Alchemy of Glass

by Barbara Barnett

  All courtiers fallen ill by this vehement sickness have recovered; fevers subsided. His Majesty, King James, is once again in good health, the danger at last passed. Thanks be to God on high, the Book of the Healers, and the goodly brethren at Dernwode House nearby Eildon for their healing medicines and wise counsel.

  The final entry was unfinished, spilled ink blackening half the page. He remembered that terrible night; he had been sitting on a low stool at his father’s side when the king’s guard burst through the door, swords drawn, demanding his father appear at court. And life was never the same.

  Gaelan had his own reasons for thanksgiving to the black-hooded brethren of Dernwode House. There, he was nurtured, tutored in languages, science, medicine, alchemy, literature. Mathematics. It had been home and sanctuary for years after Papa’s execution.

  The flash of a fleeting memory forced a smile as his gaze caught a glimpse of a dried sunflower on his workbench, its unique patterning of the Golden Spiral. The Dernwode brethren had delighted in demonstrating to Gaelan for the first time the unique mathematical pattern unifying all of nature. For days hence, he saw it everywhere, in everything, as his tutors pointed out more examples of the pattern, writ small, writ enormous as the entire universe.

  Centuries hence, Gaelan could not fail to peer into the night sky through his telescope, or appreciate a tree or pine cone in the forest without recalling with fondness Dernwode, and pondering the Fibonacci mathematical sequence: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21 . . .

  Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

  Damnation!

  But something had changed. A strangled moan? Not feral, but quite human. Desperate, anguished, but muffled—and very weak.

  Oh, dear God and I have delayed and delayed all these minutes . . . “I am coming!” He sprang to the door, nearly tripping over the open crate. What had he been thinking to dawdle so with someone in urgent need—and at his own threshold?

  Gaelan cracked the shop door a sliver and peered up and down the dark alleyway. Only the moonlight filtering dimly through the mist, casting its gloomy halos about the gas lamps. A cat the size of a small dog in hot pursuit of three rats fled through a tenement archway and out of sight. He must have been mistaken . . .

  Then he saw it. Still and in a heap beneath a large cloak at the foot of his doorstep. He opened wide the door and it fell across the threshold, a small mound of ivory velvet and lace petticoats, muddied and wet—and edged in the familiar red-black of fresh blood.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Hush now; only a moment, lass, and I’ll have you safe inside.” Her moans and whimpers, pleas for him to stop, could not forestall Gaelan’s task, he could do nothing for her standing in the doorway.

  He crouched to where she lay. “Gently, gently now. Can you lift your arms about my neck, so I might . . . ?” She complied, but with effort; she was trembling. No so unexpected. “Good lass. Now . . .”

  The distance was not great to the examining room, where he lowered the girl to a small cot fitted with white muslin. Blankets, bandages, and cloths were stacked neatly beside it, along with his implements, clean and ready in their black leather case.

  Her eyes were closed as she continued to whimper, words barely audible and weaker than in the doorway. “No . . . no . . . please . . . ?”

  “Lass, can you say what befell you? Did you fall? Were you attacked?”

  She flinched.

  In Smithfield it might be anything from an ill-placed cart to a swaggering, pissed-up market man brandishing a butcher’s knife and an unrelenting want for a disobliging whore. The streets swarmed with all manner of villain, and a young girl—especially a prostitute—would be easy prey.

  The body snatchers were the most terrifying of the lot. Smithfield buzzed with rumors of folk gone missing only to turn up dead, corpses stripped clean of their internals. Or never to be found at all.

  No one much cared about the fate of vagrants, lunatics left to fend for themselves on the streets of London, prostitutes. Yet, this one was too smartly dressed for a Smithfield whore, too well, indeed, to be of this place at all. How could he have been so heedless of her knocking? What was he thinking? Rats, indeed.

  The whimpered pleas stopped; she’d gone completely quiet now, but for her rapid, shallow breaths. Still alive, though barely, no thanks to his delay. Damnation! He would be run out of Smithfield, a lady—a gentlewoman, no less—dying under his care the first week he’d arrived. Who would trust him then?

