The Alchemist's Daughter (11 page)

Bianca scowled moodily. The two of them turned south in silence, heading toward London Bridge. They were nearing Meddybemps’s favorite tavern. His eye rolled in anticipation of a filling meal of kidney pie and the attentions of a certain randy maid who served it.

“You must heed my advice and not venture back across the river tonight,” said Meddybemps, his eye drawn by the hunched silhouette of a well-fed rat as it skulked along a building’s wall and ducked into a gap in the foundation. “And you need to concoct more rat poison, my dear. I’ve sold all that you’ve given me.”

C
HAPTER
20

If Meddybemps’s words had any effect on Bianca, it was that she allowed herself to slow when she neared Boisvert’s neighborhood. She turned down Foster Lane, shivering a little from the damp and hating being plunged into near black. The Queen Moon hid behind the peaks of thatch roofs and offered scant light in the narrow lane.

As Bianca neared the dimly lit window of Boisvert’s, she actually thought she might call on John. She paused to peek inside. Making out no more than the blurred glow of a wall sconce, she turned her ear to the window. No sounds ranged within; no conversation or clank of iron tongs leaked through the oilcloth. She rapped on the wood and waited, growing skittish as the city churches chimed the hour and a night watchman croaked, “Six of night and to all a good night.” Time was wasting. And she had precious little of it.

She turned from the door. Her only thought now was to get home. The wind was coming up, and clouds raced across the sky. Pulling her hem above her ankles, she kept as near to the center of each road as she could. Her thin boots collected clay from the streets, weighing her down and oozing through holes in the leather. Despite the aggravation, she picked through the twisting, whispering streets, but unease seeped into her psyche. At one point she stopped and spun on her heel, suspicious she was being followed. After scrutinizing the shadows and finding no reason for alarm, she chided herself—fear had twined its way into her imagination. She quickened her pace and began to count her steps in an effort to control her apprehension. It worked, for soon she was back at her rent, standing before her calcination furnace, stirring the embers into a blaze.

She stood back, warming her hands, and thought about the inmates at Barke House. Banes was an odd fellow. But everyone had his peculiarities. Just because his left arm was half the length of the other was not reason enough to think him strange. It was his manner that troubled Bianca. He could be both secretive and forthcoming. She suspected he’d seen and heard more at Barke House than he was willing to tell.

Jolyn had said Mrs. Beldam was sympathetic to those in need. Instead of using young women, she now tried to help them. At least that was what Jolyn believed, but Bianca wondered what had caused her change of heart. And how could Mrs. Beldam keep the residence from falling into debt? She only requested the women earn a small pittance to help feed and house them. And the earnings did not come from carnal exchange. Though Banes had alluded to just that. Was he playing with her?

Bianca took an empty pot from the stove and stepped into the alley for water. A bank of clouds had moved in, obscuring the moon and stars. As she replaced the cover on the cistern, a flash of lightning needled across the sky, illuminating the alley. A rat skirted the stone foundation of the opposite building. Yet in that quick flash, Bianca glimpsed movement of something larger disappearing around a corner. She stared into the black, wondering if it was a dog or a man, when a clap of shuddering thunder sent her scurrying back inside. She slid the bolt and cursed the rusty hasp securing her door. For good measure, she moved a crate in front of it.

She stood a moment, wielding her pot of water and willing her jittery heart to quiet. She’d been in dire straits before, but her present circumstances unnerved her in a way she’d never expected. Her best friend was dead, and the loss left her feeling sorry and alone. She had always overcome obstacles in the past, but this grief was not easy to manage. It settled in the pit of her stomach like an immovable weight. She knew she couldn’t ignore her feelings, but she needed to tame them. At least control them enough to find answers.

Bianca set the pot of water on the stove and poked at the fire. Poor Jolyn. She had never known the warmth of a fire on nights such as this. Left to fend for herself, she had slept in alcoves and abandoned buildings. Bianca had tried to get Jolyn to sleep in her father’s alchemy room on the occasions that he was not there. But Jolyn always refused. “Your father is a strange bird,” she had said. “Besides, I’d rather not sleep among pickled animals and ground bones.”

