“If we are going to the apothecaries, we should leave soon.”
I agreed, and after a quick meal we set out for the parish of All Saints, Pavement. A number of apothecaries kept their shops there, and they were the ones closest to the Coopers’ house. The trip to All Saints also took us nearer the rebel guns, and in the distance we could hear the thump as they lobbed cannonballs into the city. The first apothecaries we visited had not sold any ratsbane in at least two weeks, and neither recognized the bottle we showed them.
We reached the third shop on the street, which, according to the neatly painted sign hanging above the door, belonged to Thomas Penrose. As I reached for the handle, the door swung open to reveal Ellen Hutton, the Coopers’ maidservant.
“Ellen,” I exclaimed. “It is good to see you again. How are you?”
“Very well, my lady,” she said, bowing her head.
“What brings you here?” I asked. “I hope you are not unwell.”
She shook her head and held up two small envelopes. “I came for some herbs from Mr. Penrose. The nearness to the river has given Mrs. Cooper a cough, and the apothecary recommended I send her these.”
“You are a faithful girl, Ellen,” I said. “Have you given any more thought to your future?”
“Yes, my lady. I have found a family in St. Gregory that will take me in if I need a position. They seem very kind. If Mrs. Cooper allows me, I will start in a fortnight.” I congratulated Ellen on her new position, and we parted ways. Unless our search for whoever had purchased the ratsbane led us to the killer, I could not imagine Esther coming home before Ellen left.
We entered the shop, and to my surprise I found a familiar figure behind the counter. It was not the apothecary, but his apprentice, Richard Baker. I had met Richard a few years before, when he had been apprentice to an apothecary I frequented. Unfortunately for Richard, his master died the previous winter, less than a year before he would have gained his freedom. I was happy to see that he had found a new home. He glanced up when we entered and nodded curtly to me but continued to carefully measure herbs into a mortar for crushing. If the jars before him were any indication, the medicine he made was complex indeed, including cinnamon, thyme, hyssop, dittany, mugwort, and burdock. I looked more closely and saw that Richard and his new master must have had their differences, for his face was covered with bruises. While some had begun to fade, others were quite recent—they were the result of a series of beatings, not a single fight.
The small shop was impeccably clean, and it seemed clear to me that Penrose was lucky to have found such a hardworking and careful lad. I could not help wondering why he treated Richard so harshly. Once Richard had measured out the herbs to his satisfaction, he set the mortar aside. I realized with a start that the bottles that lined the shelf behind him were identical to the one that contained the ratsbane. I glanced over at Martha and could tell from her face that she’d seen them, too. Well, I thought, at least we have solved that part of the mystery.
“Lady Hodgson!” Richard said with genuine enthusiasm when he turned to us. “What a pleasant surprise. Are the apothecaries on your side of the city no longer meeting your needs? I’m quite sure that Mr. Penrose and I can help.”
“Richard, how are you? I’m pleased that you found another master after Mr. Samuels’s death. How are things here?”
Richard’s face clouded for a moment and I saw a flash of anger in his eyes, but he regained himself. “I’m nearly finished with my apprenticeship,” he said with a shrug. “Then I shall have freedom, and all will be well. I do hope you will consider bringing me your business when I have a shop of my own.”
“Of course,” I said, meaning it. “At the moment, though, I am looking for your master. I have some questions for him.”
“He is not in right now,” he said. “Perhaps I can help you.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “Tell me, Richard, how much time do you spend minding the shop?” He was confident and competent, and I had a feeling that the shop was more his than Penrose’s. It was all too common for an unscrupulous master to abandon the education of his apprentice and let the poor lad run the shop on his behalf.
“Mr. Penrose has many concerns outside of his shop,” he said, trying not to meet my eyes. “I help his customers as best I can.” He was a terrible liar, and his response only confirmed my suspicions.
“I am curious whether Charles Yeoman has ever come to the shop.”
“If he has, I don’t know him. But some customers choose not to give their name, and York has many strangers.”