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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

Now, I handled each of the larger eggs like they were made of glass. It was a tricky thing, to be sure, and I had never given so much thought to the pressure with which I cracked an egg. The pan was still very hot, and the yolks began to cook almost instantly. I feared to stand too close, lest I breathe in any poisonous odors, so I tended the eggs with a long, outstretched arm, and soon my shoulder ached like it did when I used to climb trees in the country.

Once cooked, I removed the two larger eggs to a second plate. I smothered them in gravy and threw the four eggshells into the rubbish bin, straightened my apron, and—being very sure to place the poisoned eggs on the right side of the tray—I left the kitchen.

The master and mistress were already seated, engaged in a quiet discussion about an upcoming banquet. “Mr. Batford says there will be a display of sculptures,” Mrs. Amwell said. “Procured from all over the world.”

Mr. Amwell grunted in response, looking up at me as I entered the dining room. “Aha,” he said. “Here we are.”

“Beautiful things, he’s promised.” My mistress rubbed at her collarbone; where her fingers touched, the skin was red and splotchy. She seemed jittery, even though I carried the tray of poisonous eggs, and this annoyed me somewhat. She had been too scared to retrieve the eggs herself, and now she seemed unable to calm her nerves.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said to her, his eyes never leaving me. “Bring that over here. Quickly now, girl.”

Stepping close to him from behind, I lifted his plate from the right side of the tray and carefully set it in front of him. As I did so, he reached his hand behind my legs and delicately pulled the heavy fabric of my skirt upward. He ran his hand over the back of my knee and upward to my lower thigh.

“Lovely,” he said, finally pulling his hand away and lifting his fork. My leg itched where he touched it, an invisible rash beneath my skin. I stepped away from him and set the second plate in front of the mistress.

She nodded at me, her collarbone still flushed. Her eyes were sad and dark, as dim as the maroon rosettes on the papered wall behind her.

I took my place at the edge of the dining room and waited, still as stone, for what would come next.

8

Caroline

Present day, Monday