by Sarah Penner
“Hi,” she said upon seeing me. “What’s going on? Are you all right? Is your husband okay?”
“Why don’t you have a seat with us,” the lead officer stated.
He motioned to an extra chair, and Gaynor lowered herself into it, clutching her purse closely to her side. Her eyes fell on my notebook, but it was far enough across the table that I thought it unlikely she could read anything on its pages.
“We were about to bring Ms. Parcewell to the station for further questioning,” the officer explained, “regarding a harmful substance her husband ingested earlier today, and some unusual notes we found in her notebook, possibly related to the incident.”
I shook my head, my courage strengthened now that Gaynor sat close to me. “No, not related, as I said.”
Gaynor moved her hand toward me, as though reaching for my own—whether to comfort herself or me, I wasn’t sure.
The officer leaned toward Gaynor, his hot, tobacco-tainted breath wafting across the table. “Ms. Parcewell said you may be able to explain some things for us.” At this, Gaynor’s demeanor changed in an instant; whereas a moment ago, she seemed to pity me, now her shoulders stiffened defensively. “We understand you work at the British Library?”
Gaynor’s eyes darted at me. “What does this have to do with my job?”
At once, remorse wrapped around my throat. I’d asked Gaynor to come to the hospital because I needed help—I needed saving. Now I realized the foolishness in it; I’d dragged someone else into my mess. God forbid Gaynor thought I tricked her into this. She hadn’t done a single thing wrong, and yet now I’d maneuvered her into sitting next to me as I was questioned by two police officers.
I took a deep breath. “They don’t believe I’ve been researching the apothecary. That’s why I told them you worked at the library.” I then faced the lead officer. “I’ve been to the library twice. I’ve looked through maps, I looked online...” I purposely said I, not we, because I meant to remove Gaynor from this—to place as much distance between her and my mess as I possibly could.
I exhaled as a clock on the wall ticked forward, another minute passed. Another minute stuck here, trying to explain myself, while James fought for his life. “These officers,” I said to Gaynor, “seem to think I’m somehow involved in my husband’s illness. He came down with a cold today, and I suggested he use a bit of eucalyptus oil. He was supposed to rub it into his chest, his skin, but he actually ingested it. Unfortunately, it’s highly toxic.” I eyed my notebook warily, wishing it would dissolve into thin air—wishing, in many ways, I hadn’t found the vial or learned about the apothecary at all.
I placed my hands on the table in front of me, ready to ask Gaynor what I needed of her. “The medics found my research notes and called the police. Can you please assure these men that you do work at the library, and that I’ve been twice to research the apothecary? That this isn’t just some lie I’ve made up on the spot?”
For a moment, Gaynor’s reaction put me at ease. I watched it unfold, her slow understanding of the coincidence, the terrible timing of it all. The fluorescent light above us continued to flicker as we all waited for Gaynor to speak. Perhaps she would come to my defense without asking anything about the research notes—without reading the notebook at all. Then, I wouldn’t have to explain the omission to her.
Gaynor took a breath to speak, but before she could say anything, the officer across from us placed his hand on my notebook and—to my horror—spun it around to face her.
I wanted to lunge across the table, throw the notebook aside and strangle him. He knew Gaynor had nearly come to my defense; he could see it as well as I could, and he’d saved his final trick for the eleventh hour.
There was nothing to do now but accept the inevitable. I watched carefully as Gaynor’s eyes flicked left and right on the page. This was it: the truth, at last, coming to light. The names of obscure poisons, copied from the apothecary’s register; random dates and names scribbled in the margins of the page, none of which Gaynor and I had researched together at the library; and, of course, the most incriminating line of all: Quantities of non-poisons needed to kill.
This was, I knew, the beginning of the end for our friendship. Gaynor would deny helping me with this level of research; any sane person would. Her confusion would only throw further doubt on my story in the eyes of the police, and that would be the end of it for me. I sat motionless, awaiting the cold, hard metal that would soon snap around my wrists.
Gaynor took a long, shaky breath and gazed at me, as though she meant to communicate something with just her eyes. But my own were welling quickly with tears, and my remorse was such that I almost wanted to be taken away in handcuffs. I wanted out of this goddamned room, away from the disappointed faces of these officers and my new friend.
Gaynor reached into her bag. “Yes, I can validate all of this research.” She pulled out her wallet, then withdrew a card. Handing it to one of the officers, she said, “Here’s my employee card. I can confirm that Caroline’s been to the library twice in recent days to research the apothecary, and I can request the camera footage if it’s needed for your investigation.”
I could hardly believe it. Gaynor had come to my defense, even after surely understanding there was something I hadn’t yet told her. I gaped at her, my body going limp in the chair. But I couldn’t offer an explanation yet, or even say thank you. That, by itself, would seem suspicious.
The officer at the table ran his thumb over Gaynor’s employee card as though checking the expiration and validity of it. Satisfied, he tossed it onto the table, where it slid several inches. Something buzzed in his pocket, and he withdrew a cell phone.
