Page 13 of Bernadette’s Dashing Doctor (The Bookshop Belles #4)

CHAPTER 13

Co-operation

G lynn had shocked her with his questions about how she would murder someone if she needed to. Bernadette spent the rest of the day wracking her brain and consulting her mother’s herbal journals trying to work out what the answer might be. By the time he tapped on the bookshop door at five minutes past four, she had developed a few theories.

“Bear in mind,” she said to him as they walked together towards the vicarage, “that I would not dare risk any of these. It would be far too easy to give too large a dose, and that could cause death immediately. But I thought of a few things that, in small regular doses, could have caused the reverend’s jaundice.”

“Such as?” Glynn looked at her with interest. They were speaking very quietly, of course, her arm linked through his and their heads bent close together, and it occurred to Bernadette that to onlookers they might look like a courting couple whispering sweet nothings to each other. She caught a sidelong glance from Mrs Freebody, passing by, and blushed scarlet.

“Arsenic,” she whispered quickly, fixing her eyes on the path in front of her. “Was there any in that drawer of poisons?”

“Not that we could identify.”

“Hm.” She chewed her lip. “The others are more… natural poisons. More in my line than Mr Lennox’s, if you catch my drift.”

“I do indeed. What might they be?”

“There are some mushrooms. Galerina, or Amanita virosa.”

“Amanita… I thought that was immediately fatal?” He recalled reading about a case of poisoning from the lethal fungi known more commonly as Death Caps.

“You’re thinking of Amanita phalloides, and yes. It would be. Amanita virosa is a relative. Not quite as dangerous.” They had reached the edge of the vicarage garden, and Bernadette slowed her step, looking at a plant in the hedge. “There are other plants… not mushrooms. Hemlock, monkshood, hellebore.” She pointed. “Foxglove.”

They both looked at the tubular flowers, pink with white spots inside. And then Bernadette pointed to another plant, small and yellow, which looked rather like a dandelion but with less petals. “Celandine, too.”

“You’re telling me there are two plants right in this garden which could have caused jaundice?” Glynn said slowly.

“Three.” She pointed at another. “That’s tansy.” She hesitated, but then decided if she was going to trust him, she might as well trust him completely. “I use tansy, Doctor. It’s an ingredient in a tea which I give to young women who’ve missed their courses. It was in the tea I gave Ruth, which didn’t work. I use it in very small amounts, and I allow no more than two doses.”

“What else is in that tea?” Glynn asked.

“Pennyroyal, rue… a few other things.” She gave him an innocent look when he raised an eyebrow at her. “A trade secret, Doctor. Or do you wish to train as a herbalist as well as a doctor?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know what you’re doing, Miss Baxter. I’ll leave that to you.”

His compliment filled her with confidence. She tried not to glow with happiness as they made their way up the path to visit the widow.

Mrs Millings did not appear particularly happy to see them, but she invited them in for tea all the same.

“We want to make sure you’re all right,” Bernadette began, hoping the timid woman might not run away to her room this time. “And if there’s anything we can do for you, let us know.”

“Thank you for the food yesterday, it made an excellent repast for Ruth and I,” she said.

Relief spread through Bernadette that Ruth had come home in time for dinner.

Mrs Millings poured tea and they waited for her to speak, giving her all the time she needed. After a fair while of nothing, she made a strange laugh and said, “Isn’t it funny what you remember? He used to make me a tea blend for my megrims. When he… left, my first thought was, “How will I get my tea?” but then… I never had another megrim.”

Bernadette and Glynn looked at each other. This was going to require a great deal of tact.

“Mrs Millings,” Glynn said slowly, “we’ve had some new information, and it paints a bad light on your late husband. We believe he might have been causing your headaches.”

She balked and put her teacup down, shock on her face. “He caused them?”

“Perhaps with some drops of belladonna in your tea,” Bernadette said, very gently.

Again they waited for her to think about what their words might mean. It seemed she would say nothing until she eventually muttered, “I’d sleep for so long.”

The awkwardness grew, and it was so tempting to reach out to Mrs Millings and embrace her.

Glynn’s voice was low and kind. “What reason would he have for wanting you asleep?”

Her face paled and her lips pressed together in a thin line of fear.

Bernadette rushed in, “He can’t hurt you now, Mrs Millings.”

The frightened woman shook her head, her hand flying to her mouth as she began to weep. “Yes he can,” she sobbed.

Soft footsteps came from upstairs. Bernadette hoped they belonged to Ruth.

“Perhaps you should get some rest, ma’am,” Glynn said kindly. “Are you having any trouble sleeping?”

“No… no.” Mrs Millings shook her head. “Perhaps you’d best go,” she added.

Bernadette wanted to ask more questions. Wanted to find out if Mrs Millings knew about Ruth’s pregnancy; it was becoming urgent that something be done. Ruth needed to be out of Hatfield. Without her mother’s support, that might be impossible.

Glynn’s hand under her elbow encouraged her gently out of the vicarage, though, and Bernadette tried not to grind her teeth together.

“She’s hiding something,” she hissed at Glynn as they began to walk.

