Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Early the next morning, Michael accompanied Miss Gardinier toward Soho.
The district lay a short distance north of the fashionable streets, yet it possessed a colorful, slightly eccentric character.
Narrow lanes threaded between tall, closely packed houses that had once belonged to respectable families but were now divided among tradesmen, lodging houses, and small shops.
The air carried the mingled scents of roasting coffee, foreign spices, and the smoke of a hundred kitchens.
French émigrés kept bakeries and taverns there, Italian musicians wandered the streets, and craftsmen from across the Continent sold their wares from cluttered shops. They heard several languages as they walked down a street, and strangers passed with little remark, everyone keeping to themselves.
Michael had had a fair amount of experience in finding people who did not wish to be found, and he turned all his efforts toward finding the Oriental apothecary.
He spoke to shopkeepers and men loitering outside coffeehouses, and several remembered the man, but he was no longer in business.
However, they directed them toward the Chinaman’s old building, for the current shop-keeper might know more about what had happened to him.
The space was now owned by a tea purveyor, and as they approached the door to open it, Michael could pick up only the faintest hint of camphor, something spicy, and something musky under the distinctive aroma of tea.
He was certain that most would not even notice the scents that did not belong to the blends in the store.
Miss Gardinier, however, sniffed the air as she caught the lingering herbal smell.
The tea purveyor, Mr. Blenkins, was more than happy to speak to them. Indeed, he served them cups of fragrant tea in a small area in the back of the shop that held an elegantly set round table surrounded by four chairs.
Michael found that he could smell the difference in the tea as he never had before—only the slightest bitterness from the leaves, contrasted with a bright flavor, which he quickly realized was due to the cleanliness of the water used.
It hardly needed the milk that Mr. Blenkins provided in a small porcelain jug in the center of the table.
Miss Gardinier lavishly added a lump of sugar and a splash of the thick, rich milk, and she hummed appreciatively when she sipped her tea.
“We have been in this shop for nearly seventeen years,” Mr. Blenkins said.
“We were able to get it at a very cheap rate, for before us, the building changed hands several times—first a milliner’s, then a bookseller’s, and then a confectioner’s shop.
Each owner did not remain long, complaining about the strange smell of foreign herbs.
But by the time we took the premises, the odor had faded considerably, and after giving the walls a good scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint, it is hardly noticeable, especially after so many years. ”
“Do you happen to know why the Chinaman moved his shop, or where he might have gone?”
“I’m afraid I know little, but I have chatted with the residents on the street, and they have mentioned him occasionally.
Apparently he left all his herbs within the building along with some strange items in his upstairs bedchamber.
His disappearance sparked rumors of ghosts and hauntings, which was why they gossiped about it with me.
” Mr. Blenkins’ merry blue eyes twinkled, which said more about his belief in such things than any words could do.
Michael was curious why the Chinaman would have left all his herbs, the center of his livelihood. “So your neighbors often spoke of him? What was said of his character?”
“They did speak of him, but it was also apparent to me that few availed themselves of his tinctures. More than one complained about how he had been unpleasantly brusque with everyone.”
“Perhaps he did not understand the language quite well enough,” Miss Gardinier said.
“Perhaps. Some asserted that he only pretended to have little knowledge of English. He certainly spoke only the most rudimentary phrases himself.”
“If people did not often visit his shop, then were people unaware when he had left his home and how long it had stood empty?” Michael asked.
“Yes, only when the landlord came to collect the quarter’s rent did he realize the Chinaman had left and was unlikely to return. I am sure some people visited the shop before that, but seeing no one there, had simply left without purchasing anything.”
Or they had left after absconding with things they did not purchase, Michael thought grimly.
“Did no one report his disappearance to the parish constable?” Miss Gardinier asked.
“It does not appear that anyone was concerned enough about him to do so,” Mr. Blenkins said, and his expression was a touch embarrassed at the indifference of his neighbors.
“And what of his herbs?” Miss Gardinier sounded dismayed. “It must have been worth a prodigious amount, if most of them had been brought to England.”