“Yes?” he said tersely into the device. I could hear a woman’s faint voice on the other end of the line, and the officer’s face hardened. I braced myself for news as he hung up the phone. “Mr. Parcewell would like to see you,” he said, standing from the chair. “We’ll show you to his room.”
“H-he’s okay then?” I stammered.
Gaynor reached again for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I wouldn’t say that quite yet,” the officer replied, “but he’s fully conscious, at least.”
With Gaynor remaining in the room behind us, the officers ushered me out, one with his hand near my lower back. I stiffened, saying, “I can find James’s room myself, thanks.”
He smirked. “Not a chance. We’re not quite finished yet.”
I paused. This did nothing to ease my worry about an impending arrest. What had the nurse told the officer on the phone? Whatever it was, he felt he needed to accompany me.
As we made our way down the hospital corridor, silent other than the heavy stomping of the officers’ boots, my spirits remained low. James’s room was just ahead, and it was with a sense of dread that I awaited what he meant to say to me—and the officers flanking my sides.
29
Eliza
February 11, 1791
My legs began to burn soon after leaving the alley, and my left foot started to blister, the swollen skin rubbing against my worn shoe with each stride. I gasped for air and a sharp pain, like an ice pick, left me clutching my rib cage. Everything in my body begged me to stop, stop.
The constables were twenty strides from us now, perhaps less. How had they found us? Had they followed me from Lady Clarence’s estate, even though I took a winding, complicated route? There were only two of them; the third constable must have stayed behind, or perhaps he could not keep up. They chased after us, this pair of wolves, like we were rabbits—their supper.
Where was the wolfsbane now?
But we stayed ahead of them. We did not carry rings of iron on our uniform or have stomachs heavy with ale. And even in her weakened state, Nella was faster than the constables. As they pursued us, the distance grew greater by three, five, six strides.
With the instinct of prey,
I motioned for Nella to follow as I made a sharp turn left onto a small alley. We raced to the very back—the constables having not yet come around the corner to see where we’d gone—and found ourselves at a cobbled walking path leading to another alley. I grabbed Nella’s hand and pulled her forward. She winced at some pain, but I ignored it. There was no room for pity in my fear-stricken heart.
I wanted desperately to look behind us, to see if the constables had turned onto the alley and were quick on our heels, but I resisted. Forward, forward. A stinging sensation crawled across my collarbone. Not slowing my steps, I glanced down, expecting to see a bee or some other biting insect. Instead, it was one of the vials pressing uncomfortably against my skin as I ran, as if I needed a reminder that the minutes were passing too slowly, and it was not yet time for the tincture.
Ahead, situated behind a carriage house, I spotted a stable: dark, covered, with several haystacks forming a boulder that stood twice as tall as me. I aimed straight for it, still urging Nella along, but her grimace told me that she was in real pain. Her face, which a moment ago was a beating, angry red, had gone pale.
Nella and I passed by the carriage house and slithered through a wooden gate leading to the stables. There was a horse in the center stall and he exhaled nervously at our approach, as though sensing danger. We made our way to the stall at the far left, halfway hidden by the carriage house.
Here, at last, Nella and I crumbled to the ground, which was covered mostly in remnants of loose hay. It felt like being back in Swindon again, inside the stables where I used to fall asleep instead of doing my chores. I avoided a spot toward the center with a pile of horse dung, but Nella paid no attention to where she sat.
“You are well?” I asked between my own desperate breaths.
She nodded her head weakly.
Crouching down to seek out an opening in the wall where I could peek out, I found a penny-size hole so close to the ground that I had to kick aside a pile of soiled hay and lie on my belly. Peering through the hole, I was relieved to see nothing awry. No officers searched the area, no dogs sniffed the scent of a newcomer, there was not so much as a stable attendant doing chores.
But I was not so naive to believe we were out of harm’s way, so I held my position on the damp ground. For the next few minutes, I alternated between deeply inhaling in order to catch my breath, checking the peephole for any movement outside and glancing at Nella, who remained very still and had not spoken a word to me since we left the shop.
As I lay there and watched her slowing breath and the way she brushed an unruly curl from her face, I remembered the very moment that brought us to this one, the night we slept in another stable after beetle-hunting. That was the night that Nella had revealed so much to me: her love for Frederick, his betrayal of her and everything that led her to live a life as a poisoner of brothers, husbands, masters, sons.
Peeking out again, movement caught my eye. Given the tiny hole through which I looked, I tried to move my eye around the narrow field of vision, to little avail. I waited, my heart thundering in my chest.
“They may find us yet, Eliza,” came a hoarse whisper behind me. I winced at the strain in Nella’s voice. “If they do, you must deny knowing me. You must deny ever setting foot into my shop. Do you understand? This is not yours to face. Say that I threatened you, forced you into this stable, and—”
“Shhh,” I hushed her. My God, she looked weak—the resin drops were fading fast. And ahead, near the carriage house, a small gathering had formed. I could not make out everyone in attendance, but several young men chatted animatedly and waved their hands, pointing around the edges of the stables where we now waited with bated breath. Given my position on my belly, my arms bore most of my weight and began to shake, but I could not release the weight without also pulling my eye from the peephole.
