Page 57 of Disturbing the Dead
I leave them to their shoptalk while I resist the urge to poke about the room.
“And Miss Mallory is being exceedingly patient with us,” Queen Mab says finally, “but I have heard she is here on official business, that being the investigation of Sir Alastair’s murder last night.”
“It is,” I say. “Thank you for seeing us.”
Queen Mab lifts the flask to goggle level and peers into it. “Thank you for going through Jack. I appreciate the consideration. In future, if you wish to speak to me, simply have one of your staff ask Mrs. Morgan for an appointment time.” She lowers the flask and looks at Isla. “And I would like to have tea with you someday, my dear, if you can spare the time.”
Isla beams. “I would be delighted.”
“I know we approach the science from different aspects—yours being chemical and mine primarily herbal—but I would love to chat about medicine.”
“As would I.”
“Now, Miss Mallory… I am most curious to know how you think I can help with a man who, by all accounts, died of either strangulation or suffocation.” She takes a jar from the shelf. “Or, if it was suffocation, being bound in a mummy’s wrappings, then he would have needed to be sedated. That, however, would be more Mrs. Ballantyne’s area than mine.”
“Actually, it’s not about his murder, per se. Before I ask, I’m not saying you’re involved in the sort of thing that I’m asking about, only that you might be able to set us on the trail. We’re looking for those who trade in illegal medicines.”
“Oh, now that is interesting. While I appreciate you clarifying that you do not think I would trade in such things, it is unnecessary.” Her lips twitch. “I have traded in many substances that are considered less than legal if they seem the best way to treat an ailment.”
“Well, this isn’t a way to treat anything. It’s quack medicine.” I pause, uncertain that’s a word used in this time and place. “I mean it’s fake.”
“Yes,” Queen Mab says. “I know what ‘quack medicine’ means. I am nothing if not well traveled. There is a great deal of that out there, and I am familiar with most of it, particularly substances derived from the horns of large beasts.”
“Elephant and rhino tusks,” I say.
“And unicorns. Nothing is as valuable as the horn of a unicorn. Did you know any poisoned food placed into it will immediately become safe?”
I look from Isla to Queen Mab.
“She is having fun with you,” Isla says. “You must forgive Mallory. Being new to the world of medicine, she is never quite certain which old beliefs we still cling to.”
“It is true that people did believe in the purifying quality of unicorn horn,” Queen Mab says. “After all, the beasts are associated with virgins. Pure as the driven snow. They sold for astronomical fees, mostly to royalty. The unicorn horns, that is, although I’m sure the virgins did, too. Then explorers traveling north discovered a true dragon’s hoard of treasure. Unicorn horns, right there on the beach.”
Both their gazes rest on me, and if I feel like a child being given a riddle, I don’t begrudge them their fun. At least not when I have the answer.
“Narwhal tusks,” I say.
“Clever girl,” Queen Mab says.
“But aren’t narwhal tusks as long as a person? How big were these unicorns?”
Queen Mab sighs. “You are bringing logic into the realm of fantasy. Also, have you not seen medieval tapestries of unicorns? The horns are very long and thin.”
“Because they were based on narwhals. The horn part, at least. Got it.”
“As for elephants and rhinos, yes, their horns are used, along with parts of other wild beasts. Some of it is traditional medicine from those areas, but when it is used here, the appeal is the exotic qualities of the beasts. Everything from a foreign land can be magical, including the people. A woman like Mrs. Ballantyne can be accepted as a chemist, even if some might be suspicious of her motivations. They will still suspect her of brewing poison because that is what women do, like the witches of old tales. As for me, I must be brewing potions from deepest Africa, even if that is not where I was born or raised. My herbalism must derive not from a knowledge of plants, but from a knowledge of magic.”
“Ugh.”
She shrugs. “Sometimes, it is to my advantage. I have given up being taken seriously, so I surrender myself to being Mab, queen of the fairies. If you have questions about so-called quack medicine, though, I suspect I can be of help. I do not dispense such cures, but I am asked about them often enough that I know where to send people. One of these days, a man is going to find his way to my doorstep looking for my excellent male shields. Until then, I need to know where they can buy what they really came for.”
“Aphrodisiacs?” I say.
Her eyes glitter. “If they ask me for that, I can help. I give them something harmless. Aphrodisiacs exist in the mind. They only need to think they have been given one.” She sobers as she checks her flask. “And more often than not, I suspect they want the aphrodisiac to slip into some woman’s lemonade. In such a case, at least if I sell it, I can be certain it is harmless. No, most men who come to me are looking for extra help. Their sword metal has softened over the years. Or they wish for a longsword when they possess a dagger. Or a broadsword when they have a rapier. Or their sword has the bend of a scimitar, and they wish to straighten it. If men spent as much time worrying about their swordplay technique as their equipment, women would be much happier for it.”
Isla’s face flames. That’s the thing about having red hair and pale skin. She can’t hide a blush, and if she blushed any harder she’d incinerate. But she’s also smiling and nodding in agreement.
Victorian women aren’t the prudes we might imagine. They simply don’t have experience discussing sex, even with friends—at least not if they’re in Isla’s social class. Here, the old saw “good girls don’t” would be “rich girls don’t.”
