by C. J. Archer
"Threaten me with what?"
Matt shrugged. "I'm sure he could find something that the newspapers would be interested to report on."
Dr. Ritter's lips pressed together so hard they turned white. "Get. Out!"
Matt steered me toward the door and we exited in a hurry.
"We didn't learn anything," I said, "but I do feel better. He ought to know the damage he has potentially caused by telling Mr. Oakshot about Dr. Hale's incompetence."
"I agree," Matt said. "Dr. Wiley!" he called as the doctor entered the corridor ahead. "May we have a word?"
Dr. Wiley glanced past us, then behind him. He looked as if he wanted to turn and walk off, but he remained. He even managed a tentative smile.
"It's Miss Steele and Mr. Glass, isn't it?" he said. "Are you here for medical reasons?"
"Nothing like that," Matt said. "We're helping the police with their investigation into Dr. Hale's death." Matt made it sound as if we were doing it officially. The changed tactic worked better than the previous one. Dr. Wiley didn't argue and nor did he try to escape.
"You want to question me further?" He grasped his clipboard to his chest. "Detective Inspector Brockwell has already questioned me thoroughly. I don't have anything more to add." A nurse bustled past and he watched her until she was out of earshot then he leaned toward us. "I had nothing to do with Hale's death. I'm not even convinced it was murder. He probably did it to himself."
"Why would he do that?" Matt asked.
"Out of guilt for his part in a patient's death, or shame for losing his job here. Or, if you are looking for someone else to blame, you should investigate the widower of that patient, a Mr. Oakshot. He was extremely aggressive toward Dr. Hale after his wife's death." He held up a finger. "I've just thought of another who was angry with Hale."
"Who?" I asked.
"A fellow by the name of Clark from the Apothecary's Guild."
I sucked in a breath. Murder and magic seemed to always lead to the guilds. "But Dr. Hale was no longer a part of that guild," I said. "He wasn't a practicing apothecary anymore."
"Nevertheless, Mr. Clark was here not long after you that day, as it happens. He spoke to Hale in his office and did not look at all happy when he came out. One of the nurses heard raised voices but couldn't hear the actual exchange."
"Was Dr. Hale seen alive after Mr. Clark left?"
Dr. Wiley nodded. "I spoke to him myself. We had to discuss his patients, you see, since I would take over many of them until a replacement could be employed. I told the police all this."
"And they will appreciate you repeating it for me," Matt said. "Can you tell us where you were after your meeting with Dr. Hale?"
He bristled. "I was with a patient until six then I went home."
"Can anyone verify that?"
"My signature on the patient's medical chart. I signed it and wrote the time just before I left. Ask the nurse at the desk to show it to you. Tell her I authorized it."
"Thank you, Dr. Wiley."
He continued on his way along the corridor and we headed in the other direction. "What do you think of the fellow named Clark from the Apothecary's Guild speaking to Hale?" I said quietly.
"I think we must visit him next. But first, let's confirm Wiley's story."
I left it to Matt to ask the nurse on duty for any charts Dr. Wiley had signed the afternoon of Hale's death. He was good at that sort of thing and she agreeably fetched them for us. We pored over the paperwork and confirmed that Wiley signed a patient's chart at five minutes to six.
"Wait a moment," I said, studying the list of names and times. "There's a signature after his written at five forty-five. Shouldn't these notes be in chronological order? Someone seeing the patient before him should have signed above Wiley not below."
Matt posed this question to the nurse and she confirmed it with a frown. "That's my signature," she said. "I don't lie, sir, I promise you, but I don't look at the times that were signed above mine unless I need to give the patient medicine at a regular interval." She tapped the line on the chart where she'd signed. "I just checked his pulse."
"Dr. Wiley must have read the clock incorrectly," Matt said gently. "Nothing to worry about."
"That must be it." Her mouth twisted to the side and her frown deepened.
"Did you also see a man named Clark talk to Dr. Hale in his office that afternoon?"
