Chemistry of Magic

by Patricia Rice

  Since the Ives men had barely acknowledged her existence until now, Emilia credited Dare with this new recognition. She curtseyed but let the men lead the conversation.

  “Once Dare has approval from his consortium, we can draw up the property deeds,” Erran said after Pascoe explained their agreement. “That’s of no moment. But I’d like to talk with the men who believe they already own your properties, if indeed, that is the case.”

  Emilia listened intently. It wasn’t Dare she had to fear but someone else?

  “If there are forgeries, I need to see the signatures,” Erran continued. “Everyone is trying to rush railroads into production before parliament can draw up restrictions, so they may just be bluffing and hoping they can obtain signatures. But a lawsuit needs to be constructed on evidence.”

  “We’ll go into Harrogate tomorrow and work our way around town,” Pascoe said. “Tell Emilia what you’ll need from Dare, and he can have it prepared when we come by on the morrow.”

  Erran turned to the desk where Tess worked. “May I borrow pen and paper, please? I’ll make a list.”

  Wide-eyed, the secretary pushed clean paper in his direction and sharpened a pen.

  “Might I ask you about ways of publishing my pharmacopeia?” Emilia asked as he worked on his list.

  He glanced up at her. “Don’t strike the messenger, but you’d do best to have an accredited physician’s name on the cover. But perhaps if you had letters from physicians who approve of the contents, you could use your initials, and I could talk to a few printers. I don’t suppose you write articles for medical journals and your name might be recognized?”

  “Sommersville,” Bridey immediately said. “The duke would be the perfect reference. He writes articles all the time, and everyone knows him.”

  Emilia brightened. “Could you introduce me? I could show him the copy we keep here. Perhaps if we put his name on the cover—would he allow that?”

  “If it would put a good pharmacopeia into the hands of apothecaries, I can’t see why not. You could make your fortune!” Bridey said enthusiastically.

  “Making a little money instead of spending it would be a pleasant change, but mostly, I want the information disseminated far and wide. We have so much to learn, that it’s a shame physicians have only the old methods to fall back on. We need to keep adding to our knowledge!”

  Bolstered by the sensation that she’d finally found friends who understood her, Emilia gathered up her belongings and prepared to leave.

  She was excited and eager to go home, to see what Dare had accomplished, to see Dare. . . He’d listened to her and understood about her land and hadn’t sold it!

  For the first time in her life, she feared her heart was as engaged as her brain.

  Feeling more energetic than he had in a long time, Dare contemplated the two horses in the paddock and wondered if he ought to ride into the village. It wasn’t as if the nags were meant for galloping across field and stream, but he missed riding, and he hated being treated like an invalid. The village was less than a mile away. Once upon a time, he could have walked the distance.

  He tried breathing deep. Was it really possible that Emilia could heal damaged tissues simply by touching him? He coughed and cursed when he drew too much air into his lungs. She was at least correct that she couldn’t cure him.

  Hearing the creak of the garden gate, willing to be distracted from his frustration, he turned and watched the old gnome totter out. The gardener was never around when Emilia was, but Dare had seen him puttering about occasionally. He still didn’t know where the man lived.

  To his surprise, Mr. Arthur toddled over to the paddock carrying a handful of greens.

  “Dinbernt,” he said between his missing teeth. “Give it to da miss.”

  Dinbernt? What the devil was dinbernt? “Shouldn’t you give it to the cook?” Dare asked, studying the weeds he took in bewilderment.

  The garden gnome doddered off, ignoring him.

  Apparently being a viscount and lord of all he surveyed earned little respect from gardeners. In a vague way, he understood. The old gnome could produce food from dirt, whereas Dare could produce nothing particularly useful except money. In the gardener’s eyes, he needed to earn respect.