Bianca had first met Jolyn two years ago. It was Bianca’s habit to avoid Mass en route to her father’s room of alchemy. Instead, she’d wander the riverbank and study the plants. Bianca was happiest in the twilight just before dawn, and usually she was alone at that time of morning. However, this day, she watched a girl comb through the mud, barefoot in the late fall. Bianca waited until she made her way up to the road. “Here,” said Bianca, thrusting her shoes at the girl. “You need these more than I.”

The girl took them and felt through to the hole in one toe. She waggled her fingers through the opening.

Bianca shrugged.

“What will you do?” asked the girl, looking down at Bianca’s stocking feet.

“Never mind,” said Bianca.

Another crack of thunder jarred her from her thoughts, and she looked around at her room. The board was strewn with bowls of forgotten and fermenting experiments. The shelves were better organized, but part of the copper tubing of her distillation apparatus still lay in a heap where Jolyn had pulled it down when she fell. Shards of glass lay half buried in the floor rush, and Bianca made a halfhearted attempt to pick them out. She collected the bowls on the table and the candles that had encircled Jolyn, and found the jar with remnants of the concoction she’d given her. Finally, she would brew the concoction and test it.

As Bianca settled on a stool next to the furnace waiting for the water to boil, she recalled her observations about Jolyn’s circle of acquaintances.

Mrs. Beldam. Eyes of cool pewter and the carriage of a woman of higher station, but time had darkened her teeth, and lines crisscrossed her face like hatch marks in a drawing. Jolyn had believed she honestly cared for her, but Bianca wasn’t so sure. Her obvious distraction at Cross Bones was not the picture of grief Bianca would have imagined. What did Beldam and Henley want from each other? The only thing she knew was that Henley supposedly pawned jewelry for her. What did they have in common? Jolyn. Mackney had said Henley wanted her ring. But why would Wynders speak with Henley? What did
they
want from each other? Bianca couldn’t imagine. But she knew what
they
had in common. And that, again, was Jolyn.

Rain burst from the sky, pelting the windows and sluicing through wheel ruts in the lane outside. The red cat leapt from the rafters and leaned against Bianca, grateful for shelter and the fire’s warmth. She fed him a few crumbs of leftover cheese and absently stroked his striped back.

Hopefully, Meddybemps would uncover something about Barke House. She hoped his many connections would prove useful and yield information about Mrs. Beldam and her past. She groaned, remembering his request for more rat poison. It was one concoction that sold predictably well. She checked her supply of apple seeds used in its recipe, thinking of all she needed to do and how her body ached with exhaustion. The fire crackled to a comforting glow. She turned her back to it while removing her sodden boots. Her muddy stockings sagged, and she peeled them off, exposing her cold white feet.

She sat by the fire and studied the remains of the dried herbs she’d given Jolyn, sniffing them to detect anything out of the usual. Perhaps it was foolish to take so bold a chance. What if she died like Jolyn? Well, at least it would be in the privacy of her rent and not a public swinging.

But a dead fool is no better than a live one, so she grabbed the flask of rancid goat milk and set it by, just in case. Just the smell of it caused an involuntary retch. She dumped the herbal concoction into the boiling water, stirring the brew and watching the steam curl into the air.

Over time, Bianca had learned that Jolyn’s mother had been thrown in the Clink. Jolyn raked mud, trying to survive as best she could and save money to pay her mother’s debt to set her free. But her mother died within a month of her arrest, having taken ill with one of the gaol fevers that spread like fire. Jolyn had bitterly quipped that her mother had vowed to get out of prison one way or another. Unfortunately, Jolyn had no other family.

Bianca thought back to her visit at Barke House, then tried to remember anything Jolyn had said about Pandy. Drawing a blank, she puzzled over Pandy’s colicky humour. She was swirling the bowl of tea and inhaling its steam when another flash of lightning lit her room. The clap of thunder struck disconcertingly near, causing her to start, spilling some of her drink. A burst of wind blew her door open, and it struck against the crate with unnerving force. Bianca set down her bowl and went to find some rope to secure the door.

