It had been three days since Clio left Viscount Beachley’s home, and she hadn’t heard a single word from Uncle Lachlan or the cursed Lieutenant General Grey about a meeting with Miss Anna Beachley to question the girl. Of course, she didn’t expect Lieutenant General Grey to be forthcoming with any invitations, but why did Uncle Lachlan want her help on the case if he wasn’t going to keep her informed? She would have to work on procuring a means to meet with the young lady herself. But such plans must wait until she completed her work at All Things Bright and Beautiful.
Aunt Rowan was predictably infuriated about her niece choosing to disregard her edict and forge ahead with Uncle Lachlan on a new case despite the danger Clio might face. All the flowers in their house wilted at once as Aunt Rowan pierced Clio’s heart with a well-placed arrow disguised as a question.
‘Why must you insist on risking yourself? I have already lost my sisters. Don’t force me to lose my niece as well. My heart is hard, but even stone can break, Clio.’
And then Uncle Lachlan invited himself for dinner and told Aunt Rowan about Lieutenant General Thomas Grey joining the investigation. Lightning split the sky, and Londoners spoke for days about the sudden storm that flooded the streets.
After the girls were sent to bed, serious negotiations must have taken place because the next morning, Aunt Rowan wouldn’t say a word about Clio’s part in the investigation, but the fresh milk in the larder had curdled, and the weather remained tumultuous.
Aunt Rowan was clear on two points. The moment Clio experienced another incident of physical harm, she must quit. And Aunt Rowan wouldn’t stand for Clio shirking her duties at All Things Bright and Beautiful just to chase down some murderer. If she wanted to risk her life for some imbecile dead viscount and help her feckless uncle on the case, well, she was a grown woman free to make her own choices, but Aunt Rowan wouldn’t be saving her from the consequences of those choices. Nor would she expect Clio’s sister or cousin to take up any slack at All Things Bright and Beautiful just because Clio had divided her loyalty between her coven and her bloody uncle, who wasn’t even real kin.
Aunt Rowan really handled the whole thing very well.
And so, instead of heading directly back to Viscount Beachley’s home on this rainy morning, Clio did her best to keep her smile genuine as she stood on the business side of the shop’s counter and dealt with one of their most challenging customers.
Lady Honoria Pestlewit.
Women like her were exactly why Clio preferred to work in the cellar of the shop. They had converted the cavernous space into a kind of spell room cum laboratory cum storeroom. For Clio, it was a magical oasis. Quiet, calm, and redolent with fresh herbs, dried flowers, and essential oils. Crystals hung from the beams, catching the minimal light and fracturing colours on the stone walls. All ofClio’s carefully procured ingredients waited patiently to be blended into concoctions part-natural, part-mystical, all brimming with healing properties. She could spend countless happy hours instilling her magic into the potions handed down by generations of witches on her mother’s side, experimenting with old recipes and adding new ones to the large book kept safely hidden away in a cabinet bespelled to only open for their family coven. It was one of her most favourite places. She would much rather be there than chattering uselessly with London’s wealthiest ladies. But today, the fates had conspired against her.
Ellie or Cousin Helena usually worked at the front of the shop, but Helena’s fox had taken ill, and she refused to leave his side until he was better. Ellie, who rarely asked favours of anyone, had asked Clio to cover her at the front of the store this morning so she could run a special care package to an ageing baroness – one of Ellie’s favourite customers. Ellie was beside herself with worry for the old woman, and Clio could hardly refuse her sister’s request. Aunt Rowan managed the books for All Things Bright and Beautiful, but only worked in the front of the store during dire emergencies. Clio doubted her aunt would consider this a dire emergency, especially given her current mood. So, Clio was left alone. With Lady Pestlewit.
The most insufferable woman in all of London. This is my penance for some terrible crime I must have committed in a past life.
‘I tried your cream, and it hasn’t done a thing for my complexion. Look!’ Lady Pestlewit leaned closer to Clio, the angry red lesions on her cheek impossible to ignore. ‘It’s made everything worse! I demand you return my payment. Immediately!’
Exhaling a slow breath, Clio noticed the flames jump in the small hearth warming the shop. ‘Have you also been using other products? Madame Rachel’s Royal Arabian face elixir, perhaps?’
Lady Pestlewit stepped back abruptly, her eyes darting around the simply decorated salesroom of the apothecary. Aunt Rowan believed in clean surfaces, ample light, elegant displays, and natural materials. It was a drastic contrast to Madame Rachel’s shop, where heavy crimson drapes, lattice screens, and Middle Eastern wall hangings created an exotic atmosphere, enhancing her claims of using only the rarest ingredients from Morocco, Arabia, Egypt, and beyond. Of course, what she actually used in her products were chalk, arsenic, lead carbonate, and prussic acid.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Lady Pestlewit refused to make eye contact with Clio.
Clio chose to ignore the blatant lie. When dealing with a duchess, it was important to use diplomacy, even if it rankled. ‘I’ve seen this reaction before.’
‘I’m sure other ladies have come in with similar complaints after using your poisonous concoction.’ Lady Pestlewit shook the pot of cream in her hand like an angry baby shaking its rattle.
‘Actually, most of them were suffering ill effects from enamelling.’ It was a process Madame Rachel was famous for, though the benefits were short-lived and often resulted in unintended and painful side effects. ‘Once the paste and chalk wore off, they were left with lesions of an almost identical nature to your own.’
Sir Robin cawed before muttering something about ‘vanity and madness’ from his perch in the corner where he looked out a large paned window onto Savile Row.
The woman’s already compromised complexion darkened to an alarming crimson. ‘How dare you suggest?—’
‘Of course, a confident lady such as yourself would never stoop to such silly – and ridiculously expensive – methods.’
‘Are you implying I don’t have the necessary funds to?—’
Clio continued speaking. ‘Knowing, as you do, the secret to true beauty is far more complex than the smoothness of one’s skin.’
Lady Pestlewit swallowed audibly. ‘O-of course.’ But her voice quavered. Clio felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman. As a matron nearing her fifth decade and pre-disposed to a plump figure and the natural effects of ageing, she would never meet the unattainable beauty standards currently popular in the beau monde. Sir Robin was right, as always. Her vanity would lead to madness if she didn’t learn to accept herself.
Clio softened her voice and tempered the sharp flame within her to a warm heat that soothed instead of singed. ‘A lady of your calibre understands it is the invisible qualities shining through a woman that make her quite spectacular.’
‘Er, yes. Of course. Qualities like…’ Lady Pestlewit pursed her lips, waiting for Clio to finish her sentence.
Clio nodded as though Lady Pestlewit had said something remarkably clever. ‘Empathy, understanding, love without judgement – especially loving oneself – and a willingness to see the joy in life. To marvel at its wonders. These are the traits that create an unmatchable charm within a woman. Something no cream, oil, wafer, or poultice can ever achieve. But you already know this, Lady Pestlewit.’
Clearing her throat, Lady Pestlewit’s lips softened, erasing the harsh lines bracketing her mouth. ‘Exactly. It’s a shame more women aren’t as enlightened as I am about the nature of beauty.’
Clio smiled. ‘Thank goodness you have such confidence to share your thoughts with so many.’