  The velvet was soaked through and sticky with blood and tissue from hem to waist. He pulled the cloak away to reveal her skirts—and a clue to the problem. But he needed the particulars, not so much the “why” as the “how”.

  The blood alone failed to explain whether someone ended her pregnancy surgically or gave her an herbal preparation of some sort.

  Loss of blood might explain the pallor; the pink spittle at the corners of her mouth, still dribbling down her chin, suggested poison, taken not too long ago. An abortive to lose the child. But which one? The difference between life and death. Or life with nevermore the possibility of bearing children.

  He sighed, observing her as she stirred. Too young a woman for such a wretched plight. But what brought her to Smithfield? To him?

  Gaelan looped his finger about her small wrist, waiting with close-eyed concentration for a pulse to thrum through his fingers. Nothing. He pressed more firmly. There. There it was, but just barely so. Erratic, weak. Her eyes fluttered open as she stirred, her gaze blank and unaware.

  “Miss, I must learn what happened. What you took—”

  “Oh!” She tensed, gazing frantically about the room, as if surprised to find herself not alone. She stopped, turning to Gaelan. “Forgive me, but where . . . am I? What is—?”

  “You are at an apothecary. In Smithfield Market. Do you recall—?”

  “Yes. Yes, I—” Her lips drew tight and she closed her eyes. “Female pills, she called them.” Her voice trailed off into a puff of air. Again, she grew still.

  Cover-shame. Of course. Savin juniper? Savin was efficient, yes, but it was easy to misunderstand the dose, turn it to a fatal poison. Too few practitioners treating women in her condition understood the fine line between too much and not enough.

  He had to be quick—if that was her only problem. If unadulterated savin juniper was the entire story. Nothing further attempted to end the pregnancy. Too much he did not yet know, could not know, until she was full awake—and properly examined.

  Still, he was not clueless of what to do. The needed ingredients were up two stories in the laboratory. “I shall return in a trice,” he whispered, knowing it was unlikely she heard him.

  Gaelan bounded the stairs quickly as he might, racing to her side once satisfied he’d prepared the dosage properly, praying there was yet time to save her.

  The lady’s eyes remained closed as he sat beside her. If possible, she’d grown paler by degrees in the brief time he’d been upstairs.

  “My lady—”

  Nothing.

  He took her hand. It was ablaze with fever. “Miss, please—” he said more keenly.

  Her eyes fluttered before opening a mere slit. She was shivering again. “Sorry. I seemed to have drifted—”

  “No, that is a good thing. You must sleep. But first . . .” Holding a small beaker to her lips, he entreated her to sip the bubbling elixir. “I know it has a taste most foul, but I’ve no honey to sweeten it. I am sorry. It will make you better—and help you to sleep whilst your body recovers from this . . . this bungled . . .”

  He managed to refrain from spitting out what he really wanted to say. The butchery by unskilled, unpracticed hands preying upon vulnerable girls in their most fragile state of mind and body was something he could not stomach.

  She nodded weakly and sipped, drinking it all. There was naught to do now but wait it out and hope for the best. An hour or two, and he would know whether it took—and if she would survive the night.

  Herbs and oxides, an
ancient formulation, learned long ago at his father’s knee, would counteract the savin. A delicate balance, and he could only guess at the exact dose required. Gaelan sucked in a breath and noted the time.

  An hour passed; the candle flame sputtered and faded to gray smoke, and its pleasant tallow aroma infused the room, mingling with the sick-sweet odor of blood and tissue. Gaelan’s eyelids drooped heavy, drifting shut as the battle to keep watch over his charge faded.

  A sudden pounding on the door roused Gaelan from the first whispers of sleep.

  What manner of devilment is this to disturb me yet again this night?

  The girl was awake, staring at him through terrified eyes. She grasped for his arm, her gaze a plea. “I beg of you, kind sir, tell not a soul of my presence. No one. Please, I—”

  More words than she’d uttered since her arrival.

