Page 9 of The Love Remedy (The Damsels of Discovery #1)

9

“Your formulas are not in this office.”

Two days after Thorne sought aid from Arthur Kneland, he sat in the office, leaning back in his chair and appearing awfully proud of himself. He called her away from a customer and said he had something important to tell her, then ushered her into a chair in the office as if he’d solved the case. This was why he’d called Lucy just as she was going to sneak away for a bite to eat? It was half four and she hadn’t had more than a piece of bread this morning.

“I know my formulas are not in the office, Mr. Thorne. That is why I am paying for your ‘bookkeeping’ services. I have hired you to find out who stole them.”

Lucy wiped her hands down the front of her treatment coat. Today had been exhausting; she’d removed three cysts, reset a broken ankle, and conducted two tooth extractions.

In addition, the young woman with the jaundiced baby had returned, and while the baby seemed to be getting better, it was not as rapid a recovery as Lucy would have liked to see. She sent word to Juliet at the clinic that she should stop by the woman’s house on her way home and double-check that Lucy had made the correct diagnosis.

Thorne’s face remained expressionless, and Lucy wished there were some magic combination of words that would unlock him for her edification.

Lucy wanted to know his secrets.

She wanted to upend him the same way he roiled her peace and made her want what she shouldn’t have. If Thorne kept taunting her with his scowls and rumbly voice and large, broad chest, Lucy wished to roil his peace right back.

So what if he didn’t mean to make her a pudding-head with a simple glance? Lucy could not ignore his presence. The thought struck her that perhaps there was some chemical attraction happening, something on an invisible level she might explain away.

“I will tell you what I have found, however,” Thorne said.

Gathering a deep breath, Lucy then let loose a sigh intended to communicate she had better things to do than stand here and stare at his compelling face.

“What did you find?” she asked.

“You are being cheated.”

Lucy put a hand on the desk to steady herself, a cold tingling starting in the tips of her fingers. She must have misheard.

“I beg your pardon?”

Cheated?

“Do you know how much the apothecary has spent on calomel this month?” Thorne asked.

Lucy stared at the chair opposite the desk from him and took a seat.

Cheated.

“I...” Lucy cleared her throat. “Don’t we order it from Denton Brothers? They were friends with my father. I can’t believe Abel Denton would cheat us.”

Proof, she supposed, of her family’s gullibility and mismanagement.

Nothing to do with her formulas, however.

Thorne straightened the stack of papers in front of him. Tapping the top of the first page, he then pushed it over to her side of the desk so that she could read it.

“Hopper’s?” she read aloud. “I don’t know them.”

“Sometime in the last year, David made the decision to switch to Hopper’s. You pay the same amount each week, but Hopper’s only delivers two-thirds of the calomel that Denton Brothers had.”

“Well, David simply made a mistake. All we have to do is switch back to Denton’s and—”

Thorne tapped his finger at the top of the next invoice. “Do you know where you get your turmeric and coriander seeds?”

“Patel’s Trading Company. That hasn’t changed, because Mr. Patel’s aunt, Mrs. Parekh, was just in here the other day and she would have said something.”

Thorne again slid the crumpled receipt toward her. “You still order from Patel’s Trading Company, yes. The same amount of money is paid, but you now receive two-thirds the amount you once did. It is David’s name on these receipts.”

Lucy couldn’t grasp hold of the thoughts flying through her head, and she tried to rationalize. “Prices have gone up in London, and—”

“There are four more like this. Do you know Mr. W. R. Wilcox?”

“Mr. who? What has this to do with the price of turmeric?”

In between his bookkeeping, Thorne had cleaned the office. The ledgers sat in order on the newly dusted shelves. Mrs. Parekh’s tiny neem sapling rested on the corner of the desk, waiting to be delivered to its new home. He’d even changed the oil in the lamp and replaced the wick so that it no longer sputtered and stank.

Tidying his physical surroundings while upending the people in his path.

Lucy hated him a little in that moment.

“If you—”

She left the office while he was still speaking, and closed the door quietly behind her. Katie was chatting with Mr. Gentry, and two matrons gossiped in the corner. Everything seemed so blessedly normal out here. If only Lucy would send Thorne away, everything would go back to before.

When one of the matrons opened the door to leave, the sounds of men shouting came into the shop.

“Whores!”

“Witches!”

“We know who you are. We know what you do!”

The ugliness of the words and the rage with which they were shouted jolted Lucy out of her stupor.

Katie came out from behind the counter to have a look.

“Come away from the door,” Lucy said, pulling the shopgirl back from the exit.

Shocked, Katie stumbled back into her arms just as Juliet, David, and Sadie hurried inside. David turned to shut the door, and Lucy could see a group of a dozen or more men outside holding wooden signs with slogans painted on them.

WHEN MEN LOSE WAGES, WOMEN LOSE FAMILIES

STAY HOME AND STAY PURE

CLOSE YOUR LEGS AND CLIMB TO HEAVEN

ABORTIONISTS ARE MURDERERS

“What is— Sadie?” Thorne rushed out of the office to his daughter, running his hands over her cheeks and down her shoulders, eyes roving his child’s body in search of any injury.