  Out of curiosity, Dare took the greens into the workshop and stuck them in water. He had a vague notion that greens, like flowers, might last longer in water. After a bit of study, he realized there were two types in this bunch, one straggly looking stalk that really did look like a weed, and a healthy bunch of thick leaves. He took one of each and carried them inside and upstairs to Emilia’s secretary/maid. Bessie looked up from her work with surprise, then rose hesitantly.

  Dare waved her back to her seat and presented her with the leaves. “Arthur handed these to me, said something that sounded liked dinbernt, and ordered me to give them to Emilia. What am I supposed to do with them?”

  Bessie studied them, then paged through the drawings of the new pharmacopeia. “I am no expert but they look fairly common. I’m sure Lady Dare will know immediately. I know greens can be dried, but I really know nothing of the process. Perhaps you could simply lay them on her workbench?”

  Dare studied the weeds with interest. “They can be dried? Of course, that is one way to mix them in elixirs. Interesting.”

  He studied the shelves of herbals in the office until he found one that sounded as if it might teach him the techniques of drying. Whistling—he could whistle now at least—he carried the book out to his workshop.

  Emilia found him bent over his bench when she came home. He knew the instant she entered. Her lavender scent gave her away, but so did her. . . Dare sought a word as he finished up what he was doing. His wife simply had a presence to which he was attuned.

  Setting down his pen, he took her in his arms and pressed kisses down her cheek and throat until she giggled. Apparently, their earlier argument had been satisfactorily resolved.

  “I have never known peppermint to cause arousal,” she said breathlessly. “And what else is that you have there? Ginger leaves? How did you find ginger out here and why would you cut the leaves?” She broke from his hold to examine his workbench.

  He chuckled, not insulted that her curiosity won over his lust. He knew he wouldn’t be neglected once they were in their chambers.

  He poked the weeds he’d spread out on a piece of tin over a lamp. “Your gardener handed these leaves to me and called them what sounded like dinbernt. I assumed there was more where these came from, so I’ve been trying drying techniques.”

  “Dinbernt? Zingiber is the genus name for ginger, although I don’t know how he would know that. Perhaps Grandfather used the name and Mr. Arthur is combining the names of ginger and mint? The combination makes a soothing tea. He may be trying to help you.

  “But if there is ginger here somewhere. . .” She looked up with excitement. “Would ginger grow in a hot spring? Or perhaps he has potted them and brings them in for the winter. But it is the rhizomes of ginger that I need, not the leaves.”

  “He came out of the garden carrying them is all I know. What is so valuable about ginger?”

  “It is almost the perfect medicinal plant! It will be excellent for your damaged gut and for Bridey’s morning sickness. It’s shown some promise for inflammation from arthritis and other uses. It might even help prevent diseases like diabetes.” She headed for the door. “But it’s a tropical plant. I cannot imagine how he can be growing it.”

  Dare followed her. “How can you be certain it is ginger? It looks like any weed to me.”

  “Anything green looks like a weed to you. It is a good thing you have a cook or you would starve. I cannot be positive it is ginger until I have the root, but this looks like the specimens I have seen in drawings and the one plant I’ve seen in a botanical house. I cannot imagine it surviving in a kitchen garden.”

  The gate creaked as they entered the furrowed plot. Debris and weeds had been removed this past week, and neat rows prom
ised vegetables in the future. Dare located the rounded leaves of the plant she’d called peppermint in a concrete box in a far corner. Even he was aware that peppermint was used for digestives. Arthur was trying to quack him too? Did that mean the old man accepted him? And why should he care?

  Emilia surveyed the garden like a general preparing for war. “There.” She marched toward a corner nearly concealed by what Dare thought might be a grapevine. Beneath the arbor, hidden among the leaves, was an old tin pail with a few tall stalks that appeared to be on their deathbeds.

  Emilia cooed over them as if they were precious jewels, then dug into the dirt. “They won’t be ready to harvest for a month or so, but I really need to see. . .” She produced a broken piece of misshapen root and glowed as if she’d been given riches. “Ginger! We have our own ginger! I really must speak with Mr. Arthur. Do we have any notion where he resides?”

