Thirty-Eight
If you say I told you so one more time I may be forced to take drastic action,” Joshua warned.
“Your threats do not frighten me in the least,” Beatrice said. She waved one gloved hand in an airy gesture. Yes, she was gloating, she thought, but she simply could not resist. “I trust that the next time I inform you that there is evidence of a paranormal nature you will pay closer attention to my conclusions.”
They were sitting in Joshua’s anonymous carriage. Henry, the driver, had stopped at the entrance to Teaberry Lane because the ancient cobbled passage was too narrow for the vehicle.
The lane was choked with fog. It was impossible to make out the sign above the apothecary shop but there was a faint glow in the window, indicating that the establishment was open for business.
Beatrice was intensely aware of the prowling energy that seethed in the intimate confines of the vehicle’s cab. The cold, tightly controlled anticipation of the wolf on the hunt was emanating from Joshua. She knew that he would not believe her if she informed him that there was a dark heat in his eyes so she did not mention it.
“I am not convinced that Mrs. Marsh was able to identify the apothecary because she detected traces of paranormal energy in the chemicals,” Joshua said. “But I have always respected her scientific talents. I don’t doubt for a moment that she observed something in the fluid that led her to her conclusions.”
“But you’re quite certain that whatever she detected was not of a paranormal nature,” Beatrice said.
“I believe I have mentioned on more than one occasion that there is no need to resort to the paranormal for an explanation whenever one encounters a phenomenon that one cannot otherwise explain.”
“Whatever you say,” Beatrice murmured. “You are, of course, the expert when it comes to criminal investigation.”
He shot her a quick, suspicious look. She smiled sweetly and blinked a few times.
“Huh.” He shook his head and cracked open the door. “You can forget the air of innocence. It does not work on me, remember?”
“Oh, right, I keep forgetting that small fact.”
“Let’s go interview Mrs. Grimshaw,” he growled.
He kicked down the steps, seized his cane and got out of the cab. He turned to give Beatrice his hand. She got the exciting little zing of intense awareness when his powerful hand closed around hers. She peeked up at him from under the brim of her bonnet, searching his face to see if he had felt the crackle of energy that flowed between them. But his profile was set in hard, unrevealing planes and angles. If he did feel anything unusual and inexplicable when they were close like this he was using his formidable powers of self-mastery to conceal his reaction.
Henry shifted on the box and looked down at Joshua. “I’ll wait here for ye, sir.”
“Thank you,” Joshua said. He surveyed the fog-shrouded lane. “You have your whistle, I assume?”
“Aye, sir. I’ll keep watch, just as I did in the old days. If I see anything worrisome, I’ll blow two blasts to alert you. Are you expecting trouble with the apothecary, then?”
“No, but lately I have miscalculated on occasion,” Joshua said. “I’m getting old, Henry.”
Henry chuckled. “Got a long ways to go before you’re as old as me, sir.”
Joshua took Beatrice’s arm and started walking toward the door of the apothecary’s shop. The sound of their footsteps and the faint tap-tap-tap of Joshua’s cane echoed eerily in the fog. Beatrice glanced back and saw that Henry and the carriage were already no more than vague shadows in the mist.
The icy chill came out of nowhere just as they arrived at the door of the apothecary’s shop. The uneasy sensation stirred the hair on the back of her neck. She knew that Joshua felt her start of alarm because he stopped immediately, drawing her to a halt.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
She opened her senses and examined the front step of the establishment. The energy deposited by an untold number of people over the years had left a thick, churning miasma of paranormal currents. Many of the tracks were darkened with the taint of illness, pain, addiction and impending death. It was an apothecary shop, after all. Most of the people who went through the door were in search of a cure or at least temporary relief either for themselves or for someone else.
But some of the recent prints burned with another kind of heat, the familiar, seething energy she had come to know all too well.
“Joshua,” she whispered. “He was here not long ago but he left again.”
Joshua did not ask her whom she meant. He tightened his grip on her arm in a silent warning. She looked at him, startled, and saw that he was studying the windows.
“The shades have been drawn,” he said very quietly. He glanced at the windows of the rooms above the shop. “They are closed up there, too. Take out your stocking gun.”
She did not hesitate. Whipping up her skirts and petticoats, she removed the small weapon from its sheath.
“Go stand out of sight in that doorway,” he said, nodding toward the vaulted entrance of the neighboring building. “And do not hesitate to fire that gun if anyone so much as looks twice at you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but what are you planning to do?”
“Just go. Now.”
She hurried into the shelter of the nearby vestibule. From there she watched Joshua wrap a gloved hand around the door handle. She could see that he met resistance. The door was locked.
She wondered if he would try to pick the lock. But his methods proved far more efficient. He slammed the end of the ebony-and-steel cane into one of the windowpanes set into the upper half of the door.
Glass shattered. Joshua reached through the opening and unlocked the door.
He vanished inside.
A few seconds later a large, black glass bottle sailed through the doorway and landed in the middle of the lane. It shattered violently. There was a small explosive pop and a hiss. Flames leaped. They burned white-hot for a brief time before dying out.
There followed a deep silence. Beatrice held her breath.
Joshua appeared in the doorway. “You can come in now.” He looked at the gun in her hand. “Would you mind putting that away? Or at the very least stop aiming it at me?”
“Oh, sorry.” Beatrice hiked up her skirts and put the small pistol back into the dainty holster.
She hurried to the entrance of the shop and looked past Joshua. The body of an elderly woman was sprawled on the floor. The faint but unmistakable scent of chloroform tainted the atmosphere.
“Dear heaven,” Beatrice whispered. “Is she—?”
“She’s still alive,” Joshua said. “We arrived in time. That firebomb was attached to a timing mechanism. It was set to go off in about ten minutes. He wanted time to make certain that he was well clear of the scene when the fire started.”