The Perfect Poison

by Quick, Amanda

  “I do not know how to thank you, Miss Bromley,” Alice said. Weary relief softened her face.

  “You can thank me by making sure that young Harry returns to school as soon as he is well.”

  On the cot Harry uttered a disgusted groan. “I can make more money selling the Flying Intelligencer on the corner.”

  “School is an investment.” Lucinda closed the satchel. “If you attend now, you will make a lot more money in the future than you ever will selling newspapers.”

  Gilbert Ross, a mountain of a man who made his living as a carpenter, loomed behind Alice.

  “He’ll be back in school as soon as he’s fit,” Gilbert vowed. “Don’t you worry about that, Miss Bromley.”

  Lucinda laughed and leaned down to ruffle Harry’s hair. “I’m delighted to hear it.” She straightened, picked up the satchel and walked to the door. “I’d bid you all good night but it seems it is almost morning.”

  Gilbert opened the door. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be paying for your kindness in the usual manner. When you need a bit of carpentry work done, you have only to send word.”

  “I know. Thank you, Mr. Ross.”

  She went outside and discovered that the fog had thickened substantially during the time she had been attending Harry Ross. Her dainty carriage loomed in the mist.

  Her senses stirred as she went toward the vehicle. She was intensely aware of the damp chill of the dawn air. Should have taken the time to collect my cloak before I let Caleb hustle me away from the ball. What was I thinking? Ah, but she knew the answer to that. She had not been thinking about anything except the exhilaration of the lovemaking and the strange sense of a psychical connection with Caleb.

  Memories of the heated encounter flashed through her head again but they did not warm her. If anything, she felt colder, unnaturally so.

  The heavily caped figure at the railing straightened and strode quickly to the carriage. He did not speak as he opened the door and lowered the steps.

  Shute always greeted her. And he always had a few words to say to whomever she had been visiting. But he did not even lift a hand to acknowledge Gilbert Ross, who stood watching in the doorway.

  The sense of wrongness grew stronger.

  She heard the door to the house close behind her. Gilbert was evidently satisfied that she was now safely in Shute’s hands. A panicky sensation twisted her stomach.

  She had been looking forward to the comforting warmth of the carriage rug but for no logical reason she stopped less than two yards from the vehicle. There was something not quite right about Shute. The coat did not fit him properly, she thought. It was too tight across the shoulders and the hem was a bit too short. The hat was not correct, either. Shute wore his at an entirely different angle.

  Whoever he was, he was not Shute.

  She started to turn, intending to run back up the steps of the Ross house and pound on the door.

  “No ye don’t,” the false Shute growled.

  A powerful, gloved hand slapped across her mouth and hauled her back against a heavily muscled chest.

  She struggled frantically, trying to kick at her captor’s legs, but her foot was immediately tangled in her skirts and petticoats.

  “Stop fighting, you stupid bitch, or I’ll knock you senseless.” The footpad kept his voice low. He dragged her toward the carriage. “Bloody hell, give me a hand here, Sharpy,” he said to someone else. “Her damned skirts are in the way. I keep tripping on them.”

  “I’ll get her feet,” the second man said. “Watch ye don’t frighten the horse. Last thing we need is a runaway carriage.”

  She realized that she still gripped her satchel in her left hand. Frantically, she struggled to open the bag. Neither man paid any attention. As far as they were concerned she had stopped struggling and that was all that mattered. The second man had her feet now. He lifted her off the ground. She got one of the two satchel straps undone.

  “Hurry.” The man wearing Shute’s coat held the door open. “Get her inside and get a gag in her mouth before someone decides to take a look out the bloody window.”

  The second villain, the one called Sharpy, struggled to wedge her through the door of the small carriage. She managed to unfasten the second strap of the satchel.

  Plunging her hand inside, she groped blindly for the packet she wanted, praying that she would get the right one.

  “Her bloody damned skirts are caught in the door,” the other man hissed.

