What was it? Henley wanted her ring. Did Wynders and Mrs. Beldam want it, too? And that led Bianca back to whoever broke into her rent and searched her belongings. What was he after, and why did he think she had it? But perhaps Jolyn’s death and the break-in were unrelated. Perhaps the thief was merely looking for money or something of value to steal. She hadn’t noticed anything missing. Certainly, her store of silver filings and coins from Meddybemps had been left untouched. Whatever the thief wanted, as far as she knew, the thief had not taken.
Did the thief think she had the ring? Or did he want her dead? If the latter were true, the intruder could have finished her off. Had he been interrupted? Perhaps the thief had merely wanted her out of the way while he went through her room.
Bianca tried to concentrate, but she found it harder to ignore the hideous sound of feeding rats. She held her hands over her ears, trying to muffle their horrible rasping. How much longer until morning? Her sanity was dwindling.
With renewed fury, Bianca leapt off the crate and rattled the door. She jammed her fingers between the slats of board and leaned back with all her weight. One of them gave a little but not before drawing blood from her fingertips. She ignored the pain and wrenched the slat with a savage burst of strength. The wood squealed as it splintered in half, revealing an opening.
It was a small opening, and she crouched to press her face against it, inhaling fresh air and closing her eyes in appreciation. Her back hurt from crouching, but so be it; at least now she could breathe.
Once revived, Bianca felt some measure of calm restored. She cocked her head sideways, laying one ear on her shoulder so she could see out with both eyes, and opened them.
“For a girl accused of murder, your preoccupation with the worst London has to offer never fails to astound me.”
“John!”
“Bianca,” answered the young silversmith.
“Get me out of here!”
“And if I do? Tell me how I might benefit.”
“John, this warehouse is full of rats.”
“So is London.”
“They’re feasting on corpses!”
“Unpleasant. I assume you didn’t enter by choice.”
“Never mind how I got here. Help me!”
John stood back and studied the chain and padlock. “I don’t suppose this could be easily picked.” He withdrew his knife and pushed its tip into the keyhole of the shackle. He wormed it about with no effect and, after a moment, gave up and scratched his chin. “Do you have a thin piece of metal about you?”
Bianca pushed her face into the opening. “Are you daft? Why would I have that?”
“A young lady should always have something to jab into a man’s groin or eye if the situation calls for it.”
“I’m not a violent person.”
“You should be.”
“John, get me out of here.”
“I need something to work against. Something thin and strong that I can shove into the hole for resistance.”
“Thin like what?” asked Bianca. She was beginning to wonder if she might be stuck in the warehouse until Wynders came back.
“Bianca, if I get you out of here, will you marry me?”
“If I live that long!”
John was momentarily stunned by the thought. He couldn’t seem to help himself. He might be mad to love her, but it was an affliction he gladly undertook. He blinked at Bianca and pushed his lips through the opening. For as ridiculous as it was, Bianca met his lips and managed to convey an acceptable kiss that did nothing to get her out any sooner but inspired John nonetheless.
“Patience. I’ll be back before you miss me.” And with that, he was gone.
Bianca leaned against the door. She could barely tolerate another minute. The sound of feeding rats grew louder, perhaps because she was focusing on it. She crouched again and peered through the slat. Where did he go? She turned her head, trying to see, then sat back. Had she really agreed to marry him? She would have said anything to get out of there, and apparently, she had. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Certainly, there were worse things than marrying John. She’d worry about that later. She sat back and covered her ears, murmuring one of Meddybemps’s patters until John returned.
A chorus of angels couldn’t have sounded as sweet as John picking open the lock, and when the chain clattered to the ground and John pushed open the door, she nearly trampled him. John had expected as much and caught her up in his arms. “I deserve better than that,” he said. Bianca showered him with kisses, and when those ran out, she lingered in his arms.
“How did you find me?”
“I stopped at your room to check on you. You left a trap on your table, and after our last conversation I sorted out what it was for. I imagined you paid a visit to Wool’s Key.” He could see Bianca appreciated his concern, but he neglected admitting he didn’t want to help her trap rats. “I was near the Dim Dragon Inn,” he continued, confident she read his nonchalance as belief in her ability, “and thought I’d have a bite.”
Bianca listened intently.
“I settled in, and who should walk in but that muckraker.”
“Henley?”
“I don’t believe you had much success talking with him, so I had a go at it.”
“And did you manage to engage him?”
“I did.”
Bianca pecked him on the cheek. “Should I ask how you managed to speak with him or skip to the good part?”
“It depends on what you consider ‘the good part.’ ”
“I can tell you’re keen to tell me both.”
“I paid the serving wench to pour sleeping philter in his ale, and offered to pay him some coin for a few answers in the privacy of the alley. My knife can be very persuasive.”
“Sleeping philter?”
“Labeled as such and borrowed off your shelf.”
Bianca cocked her head. “Clever knave.”