"I did, sir. He left Dr. Hale's office with a black look in his eyes, muttering under his breath."
"What about?"
"I only caught a few words. Something about talking to that reporter fellow. That's all I heard."
Matt thanked her and we headed out to the hospital to our waiting carriage.
"So Wiley wasn't with the patient when he claimed he was and he deliberately lied about it," I said.
"It would appear so. The question is, why?"
"And what else has he lied about?"
"Do you know where the Apothecary's Guild hall is?" Matt asked Bryce.
"Aye, sir, it's in Black Friars Lane."
"Drive us there now."
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the guild hall's grand colonnaded entrance. The obligatory coat of arms above the closed arched doors depicted a golden man with bow and arrow in hand, the sun's rays radiating from his head. Unicorns crouched on either side of him.
"Why the unicorns?" I asked Matt as we waited for his knock to be answered.
"I don't know, but I think the figure is Apollo, the Greek god of medicine, among other things."
"If I had a coat of arms, I'd like unicorns on it, too. They're so much more impressive than horses."
He laughed softly but schooled his features when the door opened. A liveried porter welcomed us through to the courtyard beyond. The building rose three levels high on all sides of the courtyard with a staircase at the back leading up to a door. A youth lounged against a lamp post in the center of the yard, an open book in hand.
"We're looking for Mr. Clark," Matt said to the porter. "We believe he's a member here."
"He's the guild master, sir," the footman said.
"Is he here at the moment?"
"He is, sir, but I'm afraid he's busy. Would you like to wait?"
"We would."
"And you are?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Wild. My American-based company wishes to discuss the potential supply of medicines from the guild. I was given Mr. Clark's name by an associate."
The porter's eyes lit up. "I'm sure Mr. Clark will be available to talk to you very soon." He called out to the youth. "Cartwright, show Mr. and Mrs. Wild to the parlor."
Cartwright tucked his book under his arm and smiled. He couldn't have been more than eighteen with his slender build and tuft of pale hair struggling to make an impact on his chin. He led the way to the staircase with long, purposeful strides until Matt asked him to slow down, for my sake.
I glared at him to show that I was perfectly capable of keeping up and he winked at me.
"My apologies, Mrs. Wild," the lad said. "Mr. Clark says I'm always in a hurry too."
"Are you his apprentice?" Matt asked.
"I am an apprentice, but not his."
"Is he a good fellow?"
Cartwright narrowed his gaze at Matt as he opened the door at the top of the steps. "He's an excellent apothecary. He oversees production of the medicines here."
"The guild produces its own on the premises?"
"Yes, sir, in the cellar. We supply to some large organizations, including the Royal Navy, Army and the East India Company. Mr. Clark oversees it all. Your company will be in good hands, sir."
"I'll take that on board when making my decision. I haven't decided if I want to go with Oakshot's, or perhaps even a smaller company, like Pitt's."
"Sir, I would caution you not to go with either."
"Why?"
"Mr. Pitt's operation is not equipped for a large international order. While his reputation is fair, and he has a loyal base of customers, he's simply not
set up for mass production. And while Mr. Oakshot is considered to be an excellent apothecary…well, there's something not quite right about him, sir." He indicated a door and we entered, but he did not.
"What do you mean?" Matt asked.
"It's hard to say, but Mr. Clark doesn't like Mr. Oakshot, and if Mr. Clark doesn't like someone, there's a good reason. I'll go and tell Mr. Clark you're here, shall I?"
"Yes, of course. Oh, just one thing. I seem to have broken my watch." Matt patted his jacket at his chest. What was he up to? "Do you know a good watch repairer?"
"You could ask at the Watchmaker's Guild hall, sir. It's in Warwick Lane, not far from here."
"Do you know the master there?"
"It's a Mr. Abercrombie."
"You've met him?"
"Several times. He sometimes dines here with Mr. Clark." With a jerky nod, the lad hurried off.
"Very cleverly done, Matt," I said.
"Thank you," he said. "So it seems we have a connection between the two guilds."
