Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
After a rather involved argument with herself, Amelia decided she simply couldn’t return to the apothecary located near the Strand which she’d intended to visit on the day of the bombing.
The memory of the explosion and the aftermath was still too fresh and enough to make her shudder.
She had no need to put herself through that.
With luck it would be some time before she needed to call on her editor, and perhaps she could arrange for Henry to accompany her when she did. It seemed silly, and she didn’t want to waste his time, but she couldn’t dismiss her undeniable nerves at the idea of venturing anywhere near the area.
Especially not when those involved in the bombings had yet to be arrested.
Earlier that morning Amelia had written to her parents and told them she’d been on the street of the latest explosion, but not just how close or how she’d witnessed the man who’d placed the bomb.
She didn’t want them to worry, nor did she want another lecture on how dangerous London could be.
Instead she asked her father, an apothecary, if he’d be willing to assist her with the research on the so-called remedies for her new article.
While writing the letter, the memory of a friend of his, who was also an apothecary with a shop in Bayswater, came to mind.
She hadn’t seen Clarence Tooley for several years.
Surely he carried the products she wanted to test—and might even know something about them.
Though still nervous to step out, it was impossible to guess where the Fenians and their bombs might target next.
She refused to be kept prisoner by fear, but she would take care and remain aware of her surroundings.
With Yvette at her side, Amelia led the way out of the house to the hansom cab Fernsby had ordered. “I don’t expect this to take long,” she advised the maid once they were settled inside. “However, it’s been quite some time since I’ve visited with Mr. Tooley.”
“I am happy to wait, madam.” Yvette glanced at her as the cab pulled forward, seemingly pleased to be taken out on another adventure. “How nice that he’s a friend of your father’s. Is there anything in particular I should be on the watch for?”
Such as a bomb?
Amelia stilled, wondering if her anxiousness was so easy to read.
The maid sent her a puzzled look when she didn’t respond. “Perhaps something on the apothecary’s shelves you’d like me to help you find?”
Amelia’s tension eased to hear Yvette wasn’t asking about staying on the lookout for potential bombs. Good. While she knew her maid remained alert whenever they ventured out, she didn’t want her frightened. Certainly not as frightened as she herself was.
“Actually, I would appreciate your help. I am in search of any tonics or remedies that make outrageous promises and seem too good to believe,” Amelia advised. “If you note any, please let me know.”
Focusing on the task at hand provided a much-needed distraction, yet she still found herself watching out the cab window for anyone who looked like the man who’d set down that innocent-looking bundle of rags.
It didn’t matter that he was being held for questioning; he might have been released.
He might have friends about to replicate his terrible actions.
Amelia still caught herself searching for him or someone similar.
“The number of remedies available these days is impressive, isn’t it?” Yvette remarked. “You’d think people would use common sense before spending their hard-earned money on something that promises the moon. Who can promise the moon!”
“It’s frustrating when those making the items suggest impossible results or even guarantee them. Honesty should be required in advertisements.”
Soon they were alighting before Mr. Tooley’s shop on Westbourne Grove.
Low clouds hid the sun and the air was mild, making for a rather gloomy day.
Still, the approaching summer was evident everywhere, from budding trees to window boxes overflowing with flowers, bringing cheer to a few of the shops along the street.
Ladies, some with maids, others with children, walked along the pavement, the latter groups sending a pang of longing through Amelia.
How she missed Lily, an ache that would never go away.
Would she be about that girl’s height now?
Amelia adjusted her hold on her reticule and shifted her focus to the apothecary shop, nestled between a milliner and a stationer.
It was just as she remembered: the door painted a deep bottle green, slightly faded from the sun and soot, the rest of the shop exterior painted black, a practical choice since soot tended to cover everything in the city.
A sign hanging from a wrought-iron post above the door proclaimed it to be Tooley & Sons, Apothecary in gold lettering on a black background, a mortar and pestle painted beside the name.
Unfortunately this generation of Mr. Tooley’s sons had decided against following in his footsteps and made their living elsewhere. She tended to think the apothecary left the sign as it was to remind them of their betrayal, though according to her father, he’d been good-natured about it.
A bell chimed as they entered, the faint yet pleasant fragrance of eucalyptus mixed with camphor and lavender catching Amelia’s notice.
Shelves held bottles of all shapes and sizes alongside small tins, each carefully labeled.
A wooden cabinet with numerous drawers sat to one side with neat lettering noting its contents.
