The Vital Principle (23 page)

A number of customers browsed and chatted softly. Mrs. Marley wandered over to examine an elegant leather travel case while they waited. The kit was fitted with a number of vials and containers, all cunningly held in place by thin strips of leather.

Suddenly, Mrs. Marley put the case down and turned. She hunched over and held a fist to her mouth. Her body shook with a series of deep coughs, interspersed with gasps as she tried to catch her breath. Pru put an arm around her shoulders and held her, shielding her from the curious gaze of the others in the shop.

“May we get a glass of water? Please?” Pru asked the chemist, striving to quell her panic.

He turned hurriedly and sloshed water into a china cup which he handed to her. Twisting his hands, he watched as she held it to Mrs. Marley's lips and kept the cup from spilling as she patted her on the back.

Still wheezing, Mrs. Marley fumbled in her reticule. She pulled out a small glass vial. Her cold, trembling fingers slipped as she tried to pull out the cork.

“Allow me. Please,” Pru said, handing her the cup. She gently took the small bottle and removed the stopper. When it was open, she handed it back to Mrs. Marley, who tipped it over, allowing a tiny drop to swirl into the water. She swallowed a mouthful between terrible, hacking coughs.

A few more sporadic gasps tore through her. Pru wrapped an arm around the thin, shaking shoulders until the spasms subsided.

“That’s a terrible cough,” Pru said, supporting her. “Are you sure you’re well?”

Mrs. Marley nodded and placed the bottle back into her reticule. “I’ve been afflicted with this weakness of the lungs my entire life. Although it seems to grow worse in the fall, or when I’m away from home. Thankfully, Mr. Marley and I live at Bath most of the year. The air there is wonderfully efficacious.” She smiled and gave a careful laugh with her hand held a few inches from her mouth as if afraid of another spasm. “I take the waters there.” A brief sadness flashed over her face. “My dear Mr. Marley packed a case with several flasks of tonic from Bath. As you can see, it
does
help somewhat. I carry a small bottle of it whenever I leave the house.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed your visit to the Crowleys until winter?”

She shrugged. “My husband was obliged to take a short trip to London and my parents requested I accompany them here. I hadn’t seen them for several months.” She cleared her throat and coughed briefly, struggling for air.

Her skin looked damp and almost bluish, despite the color in her cheeks from their walk. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot from coughing and glittered damply.

She wrinkled her nose. “These waters from Bath taste awful.” She stepped away, her fingers stroking the leather case. “My grandmother has a case such as this. I would so love one. They are dreadfully clever, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” Pru watched Mrs. Marley remove each vial and test the cork stopper before inserting it back in its place. “Does your grandmother use many powders?”

“A few—we share the same weakness, it seems, though hers affects her more in the spring. My mother and father are fortunately very healthy. I’m afraid I’m a terrible disappointment to them.” She forced a note of brightness into her voice while Pru watched, saddened and knowing precisely how it felt to be a disappointment to a parent. “My brother certainly makes up for it, though.” She turned to Pru with a thin smile on her lips. “He’s a Corinthian and a member of several sporting clubs. We’re fortunate I’m the only one thus afflicted.”

“Then your mother and father don’t carry any medications with them?”

“Oh, they’re exceedingly healthy. However, my mother always carries a complete supply of medications to be sure. She’s a firm believer in being prepared for any eventuality.”

“Very wise,” Pru replied.

“Yes, she's always very well prepared. I should be more like her, but I fear I’m not. Somehow, I’ve used the last of the tincture my physician prescribed for my weakness. I—I’ll need to obtain more before we leave. Rosecrest has, I fear, made my condition worse.”

Mrs. Marley glanced at the chemist. He was occupied with an elderly lady and did not notice her. Seeing this, Mrs. Marley began a lengthy description of the treatments she’d tried to cure her autumnal cough. Half-listening, Pru studied the small shop, wondering how to broach the subject of Prussic acid.

