The Alchemist's Daughter (18 page)

C
HAPTER
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.

She grabbed one of the cages and thrust it open, dumping the rat onto the table. She covered its back with the thick jute and squeezed its torso. Holding its legs tight against its body, Bianca turned it over so its throat and little pointy chin were exposed. “Have you drawn the purgative?”

John didn’t like rats any more than Bianca, and the sight of her holding one made him squeamish. She wasn’t exactly the kind of girl he’d bring home to Mum, if he had a mum or a home to bring a girl to. But Bianca never failed to intrigue him and he could never claim her dull. “Aye!” John quickly drew up the liquid and stopped the end with his thumb.

With her free hand, Bianca pinched the rat on either side of its mouth, forcing its jaw open. “Now!”

John positioned the tube over its mouth and released his thumb. The column of fluid flowed silently and evenly down the rat’s throat.

Satisfied, Bianca shoved the rat back into its cage and secured the small hasp. She wiped her hand on her kirtle. “That’s one,” she said, labeling the cage and setting it by.

John wiped his hand along his leg. He hadn’t gotten but a drop of purgative solution on his skin, but still . . .

“Again?” he asked.

“By the time I get to the third rat, we’ll be used to this.”

John had his doubts but kept quiet. How could anyone get used to this? Hopefully, the end result would be a dead rat because, in his mind, the only good rat was a dead one. But John realized this was Bianca’s inquiry, and ultimately, if she got an answer from all her effort then he would be glad.

Bianca grabbed the second rat and John fed it the purgative.

“There,” said Bianca, satisfied. She labeled the two cages and set them aside.

“Now for the rat poison.” Bianca readied another two cages and John swirled the solution.

The two of them continued, with Bianca prying open their mouths and John dispensing the poison.

“So, our little friends will die, and then you will slit them open and see if their blood is tinged purple?” asked John.

“If their blood tinges purple, I’ll know whether it was the purgative or rat poison that killed Jolyn. If the purgative turns blood purple, then I know for sure that someone at Barke House poisoned her. If it is the rat poison, then both Wynders and the denizens of Barke House are suspect.”

“But Wynders bought rat poison from you after Jolyn died.”

“True, but the recipe for rat poison is standardized in London. Wynders could have had a stash of it. What separates my rat poison from others is a smell of terebinth derived from pine. No one would mistakenly ingest it.”

“So if rat poison tinges the blood purple, then Wynders is our man.”

“In my mind, he would be the stronger suspect.”

John thought for a moment. “What if both solutions turn blood purple?”

“I don’t believe that will happen. But it could. In which case, I am no closer to figuring this out.”

“And if neither tinges her blood?”

“Then . . .” Bianca’s voice trailed off. She shrugged. “I will look in a different direction.” She scratched her head. “I’m certain Jolyn could never have ingested my rat poison. The smell of terebinth resin cannot be easily masked.”

John agreed the smell was potent. A sharp whiff made his eyes sting as he worked to draw up the fluid.

Bianca sat and observed the cages of rats. She hoped it wouldn’t be long before she’d see the effects of her physickes on the animals. It was midmorning, and she couldn’t help but feel anxious. Every minute and every hour that passed, her sense of hope dwindled. Constable Patch was never far removed from her mind.

John wandered the room in search of something to sit on and found a stool in a corner that was covered in crockery. He was setting the bowls and cucurbits on the floor when something caught his eye.