the sleek black carriage pulled by two perfectly matched, high-stepping black horses come to a halt in the street at the top of Teaberry Lane. Two men climbed down. All of Weaver’s enforcers had a certain look, he thought. They were big, intimidating, well armed and well dressed. The black ties they wore around their necks were well known throughout the criminal world.
The pair looked at Joshua for direction.
“Please keep watch on the apothecary and her shop in the lane,” Joshua said. “Do not let anyone in through the front door or the alley. The establishment is closed until further notice. I am concerned for the safety of the proprietor.”
“We’ll look after her,” one of the men said.
They touched their black caps and went quickly along the lane.
A footman in black livery jumped down to open the door of the carriage and lower the steps. The massively built man seated in the cab looked out through the opening.
“It’s been a while, Joshua,” Weaver said. He took in the scar and the cane with a thoughtful expression. “I heard there was an accident.”
“Word gets around,” Joshua said. “Allow me to present Miss Lockwood, a very good friend. Beatrice, this is Mr. Weaver, an old associate of mine.”
Beatrice smiled. “Mr. Weaver.”
Joshua hid a quick grin. He could not imagine another lady of his acquaintance acknowledging an introduction to
a notorious crime lord with grace and charm. It was clear from the surprise that flashed in Weaver’s eyes that he was not accustomed to being greeted so cordially by a member of the respectable class.
“A pleasure, Miss Lockwood,” Weaver said. He glanced at Joshua, brows slightly elevated, and then gestured with one gloved hand. “I hope the two of you will join me in my carriage while we converse. Standing about in the open affects my nerves.”
Joshua handed Beatrice up into the cab and joined her. They sat down on the black velvet cushions.
Beatrice examined Weaver with politely veiled curiosity. There was a lot of Weaver to examine, Joshua thought. The big man took up most of the opposite seat. There was a cool, calculating intelligence in his pale eyes. He was well dressed in the latest fashion. His tailor had done his best to camouflage Weaver’s bloated body but there was only so much that could be accomplished. And nothing could disguise the aura of poor health that emanated from Mr. Weaver, Joshua thought. Weaver’s color was not good and his breathing was much tighter now than it had been the last time they had met.
“I must admit I am curious to know why you are requesting my assistance after a year of silence,” Weaver said.
“It’s a long tale and it has not ended,” Joshua replied. “It’s connected to the accident you mentioned. I think that one of the people believed to have died in the same accident is still alive. He has become something of a problem for Miss Lockwood.”
“I see.” Weaver inclined his head toward Beatrice. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Lockwood.” He turned back to Joshua. “I am happy to be able to assist you today but supplying two guards is not sufficient to repay the debt that I owe you. I trust you will let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”
“I do have one question,” Joshua said. “Have you heard of an independent operator whose services include kidnapping and murder? He is a foreigner and speaks with a thick Russian accent. Witnesses report that he is entirely bald and has a face like a skull. He calls himself the Bone Man.”