by C. J. Archer
I looked to Matt to see if he wanted to take over questioning, but he gave his head half a shake, which I took to mean he wanted me to continue. "You knew Dr. Hale personally, since he was an apothecary before he became a physician," I said.
Mr. Oakshot nodded. "He was a good apothecary, so when he gave it all up to become a doctor, I was surprised."
"How good was he?"
His back stiffened. "One of the best in London. Why?"
"There are strange rumors about him."
"What kind of rumors?"
"The journalist who reported on the medical miracle he recently performed implied he was a magician."
Mr. Oakshot's eyes briefly flared, and his gaze flicked to Matt then back to me. He swallowed heavily. "You've been reading too many fairytales, Miss Steele. There's no such thing as magic. Those rumors are the product of fertile minds trying to sell more newspapers."
"You think the journalist made it up?"
"What other explanation is there for such nonsense? Dr. Hale was a great apothecary who gave up his business to become a doctor. Like me, he got to be great through hard work and a talent for chemistry. There's no secret to success, Miss Steele. No magic."
"Thank you for confirming that," I said. There was no point in pressing him further. Unlike Mr. Pitt, Mr. Oakshot would not admit the existence of magic to us. "Are you an active member of the Apothecary's Guild?" I asked instead.
"I'm on the Court of Assistants."
The Court of Assistants was the inner sanctum of any guild. Its members awarded prizes, issued pensions to infirm members or widows, and oversaw guild finances and memberships. If someone in the Apothecary's Guild knew Dr. Hale was a magician, then Mr. Oakshot would likely also know. I was quite sure someone at the guild knew—or at least suspected.
His elevated position in the guild settled it for me—I would not tell him that I was magical, or that we even knew that Dr. Hale was poisoned by magic-infused medicine. The risk was too great.
But what about Mr. Oakshot himself? Was he a magician, as Mr. Pitt implied, and had managed to keep it a secret from the rest of the guild members?
I glanced around the office. Glasses and a decanter sat on the sideboard and a tall bookcase held herbal books, not medicines as Pitt's apothecary's shop did. What appeared to be a recipe book lay open on the desk with a mortar and pestle beside it and a collection of dark red berries, seeds and roots in a bowl. I counted only five bottles and three pots on the desk, all with the distinctive Oakshot labels of a leafy oak tree. Why did he have them in here and not on the factory floor? Had he been placing spells on their contents? Or on the raw ingredients?
"May I?" I asked, picking up a bottle of stomach bitters and removing the cork stopper. "Juniper?"
"Among other things." He closed the recipe book and glanced at Matt behind me.
I replaced the stopper and picked up another bottle to smell it too. Like the first, I sensed no magical warmth.
Mr. Oakshot watched me intently, a frown striking across his forehead. He looked as if he would ask me what I was doing when I reached for the third bottle, but Matt distracted him.
"Do you go down to the factory floor yourself?" Matt asked.
"Occasionally, but my presence is largely unnecessary," Mr. Oakshot said. "My foreman oversees the work. I remain up here, managing the orders as well as creating new medicines, from time to time."
"You still keep your hand in, even after building this empire?" Matt indicated the window and the factory below.
"It may be an empire in England, Mr. Glass, but I haven't yet conquered the rest of the world. My wife and I planned to establish a factory on the continent." He trailed his fingers across the polished wooden surface of the desk. "All that has been put on hold, now. It may never happen."
"Why not? You're still young, and think of what you would leave to your children."
Mr. Oakshot sighed. "I simply don't have the energy at the moment."
"Perhaps one day."
"Perhaps."
I picked up the last pot and made a show of smelling the greyish cream inside. It was not warm.
"I have to ask another question about Dr. Hale," Matt said quietly. He waited until Mr. Oakshot nodded before continuing. "Where were you the day he died?"
"I've told the police this already," Mr. Oakshot said. "I was here. My foreman can vouch for me."
"All day?"
"I stepped out briefly to go home and see that my children were well cared for. I went nowhere near the hospital. I'd said my piece to Hale and wanted to avoid that place and him."