“On the contrary, while chatting with me about the building, the landlord complained bitterly about the labor required to clear the shop and of the quantity of rubbish he was obliged to cart to the dust heap.”
“You mentioned strange things the Chinaman had left in his bedchamber,” Michael said. “Do you recall what they were? And did he leave behind his cloak or money pouch?”
“Yes, the landlord did mention that he recovered a leather pouch of coins in the man’s bedchamber, but the amount hardly covered the overdue rent.”
If the Chinaman had left his money, perhaps he had not left willingly. Michael wondered what had happened to him. What kinds of enemies could a foreigner from the Orient collect on English soil?
The thought about enemies made Michael ask, “Do you recall how many years ago the Oriental man disappeared? Did the landlord mention it?”
Mr. Blenkins’s long, elegant finger tapped the white tablecloth in front of him as he thought. “Twenty years ago, I believe. My store has been open for seventeen years, and each of the three previous shop owners rented the building for only a year each.”
They chatted another half hour with Mr. Blenkins, since there were no other customers at this early hour.
Michael was not very knowledgeable about tea, but Miss Gardinier understood herbs and plants and discussed the growing conditions of different types of tea plants quite intelligently.
The proprietor enjoyed the discussion so much that as they left, he pressed a sachet of tea leaves into her hands for her to try.
“Perhaps I should convince my sister to favor Mr. Blenkins’s shop instead of the purveyor she now uses,” Miss Gardinier said as they walked down the street. “Her current purveyor is quite popular with other members of the ton, but he has a rude, condescending manner that I find quite distasteful.”
Michael, on the other hand, reflected that Mr. Blenkins’s friendly, garrulous nature ensured that he would learn a great deal about his customers, including things which they perhaps had not meant to disclose.
Then he shook his head. He was becoming too suspicious lately, perhaps because of the constant danger of the past several days, perhaps because of his involvement with the Citadel for more than a year, ever since his brother was killed.
Mr. Blenkins’s information had saved them a great deal of time, and they determined it would not be necessary to continue to ask around about the Chinaman.
Michael was wary, but Miss Gardinier insisted that they travel to Jem Town to find the shop of the Oriental herbalist whom Lady Nola had mentioned.
Jem Town was a considerably rougher area than Soho, and the hackney driver they hired had never heard of the shop. But he dropped them off in a bustling area near the edge of the district.
Auntie Ann, at her bakery, had a reputation for being friendly and welcoming, and so they headed there to ask for more information about the Oriental herbalist. Michael wished that Lady Wynwood’s twin servants were with them, for he had heard from Septimus about how Auntie Ann had doted on the two children from the time they were growing up under the guardianship of their mother.
In contrast to Mr. Blenkins’s tea shop, Auntie Ann’s bakery appeared to be at its busiest in the early morning hours, and there was still a line queued up outside her shop.
When Miss Gardinier moved toward the line, Michael grabbed her wrist and held her back. Instead, the two of them waited next to a boardinghouse across the street.
They waited an hour. Eventually there were no more customers in the shop, and Michael led the way across the street.
Auntie Ann, a tall, motherly looking woman, was just wiping the sweat from her forehead when she turned a welcoming smile to the two of them. “What can I get for you?”
“A dozen loaves of bread,” Michael said, “and, if you don’t mind, we’re looking for directions to the Oriental herbalist’s shop.”
“The Chinese apothecary?” Auntie Ann asked as she went to get their loaves of bread.
“Yes, I know his shop. He’s quite shy, so I hope you do not intend to cause some mischief for him.
” She turned and gave him a sharp look. She was still smiling, but suddenly her friendliness looked more like a growling lioness.
“We only wish to ask him about some Chinese herbs,” Miss Gardinier said.
Auntie Ann told them the price of the loaves, which was double their normal price. Michael removed the coins from his money pouch and placed them on the counter.
As she swept the coins away, the baker said, “You can see the Stepney church steeple over the roofs there. Keep toward it, and when you reach the lane with the cobbler’s sign, turn down it. The Chinese apothecary keeps a small shop near the end.”