  “Never mind, I’ll handle her, Perrett. Get on the box and get us out of here.”

  She had the packet in her hand now. She ripped it open, held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She flung a handful of the contents toward the man who had her feet.

  Sharpy yelped in surprise when the powdered, highly potent mix of dried, finely ground hot peppers struck his eyes, nose and mouth. He dropped her feet and shrieked. The yell was followed by a great deal of gasping and coughing.

  “What the bloody hell—?” Perrett said, confused and impatient.

  Her eyes still tightly closed, her lungs burning from the need to breathe, she flung more of the powder backward in the general direction of Perrett’s face.

  He cried out and abruptly let her go. Unable to get her feet under her in time, she went down hard on one shoulder and her hip. Her skirts cushioned some of the impact but not all. Pain jolted through her. Instinctively she took a breath, inhaling some of the misty powder. Her throat was on fire. She rolled under the carriage, seeking untainted air, and cautiously opened her eyes.

  Her eyes did not water but everything looked blurry. She had lost her glasses in the struggle.

  “The witch blinded me,” one of the men screamed. “Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.”

  His companion howled.

  She heard another voice in the night. Gilbert Ross.

  “There’s bloody footpads out here,” Ross shouted. “They’re trying to kidnap Miss Bromley.”

  More doors opened. Men in nightgowns and caps appeared. At the sight of the familiar carriage, they surged forward.

  The would-be kidnappers seemed to grasp the fact that they were now in mortal danger from the outraged householders of Guppy Lane. They stumbled away, running toward the corner.

  Several of the men took off after the pair but quickly gave up the chase when they discovered that their bare feet were no match for the rough cobblestones.

  “Miss Bromley,” Alice Ross cried.

  Hiking up her skirts, she ran down the steps toward Lucinda.

  Lucinda sat up painfully and, thanks to the stiff little bustle, with considerable awkwardness. Ball gowns, she reflected, were not designed for such energetic activities. What with the lovemaking and an attempted kidnapping, the lovely cobalt blue silks would never be the same.

  “Miss Bromley, are you all right?” Alice demanded anxiously.

  “Yes, I think so.” She did a quick assessment. Her pulse was racing and her throat was tight and burning from the bit of pepper powder she had inhaled. She was also sore from the rough landing on the pavement. But none of the problems were serious, she told herself.

  Alice reached down with both hands. “Here, let me help you.”

  “Thank you.” She managed to get to her feet, aware that she was shivering from the aftermath of the struggle. She forced herself to concentrate on the problem at hand. “Where’s Shute? I’m afraid those two dreadful men did something terrible to him. One of the footpads stole his coat. They may have killed him.”

  Pounding hooves and the rumbling clatter of a fast-moving carriage interrupted her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to make out the blurred scene.

  The hansom rolled out of the fog and halted. A figure vaulted down from the cab. She could not make out his face without her glasses but she knew him with all of her senses.

  “Caleb,” she whispered.

  He strode swiftly toward her through the swirling gray mist of dawn. The long overcoat flared
around him like a dark aura. He did not seem to be aware of the cluster of people milling around in the lane. They melted out of his way as if by magic.

  When he reached Lucinda, he clamped his hands around her shoulders and pulled her tightly against him.

  “Are you all right?” he rasped.

  She nearly screamed when his fingers crushed her injured shoulder. “Yes. Please. My shoulder.”

  “Damnation.” He released her quickly. “You’re hurt.”

  “Just a little bruised. What are you doing here?”

  “What happened?” he demanded, ignoring her question.

  It was the first time she’d had a chance to try to make sense of the violence. She frowned, forcing herself to concentrate. “I think those two men tried to abduct me. I suspect their intention was to rob me.”

  “More ’n likely they planned to sell her into a brothel,” the woman who lived next door to Alice declared in sepulchral tones. “You read about that sort of thing all the time in the press.”

  “Oh, I really don’t think so,” Lucinda demurred.