  A quick nod as he fumbled with the buttons of his frock coat, endeavoring to cover the blood, which had stained his shirt and trousers shoulder to knee. “Who comes to call at this hour?” Gaelan shouted as he approached the shop’s front door.

  Dawn had already begun to brighten the sky, rendering the morning fog in halos of light. Gaelan glared at the visitor through window glass, suspecting he was quite aware of the too-early hour.

  “Open the door, apothecary! I implore you! It is of the utmost urgency!” Caped in a rich greatcoat and top hat, assuredly not a man of Smithfield, the man continued to pound the glass, his voice raspy and harsh as he repeated his demand several times more in rapid succession.

  Had this visit anything to do with the young lady in the examining room? A husband worried for his wife? The bairn’s father? Her father? No, he appeared much too young for that. A brother, perhaps? No matter.

  Gaelan sucked in a breath and opened the door; he did not mask his ire at the intrusion. “Have you an idea, sir, of the time? It is just barely dawn; I do not open for some hours to come.”

  “You have a woman here.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A young lady. She is ill, perhaps in the direst straits.”

  The guilt-ridden lover it is. Whoever this fellow may be, Gaelan had little inclination to be dragged into the midst of what appeared to be a family matter. Yet, the girl’s haunted expression, even as she’d tottered at the edge of consciousness, compelled him to comply with her request to be still about it.

  “I assure you, sir, there is no lady about. Indeed, I have, this day, seen to several requiring my care, men and women. None remain under my roof, particularly at this hour. Now, if you please . . .”

  The man ignored Gaelan’s polite but insistent sweep of an arm toward the door. Instead, he pushed his way to the center of the shop and paced the floor some moments until suddenly stopping before a long counter. He pounded his fist on the glass, then wheeled on Gaelan, just inches away. “If you do not mind, sir, I shall have a look myself. She is wont to hide, this one; perhaps she has snuck in, tucked herself away beneath a staircase or . . .” The stranger directed his gaze toward a curtain behind the counter. “. . . in your examining room?”

  Who the blazes is this . . . gentleman come bursting in at such an hour? “You speak of this woman, my good sir, as if she is but a stray cat, not a lady. And, yes, I do quite mind. I do not like your tone, nor your insinuations, and I would ask you to take your leave. Immediately, for I have indulged you quite long enough. Who are you to barge in here at this hour—and with a demand to inspect my shop, hmm?”

  Gaelan had already decided. The baby’s father, most definitely, who had either been opposed to or arranged the abortion. In either case . . . “I am not easily intimidated, sir, even by one of your station. I tell you, no other person is about these premises.”

  Gaelan needed no trouble, and not so soon after in the move from Hay Hill. He retreated behind the counter, fuming as he tried to tamp down his anger.. He’d seen this sort too many times before, all puffed up and arrogant. Thinking they’d the right to do whatever to whomever they desire.

  “I will ask you courteously once more to leave these premises, but my patience is wearing thin, sir.”

  The man’s shoulders slumped, and the intensity of his gaze evaporated into resignation, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he removed his hat, placing it on the counter as his fingers drummed the glass.

  “Please forgive me, sir. I realize I must appear to you quite the lunatic. I assure you, I am not. You see, I have been seeking her . . . any word of her whereabouts . . . all the night.”

  Gaelan stood his ground, unwilling to let down his guard just yet as the stranger commenced to pace again. However, the man’s state was now obvious. The unkempt hair, cravat undone; he was unshaven, his boots caked with mud. Lines of sweat streaked from brow to jaw through the grime on his face. A man distraught, indeed.

  He came to rest once again at the counter, examining Gaelan with an accusing gaze, as if he could see through to the bloodied shirt hidden beneath his coat. He nodded slightly, seeming to consider his next words carefully before speaking them aloud.

  “I believe . . . I have some reason to believe . . . you may have in your keeping the cousin of a good friend. He has asked me on behalf of her family to fetch her. I am a physician, you see, and they desire for me to . . . see to her . . . to her . . . illness. My only motive is to be of assistance to the young lady in question. Discrete assistance, if you catch the drift . . .” The man arched an eyebrow. “I am certain you can understand.”

