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Praise

Advance Praise for The Lost Apothecary

“In The Lost Apothecary, Sarah Penner convincingly weaves three heroines and two timelines into one tale of poison, revenge, and the silent network of women helping other women in a world stacked against them.... A bold, edgy, accomplished debut!”

—Kate Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of The Alice Network and The Huntress

“Dark, clever, and wickedly fun, The Lost Apothecary is a true page-turner. Sarah Penner has given us a puzzle box of women’s lives, betrayal, power, and history. It’s a book that slyly asks what any of us deserve and if, sometimes, that might not be a little poison.”

—Erika Swyler, bestselling author of The Book of Speculation

“Penner’s debut had me completely under its spell. The women of The Lost Apothecary, separated by centuries, seek both revenge and truth in this powerful story. Riveting and utterly original.”

—Fiona Davis, bestselling author of The Dollhouse

“Sarah Penner kept me guessing until the last page of this addictive, atmospheric novel... Meticulously researched, The Lost Apothecary is both a cure for idleness and a recipe for intrigue. Prepare to be consumed by this carefully plotted, propulsive debut.”

—Amy Meyerson, bestselling author of The Bookshop of Yesterdays

About the Author

Sarah Penner is the debut author of The Lost Apothecary, to be translated into eleven languages worldwide. She and her husband live in St. Petersburg, Florida, with their miniature dachshund, Zoe. To learn more, visit sarahpenner.com.

Dedication

For my parents

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Ancient Apothecary’s Oath

“I swear and promise before
God, Author and Creator of all things...

Never to teach ungrateful persons or fools
the secrets and mysteries of the trade...

Never to divulge the secrets confided to me...
Never to administer poisons...

To disavow and shun as a pestilence the scandalous
and pernicious practices of quacks,
empirics and alchymists...

And to keep no stale or bad drug in my shop.

May God continue to bless me
so long as I continue to obey these things!”

—Ancient Apothecary’s Oath

1

Nella

February 3, 1791

She would come at daybreak—the woman whose letter I held in my hands, the woman whose name I did not yet know.

I knew neither her age nor where she lived. I did not know her rank in society nor the dark things of which she dreamed when night fell. She could be a victim or a transgressor. A new wife or a vengeful widow. A nursemaid or a courtesan.

But despite all that I did not know, I understood this: the woman knew exactly who she wanted dead.

I lifted the blush-colored paper, illuminated by the dying flame of a single rush wick candle. I ran my fingers over the ink of her words, imagining what despair brought the woman to seek out someone like me. Not just an apothecary, but a murderer. A master of disguise.