Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Miss Salisbury’s house looked unassuming from the outside, but stepping over the threshold, Gwen discovered an exotic building that looked as if half the treasures of India had been poured into it.
It was also extremely hot with the largest scuttle of coal she had ever seen standing beside a blazing fire that threw out heat like a furnace.
The temperature of the parlour was a stark contrast to the sleet that lashed the windows.
Already prone to waves of heat crashing over her without warning, Gwen had to resist the urge to unbutton her cuffs and loosen the bow at the neck of her blouse.
Miss Salisbury sat in a high-backed basket chair, hands folded in her lap as Gwen and Miss Rosewood gazed openly around. She wore an odd, embroidered garment – halfway between a smoking jacket and a sultan’s robe – over the top of a violet, velvet day dress.
‘I collected a lot of these myself on my travels as a younger woman,’ Miss Salisbury said, inclining her head to the display of red and black vases with figures partaking in some of the most depraved acts that Gwen had ever seen.
‘I am a big collector. I collect all sorts of interesting things, you know. And interesting people.’
She gave Miss Rosewood a penetrating look, then turned her gaze to Gwen, who sat back on her sofa, rigid with nerves, not in the least part caused by the tiger skin on the floor, which stared at her malevolently with black glass eyes.
With Miss Salisbury’s talk of collecting, Gwen had a horrible vision of both her and Miss Rosewood pinned down like butterflies on a page.
She suppressed her shiver, reminding herself that impressing Miss Salisbury was vital, and that the interesting people she collected might in turn be interested in the product Gwen and Miss Rosewood had come here to sell.
‘I propose that you give me a demonstration of your remarkable concoction and I will see for myself what it is like,’ Miss Salisbury said, with almost no preamble. ‘I assume you have brought it with you.’
‘Of course,’ Gwen murmured. She dipped into her handbag and held out the small bottle. Miss Salisbury reached out and plucked it from her fingers then held it up to the light.
‘You haven’t used much since we last spoke,’ she observed, passing it back.
Gwen hid her surprise, but couldn’t resist looking at Miss Rosewood, who raised her brows. Miss Salisbury hadn’t had much of a glimpse of it at the time. Her eyesight and memory were clearly acute.
‘No, I haven’t felt the need. I have been sleeping better.’
Miss Salisbury ticked a finger at Gwen. ‘Oh, come now, Mrs Walters. You and I both know that this is used not for aiding sleep but for provoking pleasure. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.’
‘It’s a sleeping draught,’ Gwen protested, though even she could hear the doubt in her voice. Under Miss Salisbury’s gimlet glare, she dropped her head. ‘Or I should say it started as a sleeping draught. The side effects were unexpected but quite fascinating.’
‘Thank you. I do hate my intelligence being underestimated. It is bad enough when the culprit is a man, but women should aspire to be truthful with each other. Now that we have cleared that up, do you have a preferred method of consumption?’
‘In a glass of water, as we did when you visited,’ Gwen answered. She looked at Miss Rosewood for support, but the younger woman appeared to be deep in thought, staring at a striking mahogany wood statue of a woman wearing an elaborate headdress and not much else.
‘Water is dull, Mrs Walters.’
‘We talked about that ourselves,’ Miss Rosewood interposed.
‘We considered ginger wine,’ Gwen added.
‘You are clearly unused to the idea of selling a product, so let me offer you some advice: you charged a shilling, but if you make the experience itself attractive, you can charge four or five,’ Miss Salisbury said.
‘I can’t imagine Mrs Dowson paying that,’ Gwen argued.
Miss Salisbury gave her a disdainful look. ‘Women like Mrs Dowson, or that poor unfortunate whose husband beat her, should not be the extent of your ambition. Now, I have taken the liberty of preparing some sugarplums in anticipation.’
She gestured to the corner where there stood a small table with a highly polished redwood top and la base carved to look like an African child. Upon it stood a silver cloche.
‘Bring that to us, Jenny.’
Miss Rosewood obeyed, though Gwen thought from her manner that she was bristling slightly at the over-familiar use of her name. She suspected Miss Rosewood had never given Miss Salisbury leave to use it and that the older woman had claimed that right by dint of age or social standing.
She placed the cloche on the card table and lifted the lid. There were three small dishes each bearing a sugarplum, glossy-skinned with syrup. An empty syringe lay beside them.
‘Oh, I didn’t think we were going to do it too,’ Gwen said.
Miss Salisbury raised an eyebrow.
‘Why not? You have previously waxed extremely lyrical about the benefits. I really think if you are prepared to sell this to others, you should stand by your product.’
