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Back The Lost Apothecary
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Dedication
  5. Map
  6. Ancient Apothecary’s Oath
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. Nella Clavinger’s Apothecary of Poisons
  44. Historical Note
  45. Recipes
  46. Acknowledgments

I gasped in realization, covering my mouth with my hand. The space where the shelves were dislodged was about my height and only slightly wider than me. Instinctively, I took a step back. “No,” I said involuntarily, the word echoing in the tiny, empty room. “No, no, no. It can’t be.” And yet, I knew as I said the words that I’d stumbled on something. An interior door.

To men, a maze. The first sentence in the hospital note rushed forward in my memory, and I understood, at once, what it might mean: this door, if it did indeed lead somewhere, was meant to remain concealed within a cupboard-like structure. If anyone today—perhaps a building inspector—had reason to be in this room, I felt sure they would have noticed the oddity, like I had. But given the fallen shelves directly in front of me, it was clear not a soul had been down here in decades. And no one had discovered, much less opened, the inset door.

I crouched and searched for a handle, but saw none. I pushed my right hand against the wall, jumping at the silky, sticky feeling of a cobweb against my fingers. I groaned, wiped my hand on my pants, and used the phone flashlight to illuminate the lone, intact shelf. Then I saw it: underneath the shelf was a tiny lever, visible only on account of the crumbling wood. I maneuvered it out of position and gave the wall another push.

Without so much as a croak or groan, as though grateful to be discovered at last, the hidden door swung open.

With one shaky hand against the wall, I clutched my dying cell phone and lifted it up. Ahead of me, the beam of light pierced the dark. Then, in breathless, disbelieving silence, I took in what lay before me: all that had been lost and buried for far too long.

19

Eliza

February 10, 1791

I woke upon a dry, clear morning to the sound of a carriage rushing by, its iron wheels screeching against the cobblestone road. I’d slept a street away from Nella’s shop in a protected crevice at the back of Bartlett’s Passage. It was damper and less comfortable than the shed inside which I had rested two nights ago, but still better than my warm cot at the haunted Amwell home.