  “Mrs. Badget is right,” another woman announced. “Why, just the other day there was a piece in the Flying Intelligencer about respectable ladies being abducted and ruined so shamefully that they had no choice but to enter a brothel.”

  Lucinda glared at her. “You may believe me when I tell you that being kidnapped and ruined, as you call it, would not induce me to take up a career in a brothel, Mrs. Childers. It would, however, make me angry. Very, very angry. And I am not without resources. Just ask those two villains.”

  The women stared at her, wide-eyed with admiration.

  “She’s right,” Alice said briskly. “They were both crying like babies when they ran off.”

  “Where is Shute?” Lucinda asked again, searching the mists.

  “I found him,” someone shouted.

  Everyone turned in the direction of the voice. Shute, accompanied by one of the neighbors, appeared from the mouth of a narrow alley. He was moving unsteadily but he was on his feet, Lucinda noted with relief.

  She started forward, stumbled immediately and would have crumpled to the pavement again if Caleb had not caught her.

  “You’ve injured your ankle, as well?” he demanded, as though it was her fault. He scooped her up into his arms.

  “No, I seem to have broken the heel of one of my shoes. Kindly put me down, sir. I must see to Shute.”

  “You’re certain you are not seriously hurt?”

  “Yes, Caleb,” she said. “I’m certain. Now, please put me down.”

  Reluctantly he set her on her feet. A woman hurried forward.

  “I found your glasses, Miss Bromley,” she said. “But they’re broken.”

  “I have another pair at home.” Lucinda limped toward Shute, aware of Caleb following close behind her. “What did they do to you, Shute?”

  “My apologies, Miss Bromley.” Chagrined, Shute gingerly touched his head. “Bastards came up behind me. Had me down before I even knew what hit me.”

  She examined him as best she could in the weak light. “Do you think you were unconscious?”

  “No. Just dazed. Before I knew it they had me trussed up like a chicken with a gag over my mouth.”

  “You’re bleeding and you are no doubt in shock. We must get you inside where it’s warm. Then I’ll treat your wound.”

  “Bring him into our house,” Alice said. “It’s plenty warm in there.”

  “Right.” Lucinda urged Shute gently toward the doorway. “Would you please bring me my satchel, Mrs. Ross? It will be on the pavement near the carriage.”

  “I’ll fetch it,” Alice said.

  With Caleb’s assistance, Lucinda maneuvered Shute toward the door.

  “Did you get a good look at the men who assaulted you?” Caleb asked.

  “I’m afraid I cannot offer a good description,” she said. “It all happened so fast. But both of them stank of cigarette smoke.”

  “That only describes three-quarters of the villains in London,” Caleb muttered.

  “One of them was called Sharpy and the other Perrett,” she added.

  “They weren’t from this neighborhood,” Gilbert Ross said. “I can tell you that much.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Caleb said. “I’ll find them.”

  “How?” Lucinda asked, not questioning the certainty in his words, merely curious about the strategy he intended to employ.

  “Gossip flows as swiftly in the criminal underworld as it does in the clubs and drawing rooms of the so-called better classes.” There was something dark and feral in Caleb’s eyes. “Trust me, Lucinda. I will find them.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “WHAT THE DEVIL DID YOU DO TO THOSE TWO MEN TO make them flee like that?” Caleb asked. He sounded intrigued.

  Lucinda looked at him across the rim of her teacup. She could see his face clearly now, thanks to the spare pair of glasses that she had located in her desk. His features were still set in cold, hard lines and there was an implacable expression in his eyes. But he had that other part of him, the chillingly dangerous part that she had glimpsed briefly a short time ago in Guppy Lane, back in hand.

  They were in the library. Patricia, who had arrived home a short time earlier, had joined them, still in her ball gown.

  Caleb stood with his back to the window. He had removed his long overcoat. Lucinda had been astonished to see that he wore the shirt and trousers he’d had on earlier at the ball. Evidently he had not gone to bed. The shirt was undone at the throat and the sleeves were pushed up on his arms.