“I know. But we can’t force it out of her. She trusts you, I think… but she’s not ready to talk.”

“Ruth doesn’t have much time!” In her mind’s eye, Bernadette saw Ruth’s swelling belly. In just a few more weeks, if not even sooner, Ruth would have to leave or go into hiding. “One of them is going to have to talk to me!”

“Try to be patient,” Glynn advised. “Let’s go and see Mr Lennox again. He was looking over that list and consulting some catalogues he has, trying to discover if any of the poisons might have been the one that killed the reverend.”

Bernadette sighed, frustrated. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an investigator. However does Shaun do it? People don’t tell you the truth!”

Glynn was grinning. “What, and you’ve never had a patient lie to you?”

“Not usually. People come to me when they need help, and when I explain that I can’t help unless I know what’s actually wrong, they tell me.” She looked at him curiously. “Do they lie to you?”

“All the time. Many of Hatfield’s young women have an imaginative array of maladies.” He grinned at her. “I send them across to you for your special tonic.”

“Indeed.” She tried not to laugh at the memory of Miss Burton’s expression after she took a sip from the small bottle of tonic Bernadette had given her. “I told them very firmly that they must take a teaspoon every morning and night until the bottle is empty.”

He burst out laughing, and Bernadette began to giggle too.

“It won’t hurt them, of course!” she snickered. “Quite the opposite, it’s very healthful. It’s just absolutely disgusting.”

Glynn wiped at his eyes. “Oh, you are marvellous, Bernadette. I shall be sure to keep sending you any more young ladies who develop mysterious maladies in the presence of a man they think is eligible!”

“You are eligible, what are you talking about?” She looked at him curiously. “Don’t you want a wife?”

They had arrived at the apothecary’s door, however, and there was no time for him to answer, because Mr Lennox was hurrying over to greet them and welcome them inside.

“Come in, come in. What excellent timing.” He turned the sign on the door over to Closed. “Young Devon can finish tidying in here. Do come into the back and sit down.”

He offered them tea, but having just drunk a cup at the vicarage they each declined politely, taking seats at the scrubbed pine table in the back room.

“I went through your list,” Mr Lennox said. “And though there is some rubbish there, and we will need to consult on how to carefully dispose of it, I must say that there is nothing at all which could have caused the symptoms you observed in the Reverend. Either the jaundice or the foaming mouth when he passed away.”

“Thank you for confirmation of what we’d been thinking.” Glynn said. He glanced at Bernadette, and she gave a little nod, trusting him to draw Mr Lennox into their confidence without betraying Ruth’s secret.

“Well.” Mr Lennox took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow after Glynn explained they thought the reverend might have been drugging his wife with belladonna. “That’s a dreadful thing, indeed. Why?”

“Perhaps he thought he was helping,” Glynn said. “No matter his motive, however, it is at an end.”

“And a good thing too!” Mr Lennox said indignantly, before shaking his head. “Still. This does not solve the problem at hand, does it? What did the reverend take that killed him?”

“And who gave it to him? It seems apparent that he had some knowledge of these matters,” Bernadette put in. “Neither Dr Williams nor I think he would have taken something in error.”

“A fascinating conundrum,” Mr Lennox said, and all three of them sat in silence for a moment, before Mr Lennox finally shook his head. “Well, it is possible we will never know, but I do hope the murderer has no intentions on anyone else. Certainly we will be looking closely at anyone who appears a little jaundiced, won’t we?”

All of them agreed to that, and Glynn pulled a notebook out and said “Talking of which. I have been consulting with the printer and designing a form which I intend to use for all patients. Perhaps eventually I will have one for every soul in Hatfield; that is certainly the intention. Whether they come to me, or here to you, Mr Lennox, or to the midwives or Miss Baxter. I’d like your opinions on my design.”

He opened the notebook to show them the sample form, neatly drawn and labelled. They bent their heads over it, commencing a lively discussion.

Bernadette appreciated that both men not only listened when she made suggestions, but actively solicited her opinions. It was rewarding to be respected in her field by men and not just women, she thought. She could see herself working with Glynn and Mr Lennox in the future, using their combined knowledge to better the lot of all their patients and clients. Happiness welled up inside her at the thought, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Crate arrived for you, Miss Bernadette!” Mr Thomas from the Red Lion shouldered the door open the following morning and set the crate down in his usual delivery spot on the floor.

“Thank you, Mr Thomas,” Bernadette said, rushing around the counter to look. It was a much taller crate than they usually received. Was this from her father? It would be the first crate from him in eight months, if so! But no; she frowned at the handwritten label pasted on the side. It had come from London, from… a cabinetmaker?

“Where’s Lou’s crowbar?” she muttered, going back around the counter. Finding the tool, she pried unsuccessfully at the lid for a moment.

“Let me help!” Brutus begged as he arrived, and Bernadette handed him the heavy tool. Brutus did very well in levering off the lid, and they both stared in puzzlement at the contents.

“That’s not books,” Brutus said.

“Indeed it’s not.” She stared at the cabinet with its tiny drawers. “It looks just like the one Dr Williams has, only newer. Perhaps it was sent here by mistake?”

