He poked the mushrooms on the plate with his finger. “So you just boil them and you get wulfsyl? That seems simple.”
“Oh yes,” Kate replied in exasperation. “That’s all alchemy is, making weak soup. And is your scribing merely scribbling? No. I’m boiling them to release their essence, which I’ll then filter and purify here.” She gestured to a complex apparatus of a cucurbit connected to an alembic. “Afterward, I create the elixir through the difficult process of combining it with—”
“I concede the point,” Simon put a mushroom to his ear. “You haven’t told Charlotte that some of her old colleagues were looking for her?”
“No. And I don’t intend to.”
“Probably for the best. Could she just eat the mushrooms and get the same effect?”
“I suppose, though the result would be far weaker. No doubt that’s what many werewolves do who don’t have access to an alchemist.” Kate pointed to a wooden rack where there were several glass tubes filled with green liquid. “Fortunately, Charlotte does.”
She took one of the glass tubes and crooked a finger at Simon. Together, with Aethelred dragging his length of rope, they went to the Blue Parlor, where a table was laid for high tea. Several teapots rested in the center of elegant place settings for five. And there was a tower of finger sandwiches and small cakes. Servants bowed and departed.
“Oh, tea!” Simon clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “I do so hope I’m invited!”
Kate slapped his chest. “You’re an ass.”
Without response, Simon went to the table and took a seat, all prim and proper. The door opened and Charlotte entered, with Hogarth close behind her. She was in a very fashionable dress with balloon sleeves. Her hair was done up in elegant buns with bouncing curls along the sides of her face. Kate stripped off the stained leather apron to reveal she was suitably attired in a flowing cotton dress of yellow. Simon felt inappropriate in simple black trousers, a white shirt, and a waistcoat, but no proper jacket or tie.
Kate put her hands on Charlotte’s cheeks, inspecting the girl’s demure appearance. “My goodness, Charlotte, how nice you look. Did Hogarth do your hair?”
Charlotte nodded, in silent awe of the hulking manservant.
Kate smiled at the stoic Hogarth, who had taken up a position in the corner. “You’re still in good practice after all these years.”
“Thank you, Miss Kate. Her hair was more cooperative than yours, as I recall.”
Then Charlotte saw the table setting and squealed with glee. “Oh! Tea! What fun!” She raced to the table and curtsied to Simon, who rose to seat her.
Then Malcolm entered cautiously with his typical dour black outfit and a confused look. “What the hell? I thought the—”
Kate raised a silencing finger.
“Malcolm!” Simon called out and patted the chair next to him. “I’ve saved you a seat.”
The Scotsman wandered to the table, still quite puzzled as Kate assumed the hostess duties. “Everyone, please, sit.”
Charlotte stared back at Hogarth, and she whispered to Kate, “Isn’t he going to serve us?”
“No, dear,” Kate said pleasantly. “Hogarth doesn’t wait tables. We shall serve ourselves.”
“How bohemian,” Charlotte said with a smile. “It’s like the French Revolution.”
Malcolm sat and nodded to Simon. “Madame.”
“Is Imogen joining us?” Simon inquired hopefully.
“I hoped she would.” Kate’s eyes betrayed her sadness at the last empty chair. “Perhaps another occasion.”
“She’s your sister, yes?” Charlotte’s voice sounded a trifle disappointed.
“Yes. She’s had a very hard time. She’s been sick.”
Though Kate had tried to state the matter politely, the young girl beside her bowed her head. “I know what happened. I wish I could help her. I’m sorry for what Gretta did. She helped Dr. White hunt your sister.”
“Thank you, Charlotte, but you weren’t to blame. That is reserved for those that did the deed itself. But enough of that. Today we concentrate on more important matters.”
“Like tea and fancy dresses!” Charlotte beamed once more, her hands smoothing down the elegant silk material that bunched around her hips and legs.
“Yes.” Kate poured tea and passed trays full of sandwiches. Charlotte began to pile her plate.
A shadow filled the door and there stood Imogen. She wore a dark gown that whisked the floor. Her hands were covered in black silk gloves although the right one fit poorly. Her face was draped in a black veil.
The gentlemen rose from the table, as did Kate, whose eyes were near to brimming, a hand flying up to her mouth to hold back an exclamation. Her throat was locked and she couldn’t find the words to express her joy.
Imogen, suddenly fearful now that all eyes were on her, took a step backward. Thankfully, Simon knew just what to do. He quickly pulled out a chair for her between Charlotte and Kate.