Two other patrons were in the store being served, but Amelia prepared to wait. Mr. Tooley stood behind the long counter, helping one, while a young male assistant helped another.
The older man glanced up at their arrival and nodded in polite greeting. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you,” she said, sharing a smile with him when his eyes lit with recognition.
A few minutes later he rounded the counter and reached out to take her hand, clasping it briefly between his. “Mrs. Greystone, I hope the day finds you well. What a pleasure to see you! It’s been far too long.”
“And you, Mr. Tooley. It has indeed been too long. I assume business has been good?” she asked, watching the last customer depart with a package in hand.
“It has. How is your father?”
They caught up cheerfully on news of her parents before Amelia shared information about the article she intended to write and what she was looking for.
Mr. Tooley nodded in approval. “I’m pleased someone is doing something about the outrageous claims products make. There are some I only carry by request, for they’re nothing more than poppycock and sugar water.”
“Perhaps I can save people money and heartache by pointing that out.” She opened her reticule and pulled out the list she’d compiled with Mr. Stearn’s assistance. “I’d like to see if you have these, but if there are others you think I should add, please let me know.”
“These are excellent choices, and unfortunately, I have many of them, though some I was sent only as a sample. I will be interested to hear what you find when you test them.” He glanced around the shop, eyes narrowed.
“There are two more I have my doubts about, though several customers have specifically requested them time after time. I tried to sway their minds without success.”
“There’s something to be said for the power of suggestion,” Amelia murmured, thinking of Hollowgate Heights and wondering with biting concern how Louisa was faring. “If one believes in the remedy, it can often produce results.”
“True. I could mix water with wine and tell people it would cure them, and it just might. Never mind that some illnesses ease with time, regardless of what medicine the person takes.” His unhappy expression spoke of his frustration with the situation.
“People can be quite stubborn, even when you present them with facts that prove otherwise.” In truth, that was one of the reasons Amelia hadn’t been interested in joining her father in his apothecary business, despite his best efforts.
While she enjoyed helping others, doling out medicine to those who’d convinced themselves they were ill didn’t interest her. Her patience with people was often limited, especially when they refused to accept scientific facts.
Mr. Tooley watched as his assistant moved into the rear of the shop, then swiftly leaned closer, voice low. “Next thing you know, someone will accuse me of poisoning them.”
Amelia stilled. Why would he say such a thing? Had something of the sort already occurred?
Before she could ask, the assistant returned with a crate of brown bottles and set them on the counter. Mr. Tooley watched him closely, almost with suspicion. Or was she only imagining it?
Shifting uncomfortably, she glanced at Yvette to see if she had noted the same thing. Based on the way the maid studied the two men, she had to think she did.
Amelia decided a less troubling subject was in order. “Have you discovered any remedies that truly do have excellent results?”
“Not excellent, but moderately successful, I suppose.” He reached for a jar under the counter.
“I find it fascinating how often advice from our elders turns out to be the most helpful. I learned of this remedy from an older woman who lives down the street. She served as a housekeeper for a nobleman with a large family and frequently used her skills to nurse them back to health.”
“How interesting.” Amelia’s curiosity was piqued. “My cook and housekeeper are both quite experienced with herbal remedies.”
“Such practical knowledge can be invaluable, unless of course, it involves an old wives’ tale.”
Amelia frowned, not appreciating the term, though she understood what he meant. Some ‘old wives’ tales’ involved the sharing of beneficial knowledge passed through generations and shouldn’t be dismissed.
They continued conversing as he wrapped up her purchases, and she soon bid Mr. Tooley goodbye, conscious of another customer waiting for his assistance.
It wasn’t until she and Yvette were near the door that the maid whispered, “Mrs. Greystone.”
Amelia turned to see her maid had halted near a small display of bottles with a sign that read Tooley’s Patent Tonic for Nervous Exhaustion. Apparently Mr. Tooley had his own remedy. Odd that he hadn’t mentioned it.
With an unsettled feeling, she glanced back at her father’s old friend, who was listening attentively to his customer.
Though tempted to purchase a bottle simply to see what it contained, Amelia didn’t want to offend the man. She could always send Fernsby by at a later date to purchase it.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, then continued out the door, waiting until it closed firmly behind them before saying anything further. “Why didn’t Mr. Tooley mention he had his own tonic available?”
“Perhaps because he didn’t want you to test it?” Yvette asked with wide eyes.
“A logical reason,” Amelia admitted. And also a disturbing one.