Death in the Valley of Shadows Read Free Page A

invitation for Emilia to remove herself to the fresh country air and not endanger her child by breathing in stinks.
    “I shall be down on Saturday to dine,” John said, as he assisted her to clamber awkwardly into the coach.
    “I shall miss you and would stay if I didn’t feel quite so heavy.”
    “Make sure you eat and rest well. Labour is hard work.”
    “I shall be ready for it,” Emilia answered with a definite look of panic in her eye.
    “You’ll sail through,” her husband answered reassuringly, and kissed her as she leant her head out of the coach’s window, then waved farewell as Irish Tom cracked his whip, called to the animals, and the carriage set off in the direction of Kensington.
    Still preoccupied with thoughts of Aidan Fenchurch and the Shadow, half wondering whether the man had exaggerated the position and was only imagining the threat that Mrs. Bussell posed, John set off to visit various patients, particularly enjoying a visit to a young woman much plagued with the illness red-eye. After trying various remedies, the Apothecary had finally decided to use bruised leaves of that most dangerous of plants, hemlock. Well aware of its deadly quality as a poison, John had insisted that his patient had put the substance nowhere near her mouth and now after a week of laying the bruised leaves on her forehead, results could be seen. The redness of the eyes had vanished and the swelling round the woman’s lids had gone.
    “Well, Apothecary, you have cured me,” she said, much pleased.
    John shook his head. “Let us be careful. Red-eye has a nasty habit of returning if you stop the treatment too soon. Another week of applying the leaves, I think. I’ve brought you some fresh and I want you to continue using them until I call again. Not for internal consumption, remember.”
    “What would happen if I did?”
    “You would be very ill and might well die. Hemlock and some of the members of its family are amongst the most deadly poisons known.”
    “What are the others?”
    “That,” said John, grinning at her, “would be telling. Now, I shall see you next week and expect to pronounce you recovered.”
    “It will be my pleasure,” the young woman answered demurely, and dropped a somewhat flirtatious curtsey as she escorted him to the door.

    The Apothecary worked on, carrying his bag himself and leaving Nicholas in charge of the shop, finally stopping and walking back to Nassau Street long after the hour to dine had officially arrived. The house was quiet with Emilia gone and John felt pleased that he had invited Aidan Fenchurch to join him for the evening. Accordingly, he had the library prepared for receiving and went to sit by the fire and read the newspaper until six o’clock came.
    Sir Gabriel’s longcase clock, which played a tune upon every quarter of an hour, had been removed to Kensington, but his adopted son, missing the sound, had bought another one to replace it. Though not nearly as fine, only chiming the time rather than a melody, the Apothecary listened to it with a small part of his brain while he read, and was quite surprised when it sounded half-past the hour and there was still no sign of his guest. He rang the bell.
    “Yes, Sir?” said the footman who answered.
    “Nobody has called have they?”
    “No, Sir. It’s very quiet in the street tonight. Only one carriage has been past all evening.”
    “Well, I’m expecting a Mr. Fenchurch who is now half an hour late. Can you show him in at once. Don’t bother with his card.”
    “Very good, Mr. Rawlings.”
    The Apothecary read on, then, tiring of his own company, sent for his apprentice who, by custom, would not join his master unless called upon to do so.
    Nicholas appeared in the library doorway. “Yes, Master?”
    “Nick, sit down. I’m waiting for Mr. Fenchurch but he hasn’t yet appeared so I thought we might play chess.”
    “Wasn’t he due at six?”
    “Yes, and he’s now an hour late. I’m beginning to get