The Sinful Scot (Saints & Scoundrels) Page 12

  Shaking her head, she pushed down the memories and returned her attention to the apothecary store. They were finally here, and they needed answers. And she was praying they found them, with Fergus now nipping at their heels. The very thought elicited a knot of fear to settle in her stomach.

  She followed Alec as he walked up to the counter. The rich mahogany wood of the bench tops gleamed brightly in the afternoon light streaming in through the large windows at the front of the store. And behind the bench were shelves upon shelves of bottles, liquids and pills, all meticulously stacked and labeled. Unlike the bottle that Fergus had disposed of.

  “Good afternoon!” a man declared as he emerged from behind a curtained doorway nestled at the back of the counter area. He was obviously an employee of the establishment. Connie couldn’t place his age, as he was rather pale looking, with a thin and narrow forehead, pinched lips, and spectacles perched on the edge of his nose that looked far too large for his face. But he sounded friendly enough. And would hopefully be able to assist them. “My name is Mr. Middleton. May I help you with anything today?”

  “Yes, you can,” Alec replied. He pulled out the vial from his jacket pocket and handed it to the man. “You can tell me what was in this bottle, and who it was dispensed to.”

  The man peered down at the label and squinted slightly before glancing back up at them. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I shan’t be able to help you.” There was a look of apology on the man’s face that did not match the look of worry that had suddenly started to crease his forehead. “It would appear that whoever dispensed this perhaps got distracted and forgot to write down what the actual remedy was.” He sighed and shrugged. “A shame, as there’s no way now to tell what was in it, or who it was for. Though if you tell me what it is you are trying to cure, I can suggest many restorative tonics. Especially for couples…” He looked pointedly between Connie and Alec. “Some of our aphrodisiac tonics are simply wonderful with rejuvenating or spicing up an evening’s entertainment.”

  Connie felt her jaw drop. Was the man suggesting what she thought he was? Surely not.

  “There’s a number on the label,” Alec said, paying no heed to the man’s blatant innuendo. “Why don’t you check your register and see what it was and who you sold it to.”

  Now it was Mr. Middleton’s turn to drop his jaw. “How do you know we keep a register? Do you work at Abel’s Apothecary? Are you trying to ferret out our formulations? Well, I shall have you know, you won’t be getting them! Our formulations are sacred; never would I dare to reveal them to anyone.”

  Alec sighed before pulling out his money clip and slowly counting out twenty pounds onto the smooth wooden surface of the bench. Using his index finger, he slowly slid the pile of notes over toward the man. “Perhaps that should purchase a bit of daring, hmm?”

  Connie wouldn’t have thought it was possible for the man’s jaw to drop any lower, but lower it went. She did suppose that twenty pounds was akin to the cost of the man’s rent for a year.

  Mr. Middleton puffed up his rather skinny chest. “Well yes, I suppose it might. But…well, we do take pride in maintaining the strictest of confidences of our purchasers. Wouldn’t be good if others found out I was disclosing private information to anyone who just walked in off the street, now would it?”

  “Would it ease your mind to know I’m a doctor?”

  “You are?” Middleton seemed to perk up slightly. “Well, that does help some.” His eyes began to eagerly flick between the money and Alec. “Though I would hate word to get out that we were not so diligent in protecting the identity of our clients. We do deal with rather delicate remedies sometimes, and for rather wealthy and influential people, too…”

  Alec counted out a further ten pounds and added them on top of the pile of notes. Clearly, the rumors that his venture with the Duke of Huntington had proved fruitful were indeed true. “I’m sure that should assuage your worries.” He replaced his money clip into his jacket and stared at the man. It was clear by both his expression and his stance that Alec wasn’t going to give him any more.

  The man gulped and hastily nodded. “Oh, indeed it shall.” He went to quickly scoop up the notes, but almost in a blur, Alec’s hand reached out and landed on top of them, effectively stopping the man from getting a single one.