She had no idea what it was used for, or if there was any use other than poisoning people. If she knew what innocent purposes it might have, she could ask the apothecary who else had purchased it for a similar reason and merely appear idly curious.

Unless the apothecary already knew she was a suspect in Lord Crowley’s death. In that case, it would be exceedingly awkward to talk about Prussic acid in a casual manner.

Mrs. Marley stepped forward to the counter at last. She gave a series of breathy instructions to the slender, bald chemist, who stood blinking at her while she talked.

He grumbled and then leaned forward with a hard stare. “You say you’ve used this before, Mrs. Marley?” He fiddled with several bottles. Finally, he measured a small amount from one into a vial before diluting it with the contents of his water pitcher. Then he held up the brown vial and inserted a cork stopper.

“Yes.” Mrs. Marley covered her mouth as she coughed again. She pulled a heavy piece of paper from her reticule. “Here are my physician’s instructions. I keep them with me in case I should have an emergency.”

The apothecary took the paper from her, smoothing it out on his counter as he studied it. Satisfied, he handed the note back. She slipped it into her reticule and held out her hand for the brown vial. He frowned and hesitated, holding the bottle clenched in his fist as if he suspected her of not understanding how to administer the medicine.

“Keep this bottle out of the light. And away from all sources of heat. Don’t place it near the fire like so many of you young ladies do.”

She nodded and put a few shillings on the counter.

When she reached for it, he held the bottle away. “Just one small drop. That’s all that is required. One drop.”

“I understand. Truly, Mr. James, I’ve used this same tincture for many, many years.” She held out her hand.

He finally placed the small vial in her palm. “Now, don’t forget. Just a drop when that cough plagues you.” His sharp gaze studied her, before flicking once toward Pru. The chemist’s eyes were placed close together over his thin nose, and he focused on Pru despite continuing to question Mrs. Marley. “Now, do you need anything for nerves? Palpitations? Digestive problems? I’ve got several elixirs for ladies.”

“No,” Mrs. Marley replied with surprising firmness. “I have no need for any other items.”

“How about you, Miss?” He picked up a cobalt blue bottle. “If you have trouble resting at night, I’ve got sleeping preparations.”

“I have no difficulties sleeping,” Pru replied quickly, feeling self-conscious and knowing her pale skin and the blue circles under her eyes betrayed her. She stared at him, trying to find a way to introduce the subject of Prussic acid.

“Are you Lady Crowley’s trained occultist?” He leaned against the counter, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Yes.”

“I guess you’d be interested in Prussic acid, then,” his voice hovered near to a sneer.

“Only in what it might be used for, and who has purchased it lately.”

He guffawed and rubbed his red-tipped nose.

“Well?” Pru asked, waiting politely for him to stop chuckling. “I’m perfectly serious. What does one use Prussic acid for?”

“Other than poisoning your host?” His gaze drifted over to Mrs. Marley for a moment.

“I did
not
poison Lord Crowley. Do you think I’d be standing here asking you this if I had?” She became conscious of whispering behind her. Mrs. Marley edged closer nervously. She coughed, but managed to suppress it before it erupted into another fit.

The apothecary shook his head. With a slightly patronizing air, he said, “Why, there are many uses. What are you interested in? Trying to make sure you purchase it for an honest reason?”

“What uses?” she persisted.

He shrugged. “Etching. Artists use it in engravings. Architects use it for blueprints. Do those suit your fancy, Miss? Planning on doing up a blueprint?”

“What else?”

Mrs. Marley clutched Pru’s arm. “Please,” she coughed. “The air in here is dreadfully close. The dust….”

The apothecary, Mr. James, smiled at Pru as she turned to leave with Mrs. Marley. Another group of three women stood near the door. They whispered behind their hands and cast black looks at her.

When she neared them, she heard the closest woman say, “Murderess! Come to buy more poison?”