“I am,” said John, pleased. “Apparently Henley was after Wynders’s ring.”
Bianca nodded in satisfaction. “Did you ask him why he wanted it?”
“He passed out before I could ask.”
“But how did you know I was in the warehouse?”
“After I left Henley, I crossed the bridge back into London and turned toward Wool’s Key. I saw a man with a pheasant-plumed hat heading up New Fish Street, when suddenly he turned around and stopped as if he’d forgotten something. I thought he fit your description of Wynders, and he was acting suspiciously, so I decided to follow him. I trailed him to this warehouse. He stopped and pulled a chain tight against the door, securing it with a padlock. I then shadowed him home, or at least I assume it is his home, then returned to look for you on the river. When I did not see you, I wondered what could be in the warehouse. Since it was close by, I decided to find out. You saved me from crossing the bridge to check your room for a second time.”
Bianca planted a boisterous kiss on his lips. “A more cunning cove I’ll never know,” she proclaimed. She pressed her ear against his chest and listened to the muffled thud of his heartbeat, as strong and as steady as hers. Indeed, there were worse things than marrying John.
CHAPTER 31
Bianca sat up and reached for her nightdress. The red cat noted her stirring and sauntered over from his spot by the furnace.
She had escaped into sleep as soon as her head reached the pillow, and when John kissed her out of a dreamless slumber, it took her a moment to surface and realize where she was. His hand lightly traced the skin of her thigh, and she let him pull her close. She felt safe under the weight of his body, and his loose hair surrounded them like a curtain of flowing gold. For a time, she escaped her world of troubles for one of content.
She had never known the touch of another man nor did she want to. John was her anchor, her abiding confidant and partner. But love could be fickle. The king would soon have a sixth wife, and she wondered if her parents had ever found happiness together, if even for a moment.
> If her father gave her any thought, which Bianca doubted, he would have been ashamed she had so dishonored him. But he had no money, and she no dowry, and in Bianca’s mind, his opinion mattered not a whit.
“So what shall you do now?” asked John, rising to his elbows and watching Bianca drop the gown over her shoulders. He could still see the outline of her body through the thin fabric.
Bianca shifted her attention to her predicament and what tasks lay ahead.
“First, I shall test the purgative and the rat poison on my rats. Those are the two powders I regularly sold to Banes. If either should tinge their blood purple, I’ll have my answer as to what poisoned Jolyn.” The cat wound itself through her legs, and Bianca bent over to pet it, then turned to the fire and tossed in a dung patty.
It wasn’t the response John was hoping for. Still, every night must come to an end. “What if neither dyes the blood?” he asked.
“That would pose a more difficult problem.”
“You have your work cut out,” said John, rolling to his knees and standing. He was less modest than Bianca and made sure she got an eyeful.
She did. But Bianca felt time’s persistent breath blowing down her neck. “John, I have to get my work done. I haven’t much time.”
“And you will have even less if I do not help.”
Bianca preferred working on her own but agreed he could be of use. “All right,” she said. “I need water from the cistern.” She thrust a pail at John, then swiped his pants from off the floor and stuffed them in the bucket.
John grabbed her arm, but she slipped from his grasp, leaving him to get dressed while she did the same.
She set about clearing space at her long table and erecting the rest of her distilling apparatus. Joining the twists and curves of copper helped her concentrate and prepared her mind for experimentation. She imagined her idea beginning as a single drop, forming deep within her subconscious, flowing, turning, traveling to the final conclusion.
John set down the pail of fresh water and looked to Bianca for more direction.
“Set two pots to boil.” Bianca left her distillation apparatus and wandered over to the caged rats, deciding how she would test the purgative and poison. She could bait apple and feed it to them, but the effects would take too long. She didn’t have time to wait for them to digest a meal. A liquid solution of each powder would be best. She prepared scraps of parchment to label the cages so she’d know when and how much she’d given each rat. Three rats were set aside. Not only would they be her standard, but if some part of her experiment failed, she would have spares if needed.
John scratched his head. “How are you going to do this?”
Bianca was deep in the throes of working through the steps in her mind and didn’t answer.
John fell silent, irked she was ignoring him. But if he’d given it any thought, which he did after a moment, he’d remember how Bianca came to her science. She’d spent years assisting her father in his alchemy and had learned by observing. Rarely did Albern Goddard offer a comment or explanation about what he was doing, and most often, if she asked, she’d get a sharp retort and long rebuke not to trouble him with her trivial questions.
So John clamped tight his mouth and stood by to observe Bianca in her single-minded quest.
As for Bianca, it was almost as if John wasn’t there. She thought through how she would prepare the solutions; then, with capillary tubes of delicately blown glass she’d filched from her father, she would open each rat’s mouth and administer an equal and exact dose. Once that was completed, the two of them could sit and observe the results.
As the water boiled and burbled, Bianca measured the purgative into a flask and set it aside. She scooped a measure of rat poison and prepared a separate solution.
