“I have, actually, but Mr. Scather says his laudanum works faster and more effectively for my cramps and headaches. He claims it not only alleviates pain but also soothes nerves and enables a restful sleep. I can’t argue with promises such as that.” She shoved her palm closer. “And you still owe me a penny.”
Juliet’s smile wavered as she painstakingly fished out the last of her coins and laid them on the woman’s flour-dusted hand. “There you are, Mrs. Craft, but remember this. New does not necessarily mean better. Laudanum may ease your symptoms as Mr. Scather suggests, but it will do so at a cost. That medication is highly addictive. In the long run, you will spend more money,for you shall find the desire for such a drug will overpower your common sense.” Juliet picked up the bottle and jiggled it. “I will save this yarrow for when your laudanum runs out.”
Mrs. Craft pursed her lips but nodded. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Finch. I will keep that in mind. Good day.”
Juliet tucked the tincture and the flour sack into her basket, then stepped into the cool of the early-September morn. A slight breeze carried a mouthwatering aroma of bread from the nearby bakery. The loaf she’d be able to make when she returned home would be mean indeed compared to the golden-crusted loaves in the window of Mrs. Flanagan’s bakeshop. She glanced at the limp reticule dangling empty from her wrist. No sense desiring such an extravagance. She might not have the funds for a tasty treat, but at least she had flour.
She tossed back her shoulders and strode past the delicious scent. Beyond Mrs. Flanagan’s, the striped awning of the greengrocer rippled in the wind. She couldn’t afford anything in there either, but that didn’t stop her from pushing open the door and setting off a tinkling bell.
“Good morning, Miss Finch!” Mr. Walton wiped his palms on his white apron as he sidestepped a barrel of apples. “What will it be today?”
“Actually, I was about to ask you that same question, sir.” She smiled as she pulled off the cloth covering she’d tucked over the tinctures. “What interests you on this fine morning? I have brought some of my aunt’s finest extracts.”
He rubbed his hip as he peered into the basket. “Well, I can’t deny that rain yesterday crawled right into my bones. What do you have for that?”
“Step into my office.” Her grin grew as she beckoned him to the counter with a tip of her head. One by one, she pulled out a few bottles. “I recommend the willow bark, which is good for easing joint pain and inflammation. Or you could try this gingerextract. It is wonderful for warming the body and alleviating rheumatic aches.”
“Hmm,” he murmured as he picked up the ginger.
The door bell jingled merrily behind them, followed by a man’s low voice. “Good morning, Mr. Walton. I find I am in need of some—Miss Finch. What are you doing?”
She turned at the man’s approach, her stomach tightening as she gazed at a horse-faced fellow, long in the nose and with a dense mane of dark hair. He smelled of vinegar and the metallic scent that tarnished the skin after holding on to a handful of copper pennies for too long. His calculating eyes, hooded with heavy lids, peered at her from behind wire spectacles.
Juliet narrowed her own eyes. What was Mr. Scather doing here? Did he not have a shop to attend? She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “Good day to you too, Mr. Scather.”
He scowled at her basket. “Surely you are not selling your concoctions to our good grocer here. We have already had this discussion, miss, unless you should like to do so again with the constable? Or have you somehow acquired a license to peddle your wares? If so, I should like to see it. Now.”
She plucked the bottle from Mr. Walton’s hand and gathered the other as well, then covered the entire basket with the cloth. She’d visited her father in gaol and swore never again to set foot in such a foul place, so a constable was the last person she wanted to see. “If you will pardon me, Mr. Scather, I do not have time for a lengthy conversation, nor do you. After all, do you not have a business to mind? Or are you too busy minding the business of others?”
Red crawled up the apothecary’s neck. “You will regret this impudence, Miss Finch. Mark my words.”
Mr. Walton chuckled. “She’s got you there, Scather. Seems to me she’s just trying to help folks in need.”
Juliet turned back to Mr. Walton, heart swelling at his defense. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding.”
Mr. Scather stepped toe to toe with her, fury blooming purple against the white of his collar. “If I hear you’ve sold so much as one flower petal to anyone in town, I will have you locked up, young lady.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Scather. I am fresh out of petals.” She grabbed her basket. “Good day, sirs.”
She swept past him, the hem of her pelisse whapping against his shins. Odious man. She yanked open the door, practically unseating the bell, so wildly did it clatter, then crossed the road with determined steps. No way would she continue down Mr. Scather’s side of the street. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Surely one little basket of tonics wouldn’t put a dent into his daily profits. Nor would—
“Oh!” she cried.
Juliet stumbled sideways, bottles rattling, while simultaneously reaching to right Miss Potter. Clearly the woman had barreled out of the milliner’s shop without a care. Then again, had her own mind not been on rotten old Mr. Scather, the collision wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
Miss Potter’s hands flew to her head, fingers fussing with an outlandish nest of feathers that had likely left a very naked bird out in the cold somewhere. “Miss Finch, I do apologize. I fear my new hat has bewitched me body and soul.”
“No, no, Miss Potter. It is I who should have been more attentive.” Juliet swiped up the hatbox that’d flown from Miss Potter’s grasp. “Are you quite all right?”
“Never better.” She hugged the round case to her chest. “I find a new hat cures any ill that may plague a woman.”
Well. So much for trying to sell an elixir to a person without a complaint. Juliet gripped her basket with both hands. “I am happy to hear it.”
“And how is that dear aunt of yours? I truly ought to make the effort of getting out to see the poor dear. You know how I—”
Miss Potter rambled on about her full schedule and all the various charities she took part in, but Juliet paid scant attention. She couldn’t. Trotting down the road on a sleek black horse was an imposing man with a rather wide set of shoulders—a very masculine torso that was now clad in a tailed riding coat with a white linen stock wound around his throat and tied in a bulky bow. Tight breeches clung to muscular thighs above shiny black riding boots, and he wore a tall black hat with a curled brim. Quite the change from a fellow in a nightshirt with a flash of chest peeking through, but it was him. She was sure of it. The man in the woods. The one who—if he recognized her—could summon a constable and have her tossed into prison.
In a flash, she ducked behind Miss Potter, pulling the woman around as a human shield and eternally grateful for her bodacious hat, which would block the man’s view of her face. Her heart raced, not just from the fear of being caught, but from the memory of his intense gaze and his strong grip on her shoulder.
