The man shuddered. “The cough suppressant, the invigorant, the fever tonic, they’re labelled although there’s nothing but castor oil, lavender or essence of peppermint in the bottles.”
Lockhart slammed his hand on the counter. “You’re charging for medicine when you know the contents will do nothing other than act as a relaxant?” And perhaps cause flatulence, which accounted for the sickly concoction of smells lingering in his father’s room.
“At Mr Lockhart’s insistence.”
Why would Terence buy medicine knowing it would have little effect? Perhaps Terence didn’t want their father to recover. Perhaps he didn’t trust Justin to administer the required dose.
“Of course, the other fellow demanded something stronger.”
Lockhart frowned. “The other fellow?”
Mr Wolfson flashed a greedy grin.
“You’ll not get another damn penny,” Lockhart hissed through gritted teeth. “What other fellow?”
Wolfson shrugged. “A right old dandy with an upturned nose and a fancy green coat. Came in here complaining about the quality of the laudanum. Demanded I use less alcohol in the tincture. He wouldn’t leave until I’d prepared two bottles.”
Justin Perigrew.
So his cousin was determined to keep Alfred Lockhart in a drug-induced state.
“Take the money,” Lockhart said. He watched Wolfson slap his hand over the coins and slide them off the counter. “You’ve been most helpful.”
Lockhart left the apothecary shop feeling more confused than when he’d entered. He wished Claudia had accompanied him. Her insight proved invaluable, and she addressed matters from a logical viewpoint rather than one tainted with the need for vengeance.
As he strode towards his carriage, he hoped to find her spirits recovered. What he found upon yanking open the door was that the carriage was empty.
Claudia Darling had disappeared.
Chapter Sixteen
The shop’s doorbell tinkled, drawing the curious gazes of two people examining the watercolours lining one wall. Another group was engrossed in surveying the row of pens until the woman slapped the child’s hand when the boy insisted on tickling his sister with the feather of a quill.
Claudia scanned the items for sale, wondering what on earth had brought Mr Thorncroft to town and what had held his interest in the stationer’s shop. The man liked writing letters—or contracts to be more precise. Perhaps it was the only place one might purchase an ink pot full of blood. Blood to represent the signing away of one’s soul. Blood to represent a sinister deal with a devil.
Gathering her courage, Claudia approached the middle-aged woman behind the counter. “Forgive me, I am to meet my brother here, but I fear I’ve spent too long in the bookshop. Please tell me I haven’t missed him.” Heavens, Claudia’s acting skills grew better by the day. “He’s a rather dour looking fellow with sallow skin. But don’t tell him I said that.”
The woman scanned Claudia’s clothes. The ones made purely for the purposes of deception. “And you’re to meet him in this shop?”
“Most definitely.”
“Did he have business upstairs?”
Upstairs? That threw her somewhat.
From the woman’s cautious tone and shifty eyes, whatever happened upstairs was neither legal nor moral. Perhaps she ran a bordello. A bordello masquerading as a stationery shop? Hardly.
But how was she to find out information without rousing suspicion or looking like a fool?
“My brother, Mr Thorncroft, has business of a delicate nature. He simply told me to meet him here.” Perhaps he had come merely to buy sealing wax and a ream of paper. Then again, he looked to have left empty-handed. “Writing is his pastime if you take my meaning.”
Claudia’s arched brow and suggestive nod seemed to influence the woman.
“Then he’ll have been to see Mr Higson.”
“Mr Higson?”
“He’s an expert when it comes to the written word.”