The carbs energized me somewhat, but it wasn’t even eight o’clock. After I finished my meal, I lifted my bag from the floor and grabbed my phone, then pulled out my notebook and the two articles from Gaynor. I spread them out around me, flipping on the second bedside lamp for better light to reread the articles about the apothecary and look more closely at the pictures on my phone.

I returned to the first few images in the set, the photos of the shop interior. They were terribly grainy and overexposed, and even after playing with the exposure and brightness, I was unable to see anything beyond the foreground. It seemed the camera’s flash brought into focus only the flecks of dust floating about in the room; I supposed that was the downside of using a cell phone to capture images of a once-in-a-lifetime event. I could have kicked myself. Why hadn’t I brought a proper flashlight?

I flicked over to the next few photos, those of the apothecary’s book—her register. There were eight photos of the register, pictures I hastily took at random: a couple from the front, a few toward the middle, and the rest from the back of the book. These were the pictures that got me into trouble; they were clear enough that I was able to jot down notes, and those same notes nearly had me thrown in jail.

The final photo in the set was a picture of the inside cover of another book that was on the shelf. I could only make out one word: pharmacopoeia. I plugged this into my browser’s search bar, and the results told me this second book was a directory of medicinal drugs. So, a reference guide then. Interesting, but not as much as the apothecary’s handwritten register.

I returned to the last image of the apothecary’s register. As I zoomed into the photo, I noticed the familiar format of the entries, which included the date and to whom the remedy was dispensed. I read the entries closely, and it dawned on me that since this was the final page of the register, these entries would have been made in the days or weeks immediately preceding the apothecary’s death.

At once, my eyes fell on the name Lord Clarence. I gasped aloud, reading the entirety of the entry:

Miss Berkwell. Mistress to, cousin of, the Lord Clarence. Cantharides. 9 February 1791. On account of his wife, the Lady Clarence.