I lunged forward on the bed, reaching for the first article that Gaynor printed for me—the one dated February 10, 1791. My heart racing, I cross-checked the names and dates between the register entry and the article related to the same incident, Lord Clarence’s death. And though I’d believed all along that the shop belonged to the murderous apothecary, this was proof. This picture of the register from inside the shop was proof that she had dispensed the poison that killed him.

But I frowned, reading the entry more closely. The first name in the entry, the person meant to ingest the poison, was Miss Berkwell. Lord Clarence, who actually ingested it, was mentioned only in reference to Miss Berkwell; she was his cousin. And the final name listed, the purchaser of the poison, was the Lady Clarence. His wife.

I reread the end of the first newspaper article and it did not even mention a Miss Berkwell. The article stated, very clearly, that Lord Clarence was dead, and doubt existed as to whether it was his wife or someone else who had slipped poison into his drink. Yet the apothecary’s register entry implied he wasn’t supposed to die at all. The intended victim was Miss Berkwell.

According to what lay in front of me, the wrong person had died. Did anyone, besides Lady Clarence and the apothecary—and now me—even know it? I might not have had an advanced degree in history, but pride swelled within me at the monumental discovery I’d made.

And as for the motive? Well, the entry made that clear, too; it identified Miss Berkwell as not only Lord Clarence’s cousin, but his mistress. It was no wonder Lady Clarence set out to kill her; Miss Berkwell was the other woman. I remembered well enough learning about James’s infidelity and the immediate urge within me to seek revenge on the other woman. In this way, I could not blame Lady Clarence, though I wondered how she felt when her plan went awry and her husband died instead. Things certainly did not happen as she intended.

Did not happen as she intended...

The hospital note. Hadn’t it said something similar? Hands shaking, I navigated back to the digitized image of the note from St. Thomas’ Hospital, dated October 22, 1816. I reread the line I’d remembered:

Only, it did not happen as I intend’d.

Could it have been that the author of the hospital note was Lady Clarence? I covered my mouth with my hands. “Impossible,” I whispered aloud to myself.

But the last sentence of the hospital note fit the possibility, too: I lay blame unto my husband, and his thirst for that which was not meant for him. Had this clue been both literal and figurative—referring to Lord Clarence’s thirst for a poisonous drink that was meant for Miss Berkwell, and his thirst for a woman who was not his wife?