Chapter 2 #2
Jenny concealed her surprise. She knew from Uncle Conrad that the couple took their privacy, and the demarcation between the shop and the living quarters above it, extremely seriously.
To be invited in signalled that circumstances were extreme.
Burning with curiosity, she accepted the offer and accompanied Mrs Walters through the curtain covering the back of the building into the kitchen and scullery.
Mrs Walters put the kettle onto the stove, moved a pile of folded tea towels from the table and offered Jenny a seat. Jenny put the satchel containing the rolled canvas by her feet.
‘Now, please tell me what you believe happened with Uncle Conrad’s medicine,’ Jenny asked once they were both seated.
‘Perhaps you could first tell me what has led you to believe there is anything wrong?’ Mrs Walters countered. She seemed less cowed now that she was in her own domain.
Jenny wrinkled her brow. ‘His manner was different. He was more … vibrant before he grew sleepy.’
‘But he suffered no ill effects? No vomiting or other eliminations? No rash or palsy?’
‘No, he was well afterwards. Very much so, in fact.’
Mrs Walters folded her hands on the table. ‘In which case, it could have been anything that was responsible? I’m afraid without proof, it would be unfair to lay the blame at our door.’
There it was again: the desperate clutching for another culprit. The poor woman was clearly agitated, and rightly so if her husband had accidentally created something with those effects. Jenny had a trump card, however.
‘Mrs Walters, it was absolutely, without question, the fault of the tincture. I know because I tried it myself.’
To Jenny’s horror, Mrs Walters burst into tears.
Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands.
Jenny didn’t know what to do. The neat little woman sitting before her was in considerable distress.
Much more than the situation warranted. Cautiously, Jenny reached across and patted her shoulder, and then gave recourse to the only method she knew of comforting herself.
‘Would you like a biscuit and a cup of tea? The kettle must be nearly at a boil.’
Mrs Walters raised her head and gave a watery smile. Her eyes were red and puffy.
‘Let me fetch the teapot,’ Jenny offered.
‘No, no. I’ll do it,’ Mrs Walters said, jumping to her feet just as the kettle began to whistle. She poured the water into the brown earthenware pot and stirred it with a hand that shook.
‘Would you like milk or would you prefer lemon?’ Mrs Walters asked, producing one. It was quite shrivelled, with the skin pared off. It looked unappealing and Jenny chose milk instead.
‘I’ve been making Christmas cakes,’ Mrs Walters explained as she dropped a thin slice of lemon into her cup and added milk to Jenny’s. She sat down again and smiled. Fussing around preparing the tea appeared to have calmed her.
‘Now, Mrs Walters,’ Jenny said, placing her teacup back on the saucer. ‘I suggest you tell me everything. I can speak to your husband, if you would prefer?’
‘No! Don’t do that!’
‘Then you tell me what this is all about.’
‘There isn’t anything to tell.’ Mrs Walters’ hands worried at a loose thread on her cuff button, the action calling her a liar.
Jenny tutted. ‘I think we both know that isn’t the case. Of course, I could speak with my uncle, who would surely speak to your husband himself – and then the police, if it becomes necessary.’
‘Please, don’t!’ Mrs Walters dropped her head and didn’t speak. She would lose the button if she kept pulling at the thread as viciously as she was.
Jenny held her impatience in check. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble,’ she said gently, ‘but I really do want to know what has happened.’
Mrs Walters looked up at her and nodded. She began to speak, reluctantly dragging the words out. ‘My husband’s eyes are fading.’
‘So, do you suspect he made a mistake when he mixed the tincture? He was about to give a customer the wrong medicine just now.’ Jenny glanced towards the shop and frowned anxiously.
‘Making all those medicines must require good eyesight, and if he cannot even read the label correctly, is he safe to be working? Do you think he put the wrong mixture in the bottle?’
Mrs Walters bit her lip and looked as if she was about to burst into tears again. ‘He isn’t making anything. I am.’
‘You! But you aren’t registered. You don’t have a licence!’ Jenny said, aghast at the revelation. ‘It goes completely against the Pharmacy Act. Does my uncle know?’
‘No! Please don’t tell him. I’ve had to do it. Mr Walters’s been struggling to see so badly. If I didn’t do it, then nothing would get made and customers would go elsewhere.’
Mrs Walters’ mouth twisted and she gripped Jenny’s hands tightly.
‘It won’t be for much longer, I promise. Archibald visited his oculist, who sent him to Moorfields Eye Hospital. He has cataracts and needs both eyes operating on. That will cure him, and he will be as good as ever he was.’
‘That must be expensive. Can you afford it?’ Jenny asked, looking around.
The pharmacy was on the corner of a row of terraced buildings, and a door led into a small courtyard that the dwelling shared with the draper’s next door and the bakery on the next street.
The kitchen was small and the furniture plain.
There was a Welsh dresser with blue and white crockery and a couple of scowling Toby jugs.
A series of multicoloured rag rugs covered the floor.
There was something nice about sitting surrounded by domestic bustle, but it was not a wealthy household.
Mrs Walters sagged. ‘We are saving everything we can. We just need a little longer. I will ask if they might consider performing the operation on credit. The sooner it is done, the sooner my husband can begin working again.’
Jenny sat back. Far from feeling appalled at Mrs Walters’ lawlessness, the quiet woman in front of her went up in Jenny’s estimation. ‘To think you have been making and dispensing medicines without anybody noticing. It’s quite admirable!’
Mrs Walters smiled with a touch of pride.
‘It’s not too difficult. Women are perfectly capable of most tasks and I believe anyone could be taught the methods, if the law allowed it.
I know how to distil because my father made his own liquor until he was seventy.
As for the suppositories, all that involves is buffing away any roughness and then refilling the moulds with paste. ’
‘But what happened to the sleeping tincture? Did you read the recipe wrongly?’
‘Absolutely not!’ Mrs Walters’ nostrils flared. ‘I have been extremely careful in everything I’ve prepared, and I’ve weighed everything rigorously. I’ve been baking cakes since I was a child, so I know how to measure ingredients.’
She drummed her fingers anxiously on the edge of her teacup. ‘This is the only time that anything untoward has happened.’
‘I promise you, I won’t breathe a word of what you are doing to anyone, especially not Uncle Conrad. But can you think of what you did? Can you make another bottle for me?’ Jenny asked.
Mrs Walters nodded. ‘I am sure I could. Yes, you must throw the other away if it is dangerous. I can make another batch and will stick scrupulously to the recipe. You can even watch me if you like, to confirm to yourself that I do everything I should.’
Jenny sucked her teeth again. ‘I would love to watch, but I was rather hoping you could make me another batch that has the same effect as this one.’
She toyed with her teacup and sat back. The wooden chair had a plump cushion on it and she felt an unaccustomed sense of ease in the company of the older woman. Why not admit the truth, since she had wheedled Mrs Walters’ secret out?
‘I want it to be exactly the same, and I want it for myself.’