  “How about we find out the information first, and then you can be adequately compensated for your assistance.” There was steel in Alec’s voice that belied the smooth smile across his lips.

  A flicker of annoyance flashed over Middleton’s face, but reluctantly he nodded, then leaned down under the counter and pulled out a large journal. He set it next to Alec’s hand with a thud before opening it up and leafing through to the latest entries. “Can you read the number listed on the bottle for me?”

  Alec motioned to Connie, and she stepped forward and picked up the item. Turning the bottle around until she saw the digits that had been penned upon the label, she read aloud, “One, seven, eight, two, and three.”

  Mr. Middleton flicked back some pages and ran his knobby hand down the entries written on the page of the journal, muttering under his breath as he went. “Ah, here it is,” he declared, his finger coming to rest just over halfway down the page. “Oh…”

  “What is it?” Connie asked, noting the concern in the man’s eyes.

  “Mr. Trenton himself dispensed it.”

  Both she and Alec must have looked rather perplexed at the name, because Mr. Middleton pointed up to a painting hanging above the door behind them. “Mr. Trenton is the owner and head apothecary of this establishment. He insists that only he is the one to mix the most complicated of tinctures.”

  Connie glanced up at the painting and thought it odd that someone would hang such an unusual picture of themselves in their own store. In the picture this Mr. Trenton was wearing a paisley green vest and matching trousers, with a pink shirt and brown boots. His hair was balding and his figure rather rotund. Though it looked like he was smiling. Well, either that or grimacing, it was a bit hard to tell.

  “Is Trenton here?” Alec asked.

  The man shook his head. “No, not today. He’s most likely at his, um…club, enjoying an early afternoon tea. Especially around this time of day, he does love his food.”

  “What tincture did he mix?” Alec asked.

  There was a pause while the man reread the entry, a slight frown creasing his brows. “Chloral hydrate,” he answered, staring back up to Alec. She could see a look of understanding pass between the two men, but she herself was in the dark, having never heard of such a medicine before.

  “Is it dangerous?” she asked them, feeling somewhat violated at the thought that she may have been given it without her knowledge or permission.

  “It was first synthesized by a German chemist back in 1832, and it’s known for its sedative properties,” the man slowly replied. “Among other things.”

  “Among other things?” Connie definitely didn’t like the sound of that. “Does that mean it is dangerous, then?”

  “It depends,” Alec’s deep voice responded. “Generally not, though it is odorless, tasteless, and colorless. Which means it can be incorrectly taken or given to someone without them even knowing they’ve had something. And in some cases, it can cause dire reactions, if given too much.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Middleton agreed. “Which is why we rarely dispense it, unless a doctor has recommended it.” The man’s eyes scanned farther down the notes. “And thankfully, that is the case in this situation.”

  Connie felt sick. The night of Duncan’s death, she’d slept so soundly that she’d not even awoken when he was being murdered less than a foot from where she’d been lying. She must have been drugged prior—that was the only thing that made any sense. Which meant she’d been lying there completely and utterly helpless. The thought sent a cold chill down to her toes. And what if Fergus had given her
too much? She might not even be standing here today, if that had been the case.

  Suddenly, a wave of red-hot anger rolled through her. “Who purchased the mixture?”

  The man pursed his lips. “Hmm…apparently a Lord Fergus Campbell purchased the remedy. Only a week ago, too, it would seem.”

  A gasp escaped Connie’s lips, and her eyes locked with Alec’s. Fergus bought the sedative only a week ago? It seemed he was trying to frame her.

  “The medicine was prescribed by Doctor Howlett,” Mr. Middleton continued, oblivious to their reaction, “his surgery is only a few streets down from here on Tettenham Road at number twelve. Perhaps he can assist you more? After all, it’s not all that common a remedy to prescribe. Milk of the poppy is the more preferred choice for sleeping assistance, and it’s much easier to make, too, which means it’s a great deal more cost effective at the end of the day.”