If the men searched the stables, they would find us within seconds. I looked to the back of the stable; the walls were roughly a meter and a half high, and I felt confident that I could scale it and escape from the back if necessary. Though a touch of color had returned to her face, I was not so confident about Nella. I could escape now if I wanted and leave her to be caught alone. But I brought her into this, and I must now try to fix my wrongdoing.
“Nella,” I said to her, my voice a mere whisper, “we must escape over the back wall there. Do you have the strength?” Without answering, she began to lift herself from the ground. “Wait,” I said, “stay low. There are people just by the carriage house.”
She must not have heard me, for she began to crawl up the wall. Before I could stop her, she lifted herself over it and collapsed onto to the other side, then she began to run as best she could.
I heard a man yell from behind us, and I was at once furious with Nella for her recklessness, which had drawn the attention of the men. Without looking behind me, I scaled the wall easily, landed on two feet and ran after Nella, who was already several strides ahead of me. She hurried south down a short pathway between two houses, limping all the while, and ahead I saw the cool, glimmering, dark River Thames. She was heading straight for it.
Unlike a few moments ago when I pulled her along, there seemed now a renewed strength in Nella, some primal fear, and it was me who followed her. The river drew closer, closer, and when she turned onto Water Street, I believed her to be making her way to Blackfriars Bridge.
“No!” I yelled at her as she skirted the shadowy edge of a building. “We will be in clear view!” I had not the breath to explain my logic, but with the men a short distance behind us, I knew that our chances of escape were best if we remained hidden by shadows and alleys. Perhaps we could find an unlocked door to run into; London was big enough to aid many a criminal in escape, as Nella well knew from a lifetime of secrecy. “Nella,” I said, a cramp suddenly seizing my side, “it is too open, like being onstage.”
Ignoring me, she drew near Blackfriars Bridge, which swarmed with children, families and couples walking hand in hand. Had Nella lost her mind altogether? Surely some bold man would see the constables chasing us and take it upon himself to stop us, overpower us with his strength. Had Nella thought of none of this? She kept running, running, not looking back.
Where was it that she meant to go? What was it that she meant to do?
Near the center of the bridge, a clock tower seized my attention. I squinted, looking at the tip of the small hand; it was ten minutes after two. Seventy minutes! Enough time had passed; the tincture was ready.
I turned my head back to see that, indeed, the officers had followed us onto the bridge. I reached into the bodice of my gown, my fingers wrapping around the two smooth vials near my breast. I’d prepared two vials in case one slipped from my dress, but I realized this decision had been wise for another reason: both Nella and I now found ourselves in a desperate position.
In my effort to carefully remove the first vial from my gown, I failed to notice that Nella had come to a complete stop in the middle of the bridge, chest heaving, her hands on the railing. I slowed, now just inches behind her. Dozens of people dressed in black and gray moved all around us, unaware.
Capture was imminent. I gave the officers fifteen, maybe twenty seconds before they were upon us.
I uncorked the pale blue vial. “Take this,” I pleaded, handing it to Nella. “It will fix everything.” I wished for the spell to give her wise words to say to the constables or form lies on her tongue; any kind of powerful magick, like that which had brought breath back to Tom Pepper’s lungs when he was an infant.
Nella looked to see what was in my hand. At seeing the vial, she showed no surprise. Perhaps she suspected I hadn’t really been making hot brews when she went off to the market; perhaps she knew, all along, that they were a disguise.
Her shoulders trembled violently. “We must part now,” she said. “Go into the crowd, little Eliza, and disappear like you’re one of them. Run,” she breathed, “an
d let the men follow me into the river.”
Into the river?
All this time, I had wondered why she made her way straight to the Thames. But how could I not have seen it? I understood, now, exactly what she meant to do.
The constables grew nearer, fighting against the mass of people around us, pushing them aside. One of the men was close, only seconds from us; I could see the chapped skin of his lips and the angry scar on his left cheek, which I recognized instantly. He was one of the constables I had seen at Lady Clarence’s.
He pushed toward us, staring directly at me, and the look of vengeance in his eyes said, This is where it ends.
30
Caroline
Present day, Wednesday
As the two officers and I approached the closed door to James’s hospital room, the charge nurse—sifting through paperwork posted outside of the door—informed us that his condition had stabilized. They were arranging to move him out of the critical care unit, but James had insisted on seeing me first.
I slowly opened the door, unsure what would greet me on the other side, and the officers followed me in. I exhaled as I spotted James, tired-looking but with color in his face, propped against several pillows in the hospital bed. But if I looked surprised at his improved condition, it must have been nothing compared to his own look of astonishment when he noticed the uniformed men following close behind me.
“Um, is there an issue?” He looked at the nearest officer.
“They think I poisoned you,” I said before the officer could reply. I walked to the edge of the hospital bed and leaned a hip against it. “Especially since you told the medics we’re having marriage issues.” I scanned the IV drips hooked to his arm, the gauze keeping the needles in place. “Did you not see the warning label on the side of the bottle? Why on earth did you drink it?”