  “I have been wondering the same. He must have a burrow, like a rabbit. I don’t suppose ginger is something we can sell for a profit?”

  She granted him a look of disdain, which turned thoughtful. “I cannot imagine we can grow much of it. It will not survive the winter where it is now. It’s usually imported, which makes it valuable. But if the hot springs could heat a small nursery. . .” Her voice trailed off as she considered it.

  “There might be money in an herb crop?” he asked, knowing she had never considered how money was made.

  “I truly cannot say,” she replied in bewilderment. “All I have ever done is buy the more exotic herbs and roots from apothecaries, but they must obtain them somewhere. Do you think Mr. Arthur is suggesting we can save the hot springs garden by selling exotic plants?”

  He did not have the years left necessary for learning a new trade. With a grimace, Dare offered his hand to help her up. “Let us wash and prepare ourselves for dinner. Perhaps I need to be teaching you how to survive in trade instead of how to distill arsenic.”

  “Ladies do not deal in trade,” she asserted.

  “Call it agriculture,” he said. “Even dukes buy and sell cattle and grain.”

  “Their stewards and estate managers handle it,” she informed him loftily, but he could tell by her tone that she was interested.

  “Remember what Pascoe said, if it comes down to a lawsuit to save your land, we will need plump pockets. Your father is no longer responsible for you. I am. And when I’m gone, you must look after yourself. It’s time you gain a little practical experience.”

  The look she sent him was so sad, it nearly broke his heart, and he was the damned one dying.

  Chapter 18

  A few days later, Emilia proudly stored the last of her draft pages in the box under the infirmary counter. “It is done,” she told Bridey with satisfaction. “Have you heard from the duke?”

  Bridey beamed. “He is most eager to see your book. But Pascoe says we cannot go alone, and he and Dare are all wrapped up in the railroad business. Has Dare given any indication how the negotiations are going?”

  “Lord Erran has sent the documents to Dare’s investors for approval. I think the next step is dealing with the northern railroad with which they wish to connect. Have you seen any more trespassing surveyors lately?” Behind the counter, where she could reach the wall of shelves that had been added just for her, Emilia pressed her pestle into her mortar to grind the peppermint Dare had dried so quickly. The sweet scent of mint filled the small office.

  “Will is training the deerhounds to be guard dogs, so he’s patrolling the back fields. He says he’s seen no sign of trespassers. With any luck, our worries were for naught. And your lovely ginger has worked wonders with my morning sickness! Have you determined where your gardener is growing it?” At the desk by the door, Bridey signed her name to a document Tess presented her.

  “I cannot find my gardener,” Emilia said in frustration. “I’ve asked all the servants, and they claim not to know where he lives. I’ve studied the hot spring, and there are several places where ginger might be kept warm in winter. So I’ve decided that once the rhizomes are ready for dividing, I will experiment with planting them in pots and carrying them down there. It’s the only thing close to tropical anywhere around, although a glass enclosure would be ideal.”

  “Once your book starts making money, perhaps you can build one!”

  “I doubt my entrepreneurial ability,” Emilia admitted. “I need Dare for that. I would rather look for cures for consumption.” Thinking of the dynamic man who had so much to offer the world, she prayed his disease was in remission. Perhaps miracles happened and someone would find a cure soon.

  Bridey gave her a sympathetic squeeze that only caused warning prickles. Of course, other than being enceinte, Bridey was quite healthy. “I think you are prolonging his life with your gift. He could have many, many more years.”

  Emilia fought a weepy smile and simply turned back to her grinding. She’d left Dare enthusiastically working on some new process for detecting arsenic. She had no notion what one did with such information but she was certain he would. She had ordered him to leave the door and windows open so he’d at least be breathing fresh air.

  “Would you mind reading through my instruction manual while I talk to the workmen?” Bridey placed a stack of loose pages on the counter. “I know you’ve never assisted in childbirth, but the women who will be reading the manual will most likely not have much instruction either. You can tell me if I need to simplify more.”