"It may mean nothing." If it meant nothing, why did my heart pound and my head spin with possibilities?
"Or it may mean they exchange information about certain topics. Magic, for instance. I'm glad we used assumed names."
He inspected the floor-to-ceiling glass cabinet of medicine jars while I stood by the long case clock. It had a lovely gold face, with black hands and numerals, and a gold lock. I wondered if the key was kept nearby.
"You want to open it up, don't you?" Matt murmured, suddenly standing behind me.
"I thought you were inspecting those jars."
"There are only so many medicine labels one can read before growing bored." He removed a glove and touched the lock. "Shall we look for the key?"
"The porter probably has it. He looked very responsible and not the sort to leave a long case clock unlocked. Anyone could come along and tamper with it."
"You may not believe this, India, but there are very few people who would tamper with a clock. We don't all want to dissect them."
A small man entered, his steps quick and neat. Slender fingers did up his jacket buttons then smoothed an errant strand of hair into place. He sported a cleanly shaved face and sky blue eyes that darted between me and Matt. He shook Matt's hand and introduced himself as Mr. Josiah Clark the guild master.
"Please take a seat," he said. "Let's see what I can do for you, Mr. Wild. Cartwright tells me you own a company in America. What is it your company does?"
"Actually, I have a confession to make," Matt said. "I told your porter and apprentice that so I could meet you."
Mr. Clark's face fell. He glanced at the door. Matt rose and shut it then sat again.
"Mrs. Wild and I are private inquiry agents helping the police in their investigation into Dr. Hale's death."
Mr. Clark shot to his feet. "Get out."
"Sit down, Mr. Clark, or I'll be inclined to tell Detective Inspector Brockwell that you were not helpful and that perhaps he should look into your operation here."
"My operation! There is nothing illegal going on here."
"No doubt Brockwell told you that Dr. Hale was murdered."
"I haven't spoken to the police, and nor do I expect to."
Matt glanced at me.
"I've done nothing wrong, Mr. Wild, if that's what your name really is."
"You had an argument with Dr. Hale on the day of his death," Matt said. "What did you argue about?"
"That is none of your affair!"
"Mr. Clark, you don't seem to realize, but I will report your reluctance to cooperate to Detective Inspector Brockwell. He won't look kindly upon your silence. If you truly have nothing to hide, then just tell the truth."
Mr. Clark looked longingly at the door then sighed. He sat again. "Dr. Hale's name appeared in the newspapers that morning. He'd reportedly performed a medical miracle. I wanted to know more about it, how he'd brought that patient back to life, that sort of thing."
"And what did you learn?"
"That he didn't perform any sort of miracle. The patient was still alive at the time he administered the medicine."
"So if that was all, why did you argue with him?"
Mr. Clark swallowed and his gaze darted to the door again. "He's defaming the good name of the guild through his ridiculous claims."
"But the guild was never mentioned in the article, and he's not even a member anymore."
"He was stripped of his membership that day, as it happens. We called a special meeting and voted him out."
"That day?" I echoed. "Because of the article?"
Mr. Clark lifted one shoulder and let it drop.
"Or because of his magic?" Matt said.
Mr. Clark paled and his eyes became huge. "H-how…wh-what do you mean?"
"Don't pretend you know nothing about magic. You knew Hale was an apothecary magician, and you were glad when he became a doctor. But then you read that article in The Weekly Gazette and you became worried that Hale was telling people about magic. After speaking to him, you realized he wanted to bring magic into the open through articles like the one Mr. Barratt wrote. That worried you, didn't it? Because if the public learnt that some medicines can be infused with magic, they'd only want to go to those pharmacists, not the artless ones like yourself."
Every word acted like a shove to Mr. Clark's chest, pushing him further back in his armchair until it looked as if it would swallow him. "He had to be stopped!"
Matt leaned forward, his eyes bright. I could hardly believe it myself—the Apothecary's Guild master was admitting to knowing about magic.