  “And what club can we find Mr. Trenton in?” Alec asked.

  The man’s eyes grew wide. “But…why do you want to speak to him? I’ve given you all the information you required. There’s no need to speak with him.”

  “He served the man and made the remedy, correct?” Alec asked.

  Mr. Middleton bobbed his head and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Um, yes, he did.”

  “Well, we need to get a description from him of who he sold it to.”

  “But I’ve already told you who he sold it to. The name is right here.” The man began to fidget nervously with his collar. “Oh please, you must not go and see him! You can’t tell him I’ve given you any information… He’ll fire me if you do. I have a wife and three children to feed… Please, I beg you!”

  “Oh, good God, Middleton, do relax.” Alec took his hand off the money, and Middleton wasted no time in scooping it up and placing it into his trouser pocket. “We won’t mention this visit of ours at all, but we do need to properly identify the man who purchased the remedy, as I doubt that Dr. Howlett will disclose the identity of a patient of his.”

  The man released a breath. “Very well, then. He’s at the Hellfire and Hound club, over on Gregory Lane, across the other side of town.”

  “The Hellfire and Hound club?” Connie asked. “That doesn’t sound like a particularly respectable establishment.”

  “Oh, it certainly is not,” the man agreed. “Which is why Mr. Trenton loves it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cobblestones were slightly damp from the soft smattering of rain that had fallen while they’d been inside the apothecary, but thankfully the majority of clouds had moved on, and only a very fine drizzle remained. Connie stepped down from the front stoop of the shop porch onto the footpath, Alec following behind.

  They stopped outside and turned to look at each other.

  “Fergus bought it!” Connie exclaimed. “It does look like he is trying to frame me, then, doesn’t it?”

  “Possibly,” Alec allowed, though his voice was hesitant.

  “But it seems rather silly of him to use his own name.” Connie couldn’t work that one out. Fergus might be a bore and somewhat brash, but he wasn’t stupid. Unless he truly hadn’t thought he’d be suspected at all?

  “Which is why we at least need to get a description of who did purchase the product.” Alec gently took her elbow and guided her down the path. “Hopefully then we’ll have more of an idea.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But where to now?” she asked, desperately trying to ignore the prickle of awareness radiating up her arm from the soft touch of his fingers against her. She readjusted her cloak slightly so that the hood covered the majority of her face and would also cover the blush she felt flaring to life on her cheeks. “I don’t know if it will be particularly appropriate for me to accompany you to the Hellfire and Hound club… Though I must say I’m curious as to why a club would call itself that, and obviously what goes on inside such an establishment.”

  Alec chuckled, the previous tension in the room of the inn seemingly forgotten, and Connie found herself savoring the rich sound as it washed over her, an answering smile crossing her own lips. She’d never laughed with Duncan, hadn’t even smiled with him. But with Alec, even though she was terrified of being caught, she actually felt happy and safe.

  Sensations that were so foreign but which she was starting to crave, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She smothered the sigh that was threatening. He’d ask her what was wrong, and she certainly didn’t feel like telling him what she’d been thinking.

  “Haven’t you heard about curiosity and the cat, my dear?” Alec teased. “But I think we should go and visit the doctor first, considering he’s only a few streets away. Then, if we have no luck, we can go and see what we can get out of Mr. Trenton at his club.”

  It made sense. And Connie found herself wishing the doctor wouldn’t disclose much, because for some reason she just knew that they needed to visit the club. Briefly she wondered if Duncan had frequented such an establishment when he traveled to Inverness. He often mentioned his club, and there was a look in his eyes when he did so that made Connie think he was having a great joke at her expense.

  Alec tensed beside her, and a feeling of dread pitted in her stomach. He spun her behind him and turned to face the direction they’d just come from.

