For the rest of the drive to London’s East End, they discussed the kinds of patients and resources the infirmary had. When the carriage halted in front of a long building on a quiet street, Laurel announced, “Welcome to our empire! We recently acquired this old warehouse which has given us more space. The infirmary is on the ground floor and the two upper levels have been turned into housing for clients of Zion House. We have several smaller buildings on this street, too.”

Though the structures were old, they were in good repair and the street was well swept. They climbed from the carriage, and Laurel escorted Lucas inside. There was a reception room with people waiting in chairs around the edge and a calm older woman at the desk taking notes as she spoke with patients. A broad, capable-looking man with a wooden leg and the bearing of a soldier sat by the door, keeping a watchful eye on everyone else.

“Patients are sorted here depending on what ails them and how severe the problem is,” Laurel said as she led Lucas through the reception area to the treatment rooms behind. “I’d like you to meet our apothecary. Mrs. Simmons learned the trade from her husband. After his death, their landlord put her and her children out on the street and they ended up at Zion House. She’s an excellent apothecary, so we put her in charge of our medications. Now she’s training her daughter in the trade.”

Laurel led the way to a stairwell that took them up to the top floor. The spacious corner room had large windows for light—and bars on the windows in case opium addicts were willing to climb up two floors to break in. The room was lined with shelves holding bottles and jars as well as tables for compounding medications.

Mrs. Simmons, a plump, no-nonsense woman with silver in her hair, glanced up from the mortar and pestle she was using to grind some white substance. “Good day, Lady Kirkland!” she said in a strong Cockney accent. “Did you bring me a patient?”

“Not this time! I’m giving Lord Foxton the grand tour. He’s a bonesetter who has worked in Belgium and France.”

Mrs. Simmons’s brows arched as she surveyed Lucas. Bonesetters were traditionally from the lower orders, not aristocrats, but she refrained from commenting on the anomaly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Foxton, and even more pleased to learn that you’ve worked on the Continent. As her ladyship knows, I have an interest in collecting traditional remedies that work, and you might know some I’ve never heard of.”

“We could have a long and interesting conversation about that!” he replied. “Joints and bones can be such sources of pain. I have recipes for some good soothing salves, as I’m sure you do also. Perhaps we can compare them?”

“Have you found any that are particularly effective?”