"What Hale wanted to achieve was madness. Sheer madness," Mr. Clark said in a high voice. "The public can't find out. Thousands of pharmacists around the country would lose their customers."
"So you killed him," Matt said.
"No!" Mr. Clark leapt up, and Matt stood too. "Of course not. I told him to cease talking to reporters, particularly that Barratt fellow." He shook his finger at Matt. "If you're looking for a murderer, you should investigate him."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because Hale said Barratt was desperate for magicians to tell him about their magic, and Hale felt as if he couldn't get out of it." Mr. Clark spoke quickly, the words tripping over themselves as they tumbled from his lips. "Perhaps he told Barratt that he no longer wanted to be mentioned in his articles and Barratt became furious."
"That's ridiculous," I said.
"Dr. Hale was alive when I left the hospital," he said. "I do know that much."
I thought Matt would question him about his connection to Abercrombie, but he did not. "Good day, Mr. Clark. Thank you for your time."
We left, walking quickly down the steps and through the courtyard to the entrance where the porter let us out with a smile.
"Home," Matt said to Bryce,climbing into the cabin behind me. "So what do you think, India? Is Clark guilty?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm highly suspicious. Thank goodness we didn't tell him our names, because I'm sure he'll mention this visit to Abercrombie."
"If he tells Abercrombie an American and Englishwoman visited to discuss magic, Abercrombie will work it out."
I clutched my reticule tighter.
"Stay close to me, India."
I nodded. "It'll be all right, though. Abercrombie simply organized one kidnapping. He hasn't…"
"Killed anyone?" he finished for me. "Not that we know of."
We traveled in silence until we were almost at Park Street. My mind was on the link between Abercrombie and Clark, but Matt's had wandered in a different direction, going by his next statement.
"We now know that Oakshot is one of the best apothecaries," he said. "It could be an indication that he's a magician."
The coach slowed, and Matt alighted first to fold the step down for me. He held out his hand, and I was about to take it when a small boy walked past, very close, and bumped against him.
Matt remained balanced but he turned quickly to confront the lad, only
for the boy to stumble into him again.
"Are you unwell?" Matt asked him.
The boy tucked his hands beneath his armpits, shrugged, and ran off.
"Is he all right?" I asked, craning my neck to see. "He looked half starved."
"Bloody hell!" Matt growled. "He stole my watch!"
Chapter 8
Matt sprinted after the lad.
"Thief!" I shouted. "Stop that boy!" But the two ladies strolling down Park Street merely shuffled aside as the lad passed, not so much as lifting a foot to trip him.
The boy disappeared around the corner with Matt several paces behind. Too far behind. He would not be able to catch a nimble boy who could disappear into a crowd or slip through an open window. A heavy weight settled in my stomach. If Matt couldn't catch him and retrieve his watch…
Bristow joined me on the pavement. "Miss Steele? Is something wrong?"
"A pickpocket stole Matt's watch."
"I saw him! He's been waiting nearby for an hour."
"Waiting where?"
"He started in this very spot until I moved him on. He went only as far the neighbor's." He shook his head. "I should have got him to clear off altogether."
If only he had.
"It was as if he was waiting here on purpose," Bristow said.
Waiting for Matt. The lad had been paid by someone to steal Matt's magic watch. My stomach churned at the thought.
"Please have luncheon ready for Mr. Glass's return," I said to Bristow. "He'll be back soon."
Did I believe it? I wasn't sure. I hoped and prayed, but the knot of dread in my chest tightened with every passing second. If Matt didn't get his watch back, he would sicken and die.
Bristow climbed the steps and Bryce drove off. I considered ordering him to chase down the thief, but a small child could go places a coach could not.
A chilly breeze whipped down the street. I shivered and hugged myself. Pedestrians passed me. Time ticked slowly by.
And finally I saw Matt rounding the corner ahead. I ran to him and met him half way. He looked worried. The knot in my stomach tightened more.
"Matt!" I grasped him by the shoulders and searched his face. He looked exhausted but not anxious.