  Emilia nodded. “Of course. Just leave them there. I’ll finish this up and take the manual home with me to study.”

  After Bridey bustled off, Emilia tried to find the stillness she usually experienced when she was working with her herbs. She often used the steady beat of the mortar as a form of meditation, where she sought new ideas or perfected old ones. But somehow, she couldn’t find that tranquility now.

  Perhaps it was her uneasiness over Dare’s health. She knew better than to weep over what couldn’t be changed.

  Even the scritch-scratch of Tess’s pen irritated. Tess was silent, but she seemed permanently tense. She wrote each word as if it were her last.

  Unable to make the kind of casual small talk that might draw out the girl, Emilia finished crushing the mint and poured it into the container she’d brought for it. She had the gig. She’d go home and read the manual and try to restore her strangely rattled nerves.

  She turned off the counter lamp, leaving just Tess’s desk lamp for illumination. Since the room was little more than a nun’s cell, it had no windows, only the door to provide light, which was fine for storing herbs. She crouched down behind the counter to gather her gloves, umbrella, and the basket she used for transporting her plants. Deciding to add Bridey’s manual pages to the basket, she reached to pick them up, but managed to drop them all over the floor. With the light off, she was literally in the dark as she scrambled about on her knees hunting for pages scattering in the breeze from the open door.

  A shadow darkened the chamber even more, and Emilia froze.

  “So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” a male voice said in such detached tones that her blood curdled. “Your father sent me to fetch you and the book.”

  A chair scraped. Skirts rustled. Emilia was torn between listening and letting the intruder know she was present.

  “Crenshaw,” Tess whispered in what sounded like fear.

  Crenshaw? Emilia chose to stay hidden. This was not the gouty old Crenshaw she’d met. This man sounded young, and from the shadow blocking the door, he wasn’t small or crippled.

  “Come along with you, then. I don’t have time to waste. Where’s the book you told your father about?” The shadow entered the small interior, allowing daylight to filter in again.

  Emilia tried to make herself smaller behind the counter. What book? Had Tess told her father about the pharmacopeia?

  “It’s gone,” Tess said in a wavering voice. “They took it to the duke.”

  Definitely the pharmacopeia. Why on earth. . . ?<
br />
  “You’re lying. You always look at your feet when you lie. Where is it?”

  The smack of a hard hand against soft flesh and Tess’s cry had Emilia scrambling about, looking for a weapon. If only she could reach the bell pull. . .

  Tess wept while Crenshaw slammed the cabinet doors under the counter. The book box was the only thing under there. He couldn’t miss it. With nothing else to use, Emilia grabbed her basket, stood up, and swung it hard at the head of the man just standing up, her precious book box in his arms.

  “Pull the bell, Tess, pull the bell!” she shouted as she beat the man soundly with braided straw.

  Understandably, he was more startled than harmed. He grabbed the basket and flung it against her wall of shelves, sending jars crashing to the stone floor.

  Tess yanked on the cord so hard they could hear the bell ringing in the kitchen.

  Crenshaw grabbed Tess’s arm and tugged her toward the door. “Your pa said to bring you home with the book. I’ve got the book. Now come along before you stir up them dogs.”

  Outraged at the audacity, Emilia leaped at his broad back. The man was built like a stone monolith. She couldn’t find purchase but wrapped one arm around his neck and yanked at his hair. He dropped Tess long enough to swing his elbow backward, knocking Emilia off like an annoying pest. Free from his hold, Tess stomped his boots and kicked at his shins while wrestling for the box, but he was just too big. He shoved her aside.

  “Hell, if you don’t want to go, I don’t want you anyway. I’ve had juicier pieces than you. But this book will keep these nobles in their places, not interfering with us that earn our way.”

  Terrified that he would escape, Emilia screamed and grabbed his arm, trying to force him to release her box. “That’s valuable only to me, you oaf!”