Pru caught her gaze. She stared until the woman dropped her gaze and stepped aside. Outside, the air felt fresh and cool, delightfully free of the stifling, chemical odors from the apothecary’s shop. She breathed deeply and sneezed twice as her lungs struggled to clear away all traces of the chemist’s sulfur-laced air. When she raised her handkerchief to her nose, she found it, and the rest of her clothing, smelling of chemicals with the rotten-egg odor of sulfur predominating.

They walked a few blocks before she saw the four other members of their group entering the coffee shop on the corner. The small shop was part of the same building housing the Coach and Crown Inn where the inquest was being held. Pru slowed, knowing what was going on in the inn. Then she noticed Mr. Gaunt glance her way before she was hailed. Turning, she watched Mr. Gretton hurry toward her.

“A word with you, Miss Barnard,” Mr. Gretton said, his face as glistening and pink as a poached salmon.

“Why don’t you go on to the coffee shop?” Pru suggested to Mrs. Marley, who looked like she needed rest and a restorative. “The others just went inside.”

Mrs. Marley agreed and wandered away. Mr. Gretton watched her go.

“How may I help you?” Pru asked.

“It’s about this murder, Miss.”

She suppressed her impatience. “Yes?”

“Seeing you a-coming out of the chemist's, well, I have to ask if you’ve had regular dealings with this apothecary, don't I?”

“Regular dealings? To purchase poison, you mean? Of course not.”

“Then what? Three ladies of unimpeachable reputation informed me you was asking for Prussic acid.”

“I was not asking to
obtain
it! I was asking what it’s commonly used for. That’s all.”

“Be that as it may, I must ask you to accompany me.” He grasped her elbow and attempted to turn her in the opposite direction from the coffee shop. “The magistrate gave me strict orders should anyone ask for Prussic acid.”

“But, I didn't buy anything! I’m meeting friends—”

“Never you mind that, Miss Barnard. The jury will be right interested in what you've got to say, won't they?”

“Then I’ll return when summoned. If necessary.”

His pink face grew more vibrantly colored. He wiped his brow and managed to drag her a few yards. “Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to detain you. For questioning, as it were.”

She tried to dig her heels in, but he propelled her inexorably forward. They crossed first one street and then another until they came to a small, depressing box of a building.

“I thought the inquest was at the inn?”

“It is, Miss. But I can't interrupt the proceedings without putting you to a few questions, first.”

“But I’m innocent!” she declared, her voice sounding pathetically weak. She cleared her throat as Mr. Gretton thrust her inside.

The outer room held several scruffy-looking gentlemen behind battered desks. They leered at her as Mr. Gretton took her through a door at the back of the room. He dragged her down a narrow corridor lined with heavy wooden doors, all padlocked.

Pru shook her elbow, feeling short of breath and hemmed in. Her heart hammered.

Mr. Gretton released her arm and opened one of the doors. “You'll abide here until they call for you, Miss Barnard. I’ll send for your maid and things.”

“Send for my things?” she asked. She glanced around, aghast.

A small, wooden cot leaned against one brick wall. A single window, high up in the wall, showed a patch of gray sky between the thick iron bars. Next to it stood a spindly table graced with a heavy, white pitcher and chipped bowl, while under that rested a chamber pot. A rough chair stood, inexplicably, in the center of the room.

Pru couldn’t help glancing upward. A thick beam, running the length of the room, caught her gaze. The chair was directly under the beam. The room reeked of hopelessness and despair.

She could almost see the toes of a pair of boots scraping the edge of the overturned chair’s seat….

An illusion, nothing more.

The chair sat empty, the seat scratched and worn, not overturned.

She shivered. She couldn’t spend an hour here, much less the night, waiting for the jury to call her. They’d assume she was guilty. The others already assumed as much.

She turned back to Mr. Gretton. He had his hand on the lock, ready to depart. “I can’t stay here,
please
.”