"Did you know he was poisoned?" Matt asked.
"I read it in this morning's newspaper. The poison was most likely in the bottle of Cure-All that he kept in his desk." He humphed a humorless laugh. "I find that particularly satisfying."
"Why?"
"Because his Cure-All outsold mine ever since it came onto the market. Its enormous sales have profited both Hale and Pitt. But just today, orders of my Cure-All rose dramatically. I suspect the trend to continue as pharmacies around the country find they can't give away Dr. Hale's Cure-All anymore." His eyes gleamed and the twist of his lips made me shiver. "As I said, it's very satisfying."
"Because you believe it's revenge for your wife's death," Matt said.
"Not entirely. Dr. Hale's own death extinguished my anger toward him for my wife's. The satisfaction I speak of is not personal, it's business. My Cure-All used to be the top selling medicine until his went on the market. I've been trying to claw back my share ever since, but to no avail. His Cure-All became more and more popular. Until today. Today, I win."
There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone and the undercurrent of deep satisfaction too. He had every reason to want Dr. Hale dead, both personally and professionally. He had just rocketed to the top of my list of suspects.
I returned the last pot to the desk. "You said his Cure-All. Mr. Pitt claims he created it, and that Dr. Hale simply lent his name to it. You don't believe that?"
He sat at his desk and made a great show of rearranging things. "I wouldn't know. Those two kept to themselves. They never told anyone what was in their Cure-All."
"Dr. Hale was no longer a member of the Apothecary's Guild," Matt said. "Is Mr. Pitt an active member?"
"Yes. He only goes to the hall when it's compulsory. He doesn't join us for dinners or meetings. Now, unless you have any more questions directly related to Dr. Hale's death, I'll have to ask you to leave. I'm very busy."
"Thank you," Matt said. "You've been very helpful."
Mr. Oakshot sat back and clasped his hands over his stomach. "I'm sorry about before. I was…overset."
"We understand," I said.
"What will you do if you discover who murdered him?"
"Tell the police," Matt said.
"I hope I get to shake the killer's hand before he hangs."
I hurried out with Matt, Mr. Oakshot's macabre words ringing in my ears. "I know he's grieving, but there's something sinister about his reaction to Hale's death," I said as Matt assisted me into the carriage.
He folded up the step and directed Bryce to drive us home. "We should allow him some liberties," Matt said, settling opposite me. "It seems as though he loved his wife very much. I think I'd be just as angry toward Hale if his incompetence led to the death of someone I loved."
I watched him closely and he regarded me levelly in turn, as if daring me to challenge his opinion. "Would you kill him, though?"
"For incompetence? No."
But would Matt kill a man who'd deliberately murdered his loved one? "If Mr. Oakshot is a magician, he hides it very well. There was no warmth in the bottles on his desk."
"He might have infused other medicines with magic, just not those," he said.
"The workmen on the factory floor would wonder why he removed bottles to his office."
"Not if he did it after they'd all departed for the day."
He had a point and I conceded it wi
th a nod. "We can't dismiss him, but I can't imagine he'd be on the Court of Assistants for the guild if he was magical."
"It could be the perfect place to hide, right there in plain sight. I've done it before, many times."
"You have? How intriguing. Tell me more."
He smiled. "You have a thirst for knowledge about my past."
"That's because you've told me so little. Any information I can get is a little piece of the puzzle I didn't have before."
"So I'm a puzzle, now."
"You always have been, Matt, and you know it."
He tipped his head back and laughed. "And here I thought you had my measure. You seem to know what I'm thinking, most of the time. So what is it you want to know?"
"Tell me about hiding in plain sight, for starters. Was it when you were an outlaw in your grandfather's gang or after you left and began working for the law?"
"Both. There's not much to tell. When the lawmen came looking for us, I pretended to be an innocent bystander and gave them directions to my grandfather's men—in the opposite direction to where they'd actually gone. And later, when I worked on the right side of the law, I would pretend to be my grandfather's lackey to dupe the outlaws he associated with. It worked for a time, until word got out. After that, I had to lay low. I kept my distance from my grandfather and his posse."