“I can’t have these two confused,” she said. “I have no time for mistakes. For all I know, Constable Patch might be on his way over to arrest me right now.”
“All the better that I am here. I can answer the door while you make an escape.”
Bianca smiled ruefully. “I can’t avoid him forever.”
“But you can avoid him long enough to find the answer to what poisoned Jolyn.”
Bianca poured boiling water into the vessel of rat poison, then swirled it. She appreciated John’s confidence in her, though she knew experiments didn’t always work smoothly. Hopefully, this one would because she only had one chance to get it right. She didn’t think she could ask John to repeat an experiment by himself. She set the rat poison well apart from the purgative and lined the cages of rats along the edge of the table.
“I still believe Pandy had the most cause to see Jolyn dead,” she said, collecting the capillary tubes. “She was in love with Wynders before Jolyn came along.”
“That doesn’t explain the ruckus over the ring.”
Bianca poured the boiling water into the purgative. “But I don’t know for sure that the ring is the missing motivation. The only thing we know for sure is that Henley wanted it.”
“Wynders’s ring.”
“Wynders’s ring that Jolyn found.” Bianca set down the flask to cool. “And probably a ring Wynders wanted back,” she said, returning the pan to the furnace. “I haven’t any proof Mrs. Beldam wanted the ring. But she liked jewelry. I wonder if Henley played Mrs. Beldam against Wynders? Perhaps he wanted to hold out to the highest bidder.”
“You don’t know if Henley was working with or against Wynders.”
“For certain, there is a story behind that ring,” agreed Bianca. “But I don’t believe Henley got it back from Jolyn. He never admitted he sold it—did he?”
John shook his head no. “So where is it? Who has it?”
“That I would like to know.” Bianca swirled the solution, thinking. “Why all this skulduggery? Why didn’t Wynders or Beldam just buy it from her and be done with it?”
“Because Jolyn believed the ring brought her luck. You know how superstitious she was. No amount of money could convince her to sell something she believed had changed her fortune for the better. Selling it would commit her to an uncertain future. Not after all she’d lived through. She finally knew some comfort and hope.”
Bianca considered this. “I still think Pandy had the most cause for seeing Jolyn buried. It was obvious to me she had strong feelings for Wynders. There is no greater cause for revenge than a broken heart.”
“You watch too many plays,” said John. He stoked the furnace and prodded it with a fire poke.
“I wish that were true.” Bianca peered into the flask, then held it up to see if the powder had dissolved. “I spend all my time here.”
“You don’t have to,” said John, softly. He watched her carefully.
“John, right now, I have no choice. I’ll never be able to live in London if I don’t prove my innocence. I don’t want to live in fear of my life,” she said, exasperated. She stirred the flask of rat poison for a moment, then addressed John in a quiet, somber voice. “Please don’t press me.”
John’s heart pained. To be honest, he didn’t know which would be more painful, suffering Bianca’s rejection or seeing her hanged at Newgate for murder. For now, neither was certain, and he would do whatever it took to prevent either from happening. So he dismissed any more talk of the two of them and attempted an easy smile. “Understood,” he said. He avoided looking into her eyes—they had such power to unnerve him, and he needed spine. “Now, tell me what to do.”
Bianca’s own feelings were a torture of hope and regret, but she set them aside and refocused on her chemistries. “Time to dispense the solutions.” She found the glass capillary tubes and swirled the solutions, ensuring they were completely dissolved.
“I want to start with the purgative.” Bianca set apart a total of four cages for her experiment. “Two rats will be given purgative, and two rats will be given rat poison.” She poured off enough solution to draw up liquid in the tubes, noticing the rats moving back and forth, obviously sensing the need to escape
. One tried gnawing through its cage but stopped, no doubt finding the reed as sharp as a knife’s blade.
John held up a trap and looked at the rat inside. “How are you going to get them out?”
Bianca glanced around the room. “I think I need something to hold them with, perhaps a cloth so they don’t bite us.”
John searched among the shelves and table. He found a rough square of woven jute and held it up.
“That will work,” said Bianca. “I’ve been looking for that.” She snatched it away from him. “You’ve already proven yourself useful.”
The rats gnawed at their cages. Bianca pinched her lips, steeling herself. “I’m going to show you how to use the capillary tubes, and you’ll feed it into their mouths.”
John’s smile looked doubtful.
“You can do this,” she said in answer to his dubious expression.
Bianca drew up a column of liquid and held a thumb over the open end. “There isn’t much to drawing the liquid.” She handed John the tube and let him practice. “When you’re ready, I’ll pry open their mouths and you’ll have to be quick about dispensing the fluid.”
John drew up the dissolved purgative and released it a couple of times. “I’m ready,” he said.
Bianca held the square of thick jute in one hand, hesitating before taking up a cage. She hated rats.
“Bianca?” John was about to ask if she had changed her mind when she shook off her hesitation.
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