A Lesson in Chemistry With Inspector Bruce Read Free

glance out my window, and recognized one of our operatives—with a gun at his back.” A bit sheepish, he grinned. “You don’t get to have all the fun, Finn.”
    Archie had forgotten how boldly intrepid this undercover agent was. Hands on his hips, Finn continued to breathe heavily. “You likely saved my life. That was quite a move, flying at de Ruthyn like that.”
    Briefly, Finn stuck his head out the window. “No sign of him.” He crossed the room and opened the door. Thick clouds of smoke billowed in from the hallway.
    “Th— that was de Ruthyn?” Archie stammered.
    Finn coughed, squinting at him. “I believe so—though one never knows. Who set the fire below?”
    “My assistant.” Archie shook his head. “It’s just wet pillows stuffed in a stove.”
    Finn waved his way through black smoke only to retreat, quickly. “It’s like hell’s inferno down there.”

Chapter Two
    F iona Rose tipped the cauldron and poured the soft pink mixture into the last of the rectangular molds.
    “Fiona, why are you still working?” her mother called through the open door of the laboratory.
    “The soap is exactly the right consistency and temperature. I must finish or ruin the batch.”
    Her mother stuck her head further in the door. “You have less than an hour to get yourself across town to Bloomsbury. I do wish you’d take your studies more seriously and dabble less with this soap making. Oh dear, I suppose you’ll have to take the train, now.” Ever since Father’s stroke and the Fenian bombings, Mother fretted about everything. Today it was the Underground.
    “Mother, you realize the Metropolitan Police have men at every station?”
    “Small comfort after that report in the Telegraph this morning. Another shipment of explosives was confiscated.” Her mother dabbed her eyes with a pocket square, as the fumes from the mixture of soda ash and lye caused her eyes to water.
    “I should think that means Scotland Yard is on the job.” Fiona blew a wisp of hair out her eyes and concentrated on filling the last few molds. “Almost finished.”
    Fiona slipped the last of the pungent mixture of seawater, palm oil, sodium carbonate, and sodium hydroxide into the mold. The hard-milled soaps she made for her parents’ pharmacy were beginning to draw interest beyond a few specialty shops in Knightsbridge. Fortnum & Mason in Piccadilly had given her an order for her invigorating Lavender Oatmeal as well as her Spicy Carnation. She was filling orders nearly every week now. Her secret was the essential oils, made to order from a distiller in Provence, France. To that she added milk or Mediterranean seawater.
    She carefully stacked the molds in orderly rows to cure and set the cauldron aside to let the residual soap harden. I’ll scrape the pot in the morning, Fiona thought as she reached behind to untie her apron.
    “Here now, let me get that.” Her father’s gentle hands loosed the ties. “And where are you off to, young lady?”
    “The preparatory course for the pharmacy exam. I must run.” Fiona spun around and was taken aback. Father looked a bit off-color—pale, perhaps? No, there was a spot of pink in his cheeks. She breathed a sigh of relief. She worried about him—nearly as much as Mother did—and yet, there hadn’t been another recurrence in almost three years.
    “How did it go with Dr. Sheffield?”
    She caught a twinkle in his gray-green eyes. “I’ll tell you all about it at supper tonight.”
    Fiona started out the laboratory door and whirled around. “Oh, would you wrap the molds for me?”
    Her father lowered his chin and eyed her through bushy brows. “Run along, Fee. I’ve blanketed a mold or two in my day.”
    She rushed back to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”
    ARCHIE’S GAZE MOVED across the yard and up the building’s facade. Blackened trails of scorched brick remained where flames had licked up through the window on the second floor. He and Finn had narrowly escaped out