"Was that when you became friends with Duke and Cyclops?"
He nodded. "Duke had been Willie's friend for a long time, and he became mine too while she harbored me. I met Cyclops one night when we were both sleeping rough." He smiled. "I came across his camp, but it appeared to be vacated so I helped myself to the food left behind. Little did I know that he'd heard me coming and had hidden so he could ambush me."
"And did he ambush you?"
"Yes. He tried to kill me, but I managed to explain that I wasn't his enemy before he beat me senseless."
"You talked him out of attacking you? Why am I not surprised?"
"Only after I got in a few good punches of my own, thank you. He didn't completely overpower me, although it wasn't easy. We fought for so long we both reached the point of exhaustion and we simply couldn't go on. So it was a win by mutual surrender. It was several minutes before I'd regained my breath enough to talk to him."
Despite his somewhat whimsical retelling, I suspected it had been a frightening time. Cyclops was a giant. Matt may have a more athletic frame, but if Cyclops had him in his grasp, it would be difficult to get out.
We arrived home and Matt retired to his rooms once Duke reassured him that the bottle had been returned to the hospital without anyone getting caught. They'd paid a nurse to say she'd come across it among the linen. Matt left it to me to tell them how our interviews had gone and to field their questions. All discussion came to an abrupt end when Miss Glass entered the sitting room. Bristow and the footman, a blond youth named Peter, followed her, carrying trays.
"A light luncheon," Miss Glass announced. "I don't wish to spoil my appetite for this evening."
"This evening?" we all echoed.
"My dinner party." She looked to me. "Did I not mention it?"
"No," Willie grumbled. "You did not. Does that mean we got to be prisoners in our own rooms so your guests don't see us?"
Miss Glass plucked a sandwich off the platter. "Thank you, Bristow, that will be all. Be sure and see that the Spode is ready for tonight."
"Mr. Glass doesn't have Spode, ma'am," the butler intoned.
"No Spode?" She clicked her tongue. "That will have to change. India, make a note to purchase a set of Spode for Matthew."
I blinked slowly. "I'll add it to my list of tasks for when this investigation is complete." What more could I say? I supposed, as his assistant, it was my job to buy him a set of Spode. Or was I a partner now? And what did that even mean?
"Do your best, Bristow. No Spode," Miss Glass said on a sigh as the butler and footman left. "What is the world coming to?"
Willie picked up a sandwich and pulled the layers of bread apart to inspect the filling. "What in God's name is so special about Spode?"
"You wouldn't understand the need for fine china, Willie."
Willie pulled out the slice of cucumber in her sandwich, opened her mouth, and dropped the slice in. "You're right there," she said, munching. "China breaks too easy. Tin, now, that'll last an age. It even looks better with a few dents."
Miss Glass wrinkled her nose. "You'd better not ruin dinner for Matthew," she warned. "I worked tirelessly to insure Lady Abbington could come tonight. There have been a flurry of letters back and forth."
"Lady Abbington," I echoed dully. "But she was just here for tea only yesterday."
"Matthew didn't speak to her much, thanks to Mrs. Haviland's excessive chatter. I haven't invited the Havilands this time, so he can talk to Lady Abbington as much as he likes."
"You're inviting Lady Abbington on her own?"
"Nonsense. That would be odd. I've invited Richard, Beatrice and their daughters."
"Lord and Lady Rycroft! But I thought you didn't want Matt to marry any of their girls."
"Matt ain't going to like it," Willie sang.
Either Miss Glass didn't hear her or she chose to ignore her. "Lady Abbington is an elegant, serene woman and full of spirit. Next to her, my nieces will seem plain and witless."
"They don't need to be in the same room for that," Willie said.
"Not to you and me, Willemina, but Matthew is different. He's a man."
Duke and Cyclops exchanged glances. They looked as if they'd rather be elsewhere.
"Matt ain't interested in the Glass girls." Willie glanced at me, her mouth stretched into a thin line. "And you know it, Letty."