  He must have left his house in a great hurry, she concluded. Unfortunately, the informality brought back images of how he had looked bending over her in the drying shed, coming down on top of her, crushing her into the fragrant bedding. She had to work hard to concentrate.

  It was Patricia who responded to Caleb’s question.

  “I expect she threw some of her pepper powder into their faces.” She glanced at Lucinda. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.” Lucinda put her cup down on the saucer. “My mother and I always carried some when we traveled abroad with Papa. It became a habit. Mama concocted the original recipe but over the years I have changed the ingredients somewhat in order to enhance the effects.”

  “I also carry a supply,” Patricia said to Caleb. “As does my mother. A lady can never be too careful.”

  “I usually carry the pepper somewhere on my person,” Lucinda explained. She looked down at the stained and torn blue silk skirts of the ball gown. “But I neglected to instruct Madam LaFontaine to insert a pocket into this dress. That was why I had to struggle with my satchel, which complicated things no end.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I suppose I should be amazed but somehow I am not. It is obvious that the women in this family are a self-reliant lot.”

  “I still cannot believe that you were very nearly abducted tonight, Lucy.” Patricia shuddered. “It does not bear thinking about. And in Guppy Lane, of all places. You have always said that you felt quite safe there.”

  “I am safe there,” Lucinda said. “I assure you, those villains do not reside in that neighborhood. The Rosses and the others would have recognized them immediately. I expect the footpads were loitering in the vicinity, hoping to surprise an unwary victim. When they saw my carriage, they concluded that I would be an easy target. One might say that it was a crime of opportunity.”

  “No.” Caleb’s tone was low and grimly certain. “You were not selected by chance. What happened tonight was a deliberate attempt to kidnap you. If they had been successful, I have no doubt but that you would have been killed. The authorities would have pulled your body out of the river tomorrow or the next day.”

  Stunned speechless, Lucinda could only stare at him.

  Patricia’s cup clattered loudly in the saucer. She looked at Caleb, mouth open in shock.

  Lucinda recovered first. “Why would those two want to murder me? I am sure that I have ne
ver met either one of them before in my life.”

  “Judging by the descriptions I got from the residents of Guppy Lane, they were a couple of ordinary footpads from the streets, employed for their muscle. They didn’t give a damn about you one way or the other. Whoever hired them to grab you is the one who wants you dead.”

  A twinge of pain went through Lucinda’s shoulder. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “You haven’t answered the question, sir,” Patricia said. “Why would anyone want to kill Lucy?”

  Caleb’s expression was cool and steady. Lucinda could feel the energy in the atmosphere around him. In his own way, he was hunting.

  “I think it is obvious that the person who commissioned the kidnapping has discovered that I am conducting an investigation on your cousin’s behalf,” he said. “He is afraid that she might provide the clues I need to locate Dr. Basil Hulsey. And if I find Hulsey, I will find those who are now financing his research into the founder’s formula.”

  Lucinda sat very still on the sofa. “In other words, someone in the Order of the Emerald Tablet tried to have me abducted and murdered tonight.”

  Caleb inclined his head a little. “There is a ninety-seven percent probability that is exactly what happened.”

  She shivered. “Well, you certainly do not try to sugarcoat matters, sir.”

  “It is not my way, Lucinda. Would you prefer that I did?”

  She smiled wryly. “No, of course not.”

  He nodded, satisfied. “I didn’t think so. You are like me in that respect. You prefer truth.”

  “Most of the time,” she said under her breath.

  Patricia turned toward her. “But this means that you are in great danger, Lucy. Whoever hired those two dreadful men may well try to snatch you again.”

  “Probably not in broad daylight, though,” Caleb said, very thoughtful now. “And very likely not from this house. It would be too risky, what with your neighbors watching and your staff about. Do not forget that they made no move to seize you tonight until you were in Guppy Lane.”

  “They must have been watching this house,” Lucinda said. “They followed me, waiting for an opportunity.”