Page 4 of The Laudanum Ladies' Society

‘Was it not effective?’ A slight paleness crept into Mrs Walters’ cheeks. Her sandy blonde hair was neatly tucked under a cap, though a few stray wisps had escaped and were floating around her forehead. She reached up to push them back under control and her hand shook a little.

‘No, it worked,’ Jenny said. She paused, picking her next words carefully because it was abundantly clear that Mrs Walters was almost vibrating with anxiety. ‘I just wondered if Mr Walters had changed the ingredients or their quantities, because it had a slightly unintended effect.’

‘Oh!’ Mrs Walters lunged forward and clutched at Jenny’s wrists, knocking over a display of small boxes labelled ‘Boniman and Blist’s Patent Preventative Against Bronchial Conditions’.

‘Surely your uncle is well?’ she asked as she piled them up haphazardly.

Jenny sucked her teeth. She enjoyed a mystery. She devoured the novels of Wilkie Collins and the sensationalist stories in the newspapers such as the ‘Arsenic Sweets Case’, where a pharmacist had inadvertently poisoned customers, and so her mind immediately sprang to foul play.

Two new customers had entered the shop and were looking meaningfully in Jenny and Mrs Walters’ direction. The younger man had an unpleasant cluster of angry-looking spots covering his chin and most of his left cheek. Mr Walters approached the customer and began speaking to him, then returned to the shelves and reached for a bottle.

‘Mrs Walters, I believe you are not telling me something, and I would very much like to understand what that is,’ Jenny said sternly, before realising Mrs Walters was no longer listening but was watching her husband with a worried expression. Her heartsuddenly went out to the anxious-looking woman. ‘Let me help you, if there is a problem,’ she urged.

‘One moment, please,’ Mrs Walters said. She walked to her husband and took the bottle from his hand, replaced it, and picked an almost identical one from the shelf above.

‘This is a better one,’ she said firmly, handing it to Mr Walters. She put the other bottle back.

The doorbell clanged and a cough entered, followed by a short man wearing a heavy coat.

‘A bottle of Goodwin’s Bronchial, please,’ he managed to utter before going into another paroxysm and threatening to cover the entire desk with expectorated spittle. Mrs Walters sprang towards him and served him efficiently.

Jenny wandered over to the shelf and looked at the bottle Mrs Walters had replaced. The label proclaimed it a worming treatment for dogs. She sucked her teeth. Once the cough and its owner had departed, she took it to Mrs Walters and held it out. She said nothing, but raised her eyebrows. She’d once had a teacher who had been able to draw confessions from the girls by applying that tactic, suggesting in her manner that she would be prepared to wait until the Second Coming if necessary. It worked on delivery boys and the servants, and it now worked on Mrs Walters.

‘Oh dear. It’s all such a mess,’ Mrs Walters mumbled, frowning. She patted her hair again then fanned at her cheeks. ‘Miss Rosewood, would you care to come and take tea with me and we can discuss this matter in private.’

Jenny concealed her surprise. She knew from Uncle Conrad that the couple took their privacy, and the demarcation between the shop and the living quarters above it, extremely seriously. To be invited in signalled that circumstances were extreme. Burning with curiosity, she accepted the offer and accompaniedMrs Walters through the curtain covering the back of the building into the kitchen and scullery.

Mrs Walters put the kettle onto the stove, moved a pile of folded tea towels from the table and offered Jenny a seat. Jenny put the satchel containing the rolled canvas by her feet.

‘Now, please tell me what you believe happened with Uncle Conrad’s medicine,’ Jenny asked once they were both seated.

‘Perhaps you could first tell me what has led you to believe there is anything wrong?’ Mrs Walters countered. She seemed less cowed now that she was in her own domain.

Jenny wrinkled her brow. ‘His manner was different. He was more… vibrant before he grew sleepy.’

‘But he suffered no ill effects? No vomiting or other eliminations? No rash or palsy?’

‘No, he was well afterwards. Very much so, in fact.’

Mrs Walters folded her hands on the table. ‘In which case, it could have been anything that was responsible? I’m afraid without proof, it would be unfair to lay the blame at our door.’

There it was again: the desperate clutching for another culprit. The poor woman was clearly agitated, and rightly so if her husband had accidentally created something with those effects. Jenny had a trump card, however.

‘Mrs Walters, it was absolutely, without question, the fault of the tincture. I know because I tried it myself.’

To Jenny’s horror, Mrs Walters burst into tears. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands. Jenny didn’t know what to do. The neat little woman sitting before her was in considerable distress. Much more than the situation warranted. Cautiously, Jenny reached across and patted her shoulder, and then gave recourse to the only method she knew of comforting herself.

‘Would you like a biscuit and a cup of tea? The kettle must be nearly at a boil.’

Mrs Walters raised her head and gave a watery smile. Her eyes were red and puffy.

‘Let me fetch the teapot,’ Jenny offered.

‘No, no. I’ll do it,’ Mrs Walters said, jumping to her feet just as the kettle began to whistle. She poured the water into the brown earthenware pot and stirred it with a hand that shook.

‘Would you like milk or would you prefer lemon?’ Mrs Walters asked, producing one. It was quite shrivelled, with the skin pared off. It looked unappealing and Jenny chose milk instead.

‘I’ve been making Christmas cakes,’ Mrs Walters explained as she dropped a thin slice of lemon into her cup and added milk to Jenny’s. She sat down again and smiled. Fussing around preparing the tea appeared to have calmed her.