  Gaelan struggled to answer. Why should he believe this . . . stranger, calling himself a physician? A friend of the girl? She was emphatic, was she not, that no person know her whereabouts? “You are sore mistaken, sir. I understand your worry, but I repeat.” Gaelan shrugged his shoulders. “I am quite alone here. Therefore, unless there is something else of an urgent—and relevant nature—with which I might assist you at this hour . . .” Gaelan gestured toward the door.

  The man sighed and removed his coat. “As long as I am here, yes. There is another matter. May I?” he asked as he draped it across the counter beside his hat.

  Gaelan crossed his arms across his chest. If this will rid me of the intruder . . . “Go on, then—”

  “Perhaps there is. Something else. You are, sir, Mr. Gaelan Erceldoune, the apothecary lately of Hay Hill?”

  “Yes, that is me.” He snapped, refusing to keep the annoyance from his tone.

  The physician held up a conciliatory hand. “Hear me out, sir, if you would. To speak true, Mr. Erceldoune, the family is much grieved about the daughter—”

  “You, sir, have the distinct advantage of knowing my name, yet—”

  The physician combed nervous fingers through his short dark hair. “Forgive me my lack of manners, for I have been running about London this entire night, hoping for . . . My name is Dr. Simon Bell.”

  Gaelan well knew the name. “You said there was another matter—”

  The man held up a finger. “Please, if I might first—”

  Gaelan said nothing, drawing his arms tighter about his middle before nodding.

  “She . . . they are quite concerned for her . . . for her . . . well-being. Her cousin has confided that she fled to Smithfield in a condition, shall we say . . .”

  Gaelan could guess the rest.

  Bell turned away for a moment, tapping his foot as if to consider his position. “If you should happen to see . . . if she should come your way, I beg you, please to help her in whatever way you might, but do not send her back to her family. I wish her no . . . Her family are set on shipping her to the continent. To France and marry her off to a man twice her age. She would never see these shores again. If she is in your keep, I would wish to express to her these sentiments. Should she wish to contact me, have her know I only desire to be a friend to her, and would not . . . She should not return to her own kin. For to do so would cost her never-ending despair. Of this I am most certain.”

  “Is that not what you aim to do . . . should you find her? Re
turn her to such—”

  “No. That is what the family desires of me; not what I would do, should I discover . . . should I find her safe and before she is discovered by her kin.”

  “And what are you to this . . . woman . . . girl, truly . . . beyond good friend of her cousin? Lover? Not good enough for her? Or she not you?” Gaelan was aware he treaded a fine line here but would explode if he stayed silent even a moment longer. Yet, he needed to mind his tongue, not arouse suspicion. Besides, he was certain Bell noticed he was covering . . . something.

  “Not at all, sir. I am but friend to the family. Their occasional physician. The young lady is to me nothing beyond acquaintance. I would see to her well-being, help in any way I might. And if you should . . . if she should come across your path—”

  “Very well then. I shall heed your warning with regard to the girl. Should she come my way. And now, I bid you a good morrow.”

  Finally, Bell seemed ready to depart, and Gaelan quickly ushered him to the door, opening it to the dawn chill. Already, he had been too long gone from the girl.

  His hand on the knob, Bell stopped. “Another moment of your time, and I then I shall leave you be.”

  Whatever else might he want of him so early? “Well, then?”

  “I wish not to leave your company on such difficult . . . This is not the first time I have heard your name. Your reputation precedes you and I have long desired to make your acquaintance.”

  What had the physicians of Hay Hill to say of him now he’d gone? Disappeared with nary a word. “Indeed?” Gaelan was curious, but he thought he’d heard the girl stir beyond the curtains.

  “From brother physicians. They have only to say you are quite gifted, if not a bit . . . impertinent.” The corners of Bell’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “They laugh at your impudence for the number of times you have altered their instructions, the medicines they prescribe. Privately, they cannot deny the number of times you have—”

  Saved them from embarrassment? Forestalled the fatal error that would have killed a patient through sheer stupidity?