“I can hear that you are delicate ladies,” he said jovially. “So I won’t tell you the ingredients. Because I’d hate to turn a ladylike stomach and possibly stop you from taking one of my real and effectual medicines!”

Sophie was positively tugging on her arm, but Gabby stood firm. “I won’t buy the medicine unless you tell me the ingredients.”

“Very well, very well. I use rare ingredients, madam. Very rare. That’s why the headache cure is a trifle more expensive than many of my other medicines, to tell the truth.”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Mr. Moore said reluctantly. “It’s a mercurial powder, madam. The same as the noted Emperick Charles Hues ordinarily took. And by mercurial powder, I mean that it has a tincture of quicksilver in it.”

“What else?”

“Tartar emetic and just a drop or two of opium—”

“There’s nothing very unusual about that remedy,” Gabby said bluntly.

“It’s a mystery ingredient that does the trick, madam. But I can’t tell you the last.” Mr. Moore put on a regal air. “A doctor has to keep his mysteries, madam. Or else every ruffian in the street will be selling my real and effectual medicine.”

“In that case, thank you very much for speaking to us.” Gabby turned to go.

“Wait!”

“My husband will not try any medicine without a full understanding of its ingredients,” Gabby replied. “I bid you good day, Mr. Moore.”

“For the good of mankind,” the apothecary gabbled. “For the good of mankind and, more especially, to relieve your good husband, madam, I will tell you. But I must have your solemn word that you will breathe a word to no one. My secret ingredient is a tincture of Indian hemp, madam. The medicine is to be repeated every two or three hours.”

“Indian hemp? Where did you get that idea, Mr. Moore?”

Mr. Moore clearly felt that since he was in for a penny, he might as well be in for a pound. “I bought the remedy off a traveling Indian, some sort of a doctor, he called himself. It has worked miracles, madam, miracles!”

Gabby paused. “All right. I’ll take one bottle.”

Mr. Moore beamed. “That will be five sovereigns, madam.”

“We are leaving,” Sophie said, her voice fierce. “Don’t you pay this mountebank a penny, Gabby!”

“I’ll give you one sovereign.” Gabby laid the shining coin on the filthy counter.

Mr. Moore grabbed it, placing a grubby brown bottle in its place. “There you are, madam. A better bargain you never made. One large spoonful to be repeated every two or three hours while in the throes of an attack. And”—he bowed—“may I say how very pleased I would be to serve you again, madam? As I may have said, my real and effectual medicine for wind is esteemed throughout the country.”

“Thank you,” Gabby replied. “Good day, Mr. Moore.” She followed Sophie from the shop.