The rain poured inside, streaming from the eaves onto the threshold, soaking the floor. Bianca pushed aside the crate and leaned her weight against the door, lashing it shut. Finally she managed to keep it acceptably closed, though not without soaking herself in the process. Disgruntled, she tromped back to her stove and stripped off her bodice and kirtle, suspending them from a nearby beam to dry. She shivered in the chill and wrapped herself in a scratchy wool blanket, then went to the front door and shot the bolt.

Pandy had flushed red at the mention of Jolyn’s suitor. Banes had witnessed Pandy’s flash of temper, too. If Wynders had once loved Pandy, that would explain her anger. The girl was jealous. Bianca sniffed. Only two things caused a woman to lose her head—the loss of a child and the loss of a lover to another woman.

The wind continued to push against her alley door, worrying Bianca, but as she stared into the mesmerizing dance of flames, she recounted the few fragments of information she had been able to collect. Jolyn probably died from poisoning. Why would someone poison Jolyn? She could have died of natural cause, but that seemed unlikely. What could explain the trickle of purplish blood? Why would someone want her dead?

The fact that Jolyn had moved into Barke House and soon won the attentions of Wynders, who showered her with gifts and fed her all manner of unusual fare, troubled Bianca. Were his intentions true and from the heart? Or was there a reason for his interest in Jolyn?

Why did Jolyn become involved with Barke House? How did she come by it? Bianca racked her brain, trying to remember the details of Jolyn’s decision. She couldn’t remember and wondered if Jolyn had even told her. She blamed herself for being so preoccupied that she didn’t devote but half an ear to Jolyn’s stories.

Bianca thought about the abrasions on Jolyn’s neck and her missing necklace. The muckraker accusing her of stealing a ring. The same muckraker talking to Mrs. Beldam at the funeral. The same muckraker talking to Wynders.

Bianca rubbed her temples and took a sip of tea. She thought back to Pandy’s burst of anger. Banes had said she’d had Wynders’s attentions until Jolyn came along. Obviously Pandy was hurt and jealous. If anyone had reason to want Jolyn dead, it would be Pandy.

The fire snapped, and the cat jumped in her lap. Bianca stared at the fire, rubbing its chin and imagining the faces of Pandy and the others as she thought. They seemed to float in the flames, their expressions appearing before her eyes. She concentrated on the feelings she’d gotten from their conversations, the unspoken words she’d perceived. She finished off the rest of the tea and set the bowl on the board. Like a shake to her shoulders, the sound of the bowl on the wood roused her from her thoughts. She picked it up and tipped it upside down. What had she done? Not a drop remained. She’d downed the remedy as casually as an ordinary cup of tea!

Her hand went to her throat, and she glanced down at the cat sleeping contentedly on her lap. How long had it been between Jolyn’s last sip and the time she began to convulse? Bianca gulped and sat very still, her eyes wide with apprehension.

About a year ago, Jolyn had prevented Bianca from being run through with a dagger one dark night on the river’s edge. It could have ended in a bad way, but Jolyn’s bravery and selfless sacrifice were a testament to her character and how much Bianca’s friendship meant to her. Bianca’s eyes welled with regret. Jolyn had saved her life. And she had been powerless to save Jolyn’s. For a moment, she let her tears flow, then squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath.

If she should survive this, she would be more careful. She would be as selfless and brave as Jolyn had been. And she would look to Pandy as the murderer. There was no greater cause for murder than hatred steeped in jealousy.

Bianca rubbed her stomach, wondering if her sudden nausea was her imagination. It had to be. She blinked and looked down at the cat. An active mind and imagination certainly had its downside. She spent far too much time in her head.

Another flash of lightning lit her room, followed immediately by a boom of thunder. The horn pane of her window rattled, then crashed to the floor. Bianca sprang to her feet, nerves skidding down her spine. The rain poured through the window, pounding the sill and floor, the wind pushing it sideways. Cursing in aggravation, Bianca found a plank of wood and jammed it in place. But as she stepped away from the window, the alley door blew open with such violence that it was as if the devil himself had thrown it open.

Bianca spun around.

The plank of wood clattered to the floor.

Again, sheets of rain poured into her rent, soaking the floor. But as she started for the window, a piercing pain surged through her skull, streaking and burning like a bolt of lightning. She staggered under its fierce and blinding force. The last thing she heard was the muffled sound of rain on the threshold.