Before he could answer, the turnkey planted himself next to the man. “You’ve got five minutes.” A few drops of brown tobacco juice dribbled out the side of his mouth, but he did nothing to swipe the mess away. “I’ll be waitin’ by the door.” He shuffled off, slapping his club against his palm.
Mr. Scather’s gaze followed the hulk for a beat before looking down the great length of his sloped nose at her. “I came to see the reckless woman who once again threatens to ruin my business.”
“How can I possibly accomplish that while locked in here?” She snorted.
“It is not what you are doing so much as what you have done. Poisoning a lady of society!” He spread his hands. “Have you lost your wits?”
Dread coiled in her stomach, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. “Has … has Miss Russell died?”
“No. I hear she fares well, no thanks to you and your evil intent.”
Relief flashed through her, followed by a wave of righteous fury. “You have no right to accuse me of such a wicked crime.”
“I have every right,” he growled as he stepped closer, his wafting breath pungent with cloves. “Do you think your actions have not cast suspicion on all who deal in pills and remedies? There is already a noticeable downturn in my business.”
“What have I to do with that? I am no apothecary, as you have repeatedly pointed out.” She paced a small circle, trying to make sense of his words. “I fail to see how my imprisonment affects your sales.”
His upper lip curled slightly. “The people of Bedford make no distinction between a street peddler such as yourself and an upstanding man of the trade like me. Remedies are remedies to them. What you did stains my name as well.”
Juliet folded her arms like a shield against his accusations. “I have done nothing other than to be accused, through no fault of my own.”
He chuckled, the sound hollow. “That is beside the point. Gossipmongers care nothing for the truth. My bottles are being looked upon as liquid death, all because the woman who sold tonics on the street has poisoned a gentlewoman … with laudanum and ether, no less.”
He advanced, grabbing the bars with his long fingers, his voice lowering to a deadly tone. “And I think it may be no coincidence that recently a substantial amount of laudanum has gone missing from my stock, not to mention some oil of ether. What have you to say to that?”
She gaped, hardly believing the gall of the man. “Are you accusing me of theft, sir?”
He glanced from left to right before settling his dark gaze back on her. “I don’t see anyone else in here who has the know-how and capability to overdose an unsuspecting victim to the point just shy of death. So”—his head cocked—“how did you do it? Pay a light-finger to snatch a bottle here and there when my back was turned? Or did you somehow sneak in at night? And what are you planning to do with the rest of it now that you are behind bars?”
Her old friend fury sparked into life, burning a trail up from her belly. Had she not suffered enough indignities that she now must bear this man’s indictments?
She dropped her arms, hands curling into fists at her side. “Perhaps you ought to speak to the constable, Mr. Scather, because I have no idea where your missing laudanum could be.”
“You and your silver tongue.” He sneered. “You think you’re so cunning, but this time your scheming is at an end. It appears you have ended up where you belong.”
She propped her fists onto her hips. The man ought to be grateful bars separated them, for she’d really rather pop him in the nose. “Did you come all this way to gloat, Mr. Scather? Or is there a point to your visit?”
He adjusted his spectacles, his dark eyes narrowing behind the glass. “The point is this, Miss Finch. If you truly are as innocent as you claim, then clear your name quickly, because if you do not, more than your own reputation will suffer.”
She flexed her fingers, frustration a living animal caged inside her chest. Did he not realize she’d like nothing better? “Then help me do so,” she challenged.
A humourless chuckle rumbled in his throat. “That is not my burden to shoulder. You are a clever woman. More than resilient and highly intelligent. I am sure you will think of something. You always have in the past.”
“Look around you.” She flung out her arms. “I have no resources to use in here. No power to do anything other than sit on that rock-hard cot.” She jabbed her finger over her shoulder at the hated wooden frame.
“You have a mind, do you not? Use it. Think! If you did not poison Miss Russell, then who benefits from making you look the guilty party? Who stands to gain from such a ruse? Identify the culprit and outmaneuver them. And do so quickly, for both of our sakes.” He retreated a step, readjusting his black hat with a sharp clap to the top of it. “Good day, Miss Finch.”
She barely registered his departure, his voice still echoing inside her head.
“Who benefits from making you look the guilty party? … Identify the culprit and outmaneuver them.”
She grabbed on to the bars to keep from swaying, so stunning was the simplicity of the words. She’d been so busy mucking about in self-pity, too preoccupied with anger towards Henry,her father, and—God forgive her—the Almighty Himself, that she’d not given a second thought to who really poisoned Charity.
She stumbled to the corner and swiped up the note, then dropped to the cot and unfolded it. Smoothing out the wrinkles, she stared at the words with fresh eyes, then jerked up her head at the clank of the heavy door slamming behind Mr. Scather.
“Who benefits?” she whispered. “Well, sir, I suppose I will just have to find out.”
October afternoons were made for sitting in front of the fire, a dog at your feet and a cider in your hand, with nary a care in the world to weigh you down. Henry smirked at the flames in the sitting room hearth. Well, he had fire, at least. One out of four would have to do.