  Connie peeked around his broad back and saw two men rushing toward them, their fists raised, and one of them holding some sort of wooden bat. A vivid image of the time Duncan had swung a cricket bat at her, when she’d displeased him after an outing one day, swam to the forefront of her mind.

  “Run,” Alec yelled to her as he faced the men.

  But Connie couldn’t do anything. Her feet were rooted to the spot as everything inside her froze. She was going to be beaten again, and the accompanying sense of absolute terror the thought brought with it rendered her immobile. Images of Duncan swinging the bat down upon her thighs, the sickening sound of the wood hitting her flesh, over and over, consumed her. She could barely even see Alec fighting the men in front of her through the vivid memories that gripped her.

  Tears began to stream down her face, but she couldn’t even lift her hand to wipe them away.

  She could hear Duncan’s voice as if he was standing right beside her, yelling in her ear, “You useless thing. You deserve to be beaten. You’re a whore. A stupid, pathetic excuse of a woman who can’t do anything right. Your touch can’t even make me hard, you worthless woman. You embarrassed me today, and I’m going to punish you.”

  Connie felt her whole body start to shake and knew she was close to collapsing. Desperately, she sought out the special place in her mind where she’d take herself when Duncan’s beatings started. A place she felt protected, and where his words and actions couldn’t reach her, no matter how hard he hit or taunted her. Her safe space was the only place where she could lock her mind away and protect herself emotionally from what was taking place physically.

  But she couldn’t reach that place today.

  And just as she was about to panic, a part of her became aware that Alec was easily defeating the men. He was blocking their combined attacks and launching a volley of punches and kicks, which landed with precision and power on the two ruffians, each and every time.

  Alec could fight. And fight well. He’d already disarmed the one with the bat, and the two men were cautiously circling Alec now.

  A part of her was nauseous at the thought that Alec could fight, for Duncan could fight, too, and had enjoyed pugilism as a sport. She wondered if Alec would ever lose control as Duncan had. Didn’t all men have a temper? And they were so strong, and oftentimes volatile, that it would be so easy for them to forget and lash out…

  No. She chastised herself. She wasn’t going to let Duncan win and make her believe all men were tarnished with his ilk. She knew Alec. Had known him since she was a girl. He’d never hurt her before, and she knew to the depths of her being that h
e never would.

  And all of a sudden, Connie didn’t feel so terrified. Though she still couldn’t will her body to move, even if a part of her was screaming to herself to help Alec. But she couldn’t raise a hand to help herself, let alone him.

  She didn’t even know how to punch properly.

  A fact Duncan had reminded her of the last time she’d tried to defend herself against him. The time when he’d slapped her and a rage had welled up inside her, when she’d finally had enough of being his punching bag. She’d tried to hit him, but he’d easily ducked and laughed. Then, while he was still laughing, he’d punched her on the temple, knocking her to the ground. She’d been only partially conscious when he’d continued to punish her for that unaccustomed show of disobedience.

  She hadn’t tried it again, realizing that it was easier to simply submit, and retreat to the special place in her mind, than fight him. Particularly when she didn’t know how.

  Because if she so much as hinted at disobeying him or reacting to him, he was far more likely to beat her—and much more ferociously, too—than if she simply submitted to the beatings. She’d suspected as well that he took a perverse sense of enjoyment from it when she fought back.

  So she hadn’t.

  And here she was now, all but helpless to do anything except watch.

  She’d never truly thought of herself as worthless—until right at that moment.

  …

  Alec could tell the men hadn’t been expecting him to put up a fight, and now that they were starting to moan and bleed, he knew he nearly had them. As the shorter one charged him again, Alec pivoted to his left and punched the man in his solar plexus. The man dropped like a bag of wheat to the ground, and his companion finally turned tail and fled.

  Taking in a deep breath, Alec stepped over the fallen man and grabbed him by the shirt. He hauled him to his feet and held him in front of him. The man was a head shorter than Alec and looked slightly dazed.