‘It is the middle of the afternoon, and we need to get home,’ Gwen said. ‘It has soporific effects, as you know.’
‘I have already accounted for that eventuality,’ Miss Salisbury said, looking pleased with herself. ‘I have a coach and horses, and Huskins will take you home afterwards. If you are too sleepy to feel inspired, then I have a bedroom in which you may rest for an hour.’
‘I have things to do,’ Gwen began, thinking of the pills waiting to be boxed up.
Miss Salisbury cut her off with a wave of her hand.
‘It is half-day closing at your shop, I believe, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, Mrs Walters. I am sure your husband can manage without you.’
‘Oh, yes, he can,’ Gwen said quickly. ‘I meant, I have chores at home. Dusting to do, ironing to finish.’ She tailed off again, embarrassed at hearing how mundane her life sounded.
Miss Rosewood came and sat beside Gwen on the sofa. ‘I have no constraints on my time, or anyone who will question my whereabouts, so I am happy to try it and Mrs Walters has no need. Will that suffice?’
Miss Salisbury looked as if she was considering this in great depth, then wrinkled her nose. ‘It will, though I am a little disappointed at your lack of spirit, Mrs Walters.’
She gave Gwen a condescending smile that set Gwen’s teeth on edge and made her decide that she really didn’t like Miss Salisbury.
There was something about the woman’s manner that appeared deliberately designed to provoke, and unfortunately Gwen found herself succumbing to the goading.
She couldn’t let Miss Rosewood take the burden on herself alone.
It wasn’t fair. She tried to remember how long the effect had lasted when she had tried it.
The sense of wonder and euphoria had not lasted as long as the tiredness that followed.
Sadly, Miss Salisbury was correct that Archibald probably wouldn’t miss her as he usually spent the half day napping or playing chess.
He’d become worse tempered as his eyesight dimmed further and they had not managed to save enough for the surgery, being alternately snappish or introverted.
She couldn’t back out when there was the prospect of earning five shillings a dose, and she was reasonably sure that she would be clearheaded by the time she saw him.
She could even give herself two drops rather than three.
‘I will have it, too,’ she said decisively. ‘If you can guarantee I will be home by five at the latest.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Miss Rosewood said quietly.
‘Nor do you,’ Gwen answered. ‘I do not feel it is fair to make you do it by yourself. We both decided to come here. We should both do it.’
‘Very well. Then, unless you wish to dissemble any longer, the matter is settled.’ Miss Salisbury reached for the bottle. ‘As hostess I shall do the honours.’
Gwen’s jaw tightened as she saw the chance of giving herself a smaller dose vanishing, but seeing no alternative, she passed it over. Miss Salisbury uncorked the bottle and sniffed it, narrowing her eyes.
‘A trace of nutmeg, I fancy. Presumably there are other ingredients.’
‘Yes, on both counts,’ Gwen answered.
‘Although, no manufacturer would give away the complete recipe,’ Miss Rosewood interrupted. Gwen smiled at her gratefully. That hadn’t even occurred to her, but it was a very good point.
‘Very wise,’ Miss Salisbury said. ‘Will three spoonsful suffice? Mind that I only want to sample the effects, not to be completely incapable of action for the rest of the afternoon.’
‘Three should work perfectly,’ Miss Rosewood assured her.
Miss Salisbury inserted the syringe into the bottle and drew up the plunger until it was full.
The liquid was almost clear, but with a slightly sludgy tinge to it that made Gwen think of dirty snow.
Something a little more interesting would be more appealing.
If they made another batch, she would suggest adding a little of the colouring she used in cake icing.
Miss Salisbury injected each sugarplum and held two of the dishes out to her guests.
They all met each other’s eyes then, on a nod from Miss Salisbury, ate the sugar plums. Despite Gwen’s misgivings, she enjoyed the warming flavour of nutmeg and cloves. It was definitely more interesting than simply drinking the mixture.
‘While we wait, shall we play a game of Hearts?’ Miss Salisbury suggested.
She was already reaching for the deck of cards, so the question was rhetorical.
She removed the two of spades and dealt with a proficiency that was impressive.
It was an effective way of passing the time and discovering when exactly the tincture began to take effect, because before too long Gwen’s eyes began to glaze and she found it harder to focus on the game, becoming transfixed by the patterns the pips made on the cards.
‘I think there are two Jack of hearts,’ Miss Rosewood murmured in a dreamlike voice. ‘You’ve played one already, Miss Salisbury.’