AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter sixteen
Off the Case
LaterthatdayLucinda asked Grandma Jones if she knew of a brew with three special ingredients that could dispel fear, free the memory, and loosen the tongue.
“That brew is dispensed every day in a tavern. It is called ale. Why do you ask?”
Lucinda fabricated a story about someone trying to sell her a “love potion” on the street that was a mixture of three potent herbal remedies.
“A love potion? Are you sure it was not some cheap wine?”
“Fairly certain from the smell of the concoction.”
Grandma looked at her skeptically. “Would this ‘love potion’ be for someone we know who has suffered a decline in a certain male’s attention?”
“Grandma! No! How could you think such a thing? What do you take me for? I was simply asking out of curiosity and concern for gullible persons whether it was actually possible to concoct such a brew.”
Grandma gave it some thought before delivering her verdict. “Hemp, poppy, even some mushroom extracts can have such an effect. If those herbal remedies were combined, it would be a dangerous thing to be peddling on the street. Strong medicine must be matched to the purpose and the patient. Too much or too little can have ill effects, as you know.”
“What ill effects specifically, so I might warn my friends?”
“You have already seen the effects of poppy. It is wonderful for easing pain and also loosens the tongue and control of reason. Remember the effect it had on our Nathan after he was stabbed?” How could she forget? It was the first time Nathan Field declared his love for her, a declaration that now seemed a lifetime ago. So much had changed in less than a year, including her feelings toward Nathan.
“Too much poppy can slow breathing and induce a sleep from which you may never awaken.” Grandma’s voice brought her abruptly back to the current dilemma, how to mine Maud and Lizzie’s memories for a clue. “Hemp has less danger but is more variable in its expression. It is hard to get consistency in the herb’s strength. Mushrooms, on the other hand, are very potent and also very dangerous. They can cause frightening dreams, headaches, convulsions, even death, if the dose is too strong or the mushrooms the wrong kind. So if anyone offers such a concoction my advice would be to stay well away.”
This was all very interesting advice but did not bring her any further to obtaining what she needed. As Grandma reminded her, she already had quite good knowledge of administering poppy or hemp for pain or as a calming agent and could simply start with either of those. She had nearly a week to ponder the question and a great deal could change in a week. She had hopes that tomorrow McCrae would put in an appearance. For all she knew he might already know the identity of the rapist. Then there would be no need to trawl the depths of her friends’ most dreaded memories.
Where were the resources Cavendish had promised her? She might be his first female spy, but she was clearly the last to know the state of affairs. And if McCrae failed to reappear, then Lizzie and Maud were absolutely right, the Sisters were better off seeking out the culprit on their own.
Come Thursday McCrae still had not put in an appearance. All day she waited. All day she told herself to be patient. It was ridiculous to be constantly scanning the room in case he had slipped in unnoticed, foolish for her heart to break into a canter at the merest hint of a Scottish accent. She riled at him for disappearing. She riled at herself for wasting far too many hours on worrying, wondering, and working herself into a state. Had something terrible happened? Was she somehow to blame? Had she said something so abhorrent he could not forgive her? Had he simply no further use for her or found someone else to spark a twinkle in his eyes? Why was she even thinking such a thing? When she next saw him, she would give him a piece of her mind. That she would. She stomped about all day taking her bad mood out on inanimate objects. The academy cat had the good sense to steer well clear of her broomstick and her boots, and if swords had legs, they would have all run away hours ago. Yet much as good sense and reason told her not to give him any more thought, she could not stop her eyes from straying to the door.
It was a rare quiet afternoon with only a few fencers about, none of whom needed much attention. Moll had left early. Grandma was off on some visits calling in on women who had recently given birth, putting the temporary lull in trade to good use. Lucinda had finished her cleaning. All the preparations for the next day were also complete, and she found herself in the novel situation of having nothing pressing to do. Father announced he was off to a local tavern for “a meeting“. A meeting of ale mugs more like, which left Lucinda at a loose end to stew and to scheme. With idle hands and an over-stirred mind she came to a decision. It was both rapidly made and hastily executed.
She was going to demand some answers from Robert McCrae.
The least he could do was explain why he abandoned her.
More than anything she hated to be ignored.
The tide was low, and her hopes were high. Her mission was worthy, though her motives arguably muddied. The evening was so balmy half of London had taken to strolling. Even the usual stench of the Fleet ditch was only mildly offensive as the winds were blowing favorably from the west. All added to her sense of optimism. She would seek McCrae out and demand some answers; that she would. Many of the lodgings in this part of the palace complex at Whitehall looked rather similar, all bright red brick with fancy chimneys, so she took her time making sure she had the right one. This was it. She was sure. Or was it? Yes, it was. It must be. She remembered there being a deep diagonal row of scratches in the lower left panel of the timber door that looked as if a previous occupant had owned a large animal with the claws to match. A tiger sprang to mind. Not that she had ever seen a tiger or possessed any accurate knowledge of the span of its claws.
Now she was here. Outside McCrae’s small abode. What next? In her mind she had not advanced as far as visualizing their meeting, only going as far as rehearsing what she would say. Knocking was always a good start. She raised a tentative fist, fingers curled into the perfect rapping configuration. A high knock? A low knock? A fast knock? A slow knock? Oh for pity’s sake, she was beyond salvation. She took a deep breath, long, slow and deliberate, then proceeded to pummel the poor unfortunate door with both of her fists. That should get him moving.
It did not.
Glancing over her left shoulder and then the right she checked to see if her somewhat vigorous call to attention had unwittingly rallied the neighbors into action.
It had not.
All was quiet, unnaturally quiet, and for the first time she was confronted with the evidence of the flaw in her plan.
In order to confront McCrae at his lodging he would need to actually be home.
She knocked again, not with quite as much volume and vehemence but firmly and vigorously enough. This was purely in case he did not hear the first time because he was in such a deep state of unconsciousness (a lack of consciousness being the only way he could not have heard the knock). While it was possible McCrae was home and had chosen to ignore her thunderous knocking, which rivalled the bells of Saint Paul’s for sheer volume, he could not know the pounding had emanated from her fair hands. His lack of response could indicate he did not wish to see anyone at all. The most likely conclusion, however, was simply that he was not at home. Her quest had been rash and foolish, a complete and utter waste of time. With nothing to scratch her name upon to leave as a sign of her unplanned visit, there was nothing else to do other than turn around and go home.
She fumed. She snorted. She stamped one foot like a horse.
She even aimed a swift kick at the hapless door.