"It's best to be safe rather than sorry. I have a theory." Miss Glass glanced at the door and leaned forward. "The more Matthew sees them, the sooner he'll reach the same conclusion that we all have. They're horrid girls without a brain between them."
"Hope seems smart," Duke chimed in. "And nice."
Miss Glass and Willie glared at him. I may have, too. He appealed to Cyclops. Cyclops bit into his sandwich and studied the floor.
"Is that all?" I asked. "Or will there be other guests?"
"Four more," Miss Glass muttered into her sandwich.
"More eligible girls?" Willie asked with a laugh. "Poor Matt. He's under siege."
"Two women and two men. The women are not eligible as far as Matthew's concerned."
Willie rolled her eyes at me and smiled. "They beneath him?"
"One is not suitable, no." Miss Glass's gaze flicked to me then back to the platter of sandwiches. My chest tightened. "The other is his cousin."
"More goddamned cousins!" Willie shook her head. "This one been kept in the attic, eh?" She laughed so hard she snorted and choked on her sandwich. She coughed and wiped her sleeve over her mouth only to stop. Her laughter ceased. She stared at Miss Glass. "Oh, no, you don't, Letty. I ain't going to sit through some hoity toity dinner."
"I don't particularly like the idea either, but I've decided it's necessary."
"Why me?"
"It's not just you, Willie," I said. "Miss Glass mentioned four guests." I nodded at Duke and Cyclops.
Duke groaned. Willie burst out laughing. "Well, that's all good then. If I have to suffer then so do all of you."
"But I haven't got a dinner suit," Duke whined.
"Borrow one of Matthew's," Miss Glass said. "Cyclops?"
Cyclops held up his hands in surrender. "I have a suit. Thank you for including me, Miss Glass. I'm looking forward to my first English dinner party."
"Traitor," Willie muttered.
"Good man." Miss Glass touched her finger to the corner of her eye. "Do you have a patch in a color other than black? It would help if you looked less like a pirate."
"He can't not look frightening," Willie told her. "If the ladies get scared, that's their own silly fault for jumping to wrong conclusions without getting to know him first."
"I quite agre
e, but that's not why I asked. I'm concerned that Charity will like it a little too much. She thinks pirates are romantic and it wouldn't surprise me if she flirted with Cyclops."
"Don't want her running off with Cyclops and ruining the family reputation, eh?"
"It's not her or the Glass reputation I'm worried about. It's Cyclops. I do like you, Cyclops dear," she said to the big man. "I won't inflict one of my nieces on you if I can avoid it. Don't worry, you won't be seated next to her."
It was another two hours before Matt joined us. He finished the sandwiches while we informed him about the dinner arrangements. He refused to attend at first, until his aunt told him that we were all invited.
"All of them?" he asked, looking dubiously at Willie.
"All of them," Miss Glass said.
"Then I'll allow it, but in future, I need more warning."
Matt and I prepared to head out to the hospital to speak with Dr. Ritter and Dr. Wiley when a detective inspector from Scotland Yard called upon us. He was alone. If it weren't for this fact, I would have been concerned that he'd come to arrest Matt.
"May we speak, Mr. Glass?" Detective Inspector Brockwell asked.
"We can speak here," Matt said, indicating the entrance hall in which we stood.
"Somewhere more private." Brockwell looked past Matt to the main staircase where Duke stood, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. He looked as if he would bundle the detective out if he so much as even whispered the word arrest.
"The drawing room," Matt said. "Do you mind if my assistant, Miss Steele, joins us?"
"As you wish."
I placed Brockwell in his early-thirties, quite young for such an elevated position within the police force. He sat in an armchair and scratched one of his bushy sideburns. He waited until we were both seated before drawing in a deep breath and beginning.
"I've received a complaint about you, Mr. Glass." He enunciated each word with unhurried precision, so that the consonants had the effect of puncturing the sentence.
"A complaint about what?" Matt asked, not at all ruffled. "And from whom?"
"About your visit to a certain person involved in the Hale case. There's no need to name names."
"Speak with Commissioner Munro," Matt said. "I have his permission to investigate."