“That’s your name on the label,” Brutus pointed out.

“It’s beautiful!” It was a stunning piece of furniture. Little drawers with brass handles that opened with a smooth slide. There were delicate glass doors over the cupboards. The entire cabinet was so beautifully crafted, she caressed its polished surface.

“Ah, it arrived.” Dr Williams entered the shop and smiled at her, as she bent over the open crate.

“You ordered this?” Bernadette straightened up, even as her fingers lingered wistfully on the silky wood. “Why did you have it delivered here, instead of to Mrs Bell’s?”

“Because it’s not for me. It’s for you. Do you need help to carry it upstairs?”

She stared at him incredulously. “I beg your pardon?”

He had the grace to look a little abashed. “I thought you could make use of it. I remembered you admiring mine… and your herbs and bottles are organised upstairs but don’t have a cabinet in which to reside. It also has a lock. To keep secure the more, ah,” he cast a glance at Brutus, who was listening with apparent fascination, “hazardous of the medications you work with.”

That… was a wonderful idea. But this would have cost a pretty penny. “Did you charge it to Lord Ferndale’s account?” she asked.

“No.”

“I cannot possibly accept, Dr Williams, it is too valuable a gift!” She shook her head.

He shrugged and softly said, “Please understand. You have given me a far more valuable gift in this town. Your acceptance of me - despite my behaving like a foolish prig initially - and your generous sharing of knowledge has eased my path to acceptance by the whole town. Please, accept this as a small token of my appreciation.”

Tempted, she hesitated, began to shake her head. “It is not a small thing.”

“I can’t return it,” he said. “And I can’t use two of them.”

“Maybe you should have the new one…”

“Oh goodness, I can’t even think of emptying out my old one. And it has such sentimental value. No, no, this one is for you. Let me carry it upstairs, where would you like it?”

It was by far the nicest gift anyone had ever given her. She wanted to sit and spend her time sorting and filling it, organising the tools of her trade, but she had no choice but to sit at the bookshop counter. Brutus couldn’t manage alone.

“Thank you,” she said fervently as Dr Williams left again, with a tilt of his hat. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome. I hope you find it of use!”

She certainly would. She could barely focus, happily thinking about what she would store in which drawer and how she would make labels - perhaps Brutus could make her some stinky glue to paste the labels on to the front of the drawers.

The door bell tinkled, and Bernadette glanced up with an absent smile for the incoming customer, which disappeared instantly as she saw Ruth slip in.

“Ruth!” Bernadette forced herself to stay sitting, not appear too eager. She didn’t want Ruth to flee again. “How are you feeling?” she asked, cautiously.

Ruth lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “All right. Not sick,” she said quietly.

“Are you coming back to work?”

“If you’ll let me.”

Brutus was out on an errand; Bernadette made a decision. “Will you sit and talk with me a little, Ruth?” she asked as gently as she could. “I’ll lock the door so we won’t be interrupted.”

Ruth hesitated, but then she nodded.

They sat down in the alcove near the fire stove at the back of the shop, and Bernadette reached out to take Ruth’s hands in hers, noting how cold they felt.

“Do you have any plans for what to do?” she asked.

“Plans?” Ruth’s voice shook even on the single word.

“You can’t stay in Hatfield unless you marry the father of the baby,” Bernadette said, as kindly as she could. “You must see that, Ruth. Your reputation will be ruined, and you, your mother and your baby will all suffer for it.”

“Oh.” A tear trembled on Ruth’s lower lashes.

Bernadette hated how innocent Ruth was, and how she was going to have to do a lot of growing up, very quickly.

“If you want to keep the baby, you need to go somewhere you’re not known. It would be easy enough to pose as the wife of a soldier who fell at Waterloo…” Bernadette stopped. Ruth was shaking her head violently.

“I don’t want it. I don’t! I tried to get rid of it, it’s his… ”

“Whose?”

Ruth clammed up again.

Silently Bernadette counted to ten, but the girl stubbornly wouldn't talk. “Ruth, you need to tell me. We’re concerned, Dr Williams and I, that the man might have had something to do with your father’s death. I know you said it wasn’t Benjamin…”

“It wasn’t! He was a pest, but he never touched me.”

“Then who was it?” Bernadette said, doing her best to remain patient even while a part of her wanted to shake Ruth.

Ruth’s mouth set in a thin, stubborn line. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no possibility of marriage.”

The way she said it was so flat, so final. Had it been a soldier who’d died at Waterloo? Bernadette supposed it was possible. More possible than Benjamin Baxter, given the timeframes involved. She sighed, and tried another tack.

“You can’t do this alone, Ruth. Does your mother know?”

Every bit of colour that remained in Ruth’s face leached from her. She snatched her hands out of Bernadette’s and leaped to her feet.

“Ruth, no!” Bernadette tried to grab at the girl, but Ruth was too quick. She fled from the shop as though the hounds of hell were on her heels, the door slamming behind her.

Eventually the girl would have to stop running and face her problems, but if she refused to talk to even a trusted friend, how in heaven’s name could they help her?