“Fecking Guardians,” David hissed. He’d lost his topper, and his thick hair was windblown. Red smears of anger stained his cheeks. “I just returned from Bath, then fetched Juliet when they came to the clinic. Why did you speak to them, Sniffles?” he asked Juliet. “We could have gone right past and not—”

Juliet shook with anger or fear or a combination of both. Her skin was pale, and her large eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Definitely anger. Lucy had never seen her sister cry for any other reason.

“I will not be called names nor made to feel shame for what I do,” Juliet said, her voice high and thin. “I won’t be screamed at for having a brain or caring—”

All the dread Lucy had felt since Thorne’s disclosure, the fear she’d known when she saw the men’s angry faces outside, now burned away in a conflagration of rage.

Sadie stood in her father’s embrace, her bonnet pushed back and forehead against his broad chest. David ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily and shaking his head.

These were her people. Lucy was responsible for them while they lived beneath her roof.

This could not stand.

Throwing open the door, Lucy stomped out onto the wooden walkway and shook her fist at the men who milled about, no longer shouting but still holding their signs aloft.

“What would your mothers say if they saw you screaming at defenseless women and children in the street?” Lucy shouted at them.

A few of the signs lowered, and the two men in front stared at each other.

One man with a gray patched beard came forward.

“She’d say those women ought to stay home and sin no more,” he called out.

A few of the other men murmured their agreement, but one man put down his sign and dropped his head.

“I think she’d be ashamed of you,” Lucy told him.

Gray Patch did not appear convinced but took a step backward when someone exited the shop behind her.

“Get out.” Thorne’s words were uttered without emotion, although Lucy could feel the heat emanating from Thorne’s body as he stepped to her side and his hands clenched into fists.

A young man toward the front with close-set eyes scoffed. “Who is going to make us?” he called.

Thorne took two steps off the walkway and into the street. Once out of the shadow of the awning covering the front of the apothecary, his face became visible.

“Lads,” Gray Patch said, voice shaking. “Lads, that’s—”

“Get out,” Thorne repeated at the same volume but with greater intensity. “I have memorized every one of your faces. If I see you again here, there will be trouble.”

The young man at the front made a sound of derision, but someone behind him shoved him in the back. “Shut yer gob, Jemmy.”

Gray Patch took off his felted cap and squinted up at Thorne. “Cor. ’Tis you for sure. I saw you fight Dunder Folkes in Clerkenwell. Never seen a man fight like that ’afore. Your fists were faster ’n lightning.”

Thorne articulated his words so they sounded like bricks hitting the cobbles on the street. “Then you know to heed my warning.”

Gray Patch nodded, but Jemmy wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Who are you, old man? You’ve a face that not even a mother could love.”

Jemmy was the only one who laughed. The crowd of men around him melted away and left him alone. His beady little eyes narrowed as he swung his head around, then back at Thorne.

“Ask your friend who I am,” Thorne said. “Then ask him, did the man I fought that day die?”

Gray Patch didn’t have to say anything; the pallor of his skin and shaking of his hands gave the answer for him.

Lucy watched in satisfaction as the men slunk away.

“Papa, you shouldn’t make up stories.”

David, Juliet, Katie, and Sadie had come outside during the exchange. While Sadie wore an expression of forbearance, the rest of them appeared almost as shocked as they had been when they’d entered.

“You’re right, my dear.” Thorne climbed up from the street onto the walkway and lifted Sadie’s face with a finger beneath her chin.

“Mrs. Merkel always said the Lord detests lying lips,” she admonished him.

“Indeed. Mrs. Merkle could always be counted on to proffer such nuggets of wisdom.” Thorne regarded David and Juliet. “Was anyone hurt?”

David shook his head. “No. I can’t say they would have done much more than shout their slogans.”

“Daft buggers. They’re not even from East London,” Katie said. Then she spoke to Lucy. “It’s my time to be off, miss. I’m goin’ straight to the pub to find me da and be sure to tell him ’bout those bullies.”

“Thank you, Katie,” Lucy said. It galled her that Katie worked rather than go to school so she could finance her father’s afternoons in the pub, but now was not the time to worry over that. While Katie fetched her wrap, the rest of them slowly walked back into the shop. Thorne matched his strides to his daughter’s small legs, and David held Juliet’s elbow solicitously as they crossed the threshold.

The shop was empty except for Mr. Gentry and the remaining matron, whom he’d backed into a corner while he regaled her in explicit detail about the time he was certain he had yellow fever.

“I know you will argue, but, Lucy, can we not close up shop early and have a meal?” David asked. “I’ll ask Gentry to stop by Mann’s butcher on his way home and have a hen delivered.”

Before Lucy could object, Juliet clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Let’s have a little party. Mrs. Locksley brought us a plate of tarts in payment for that poultice. Apple.”

“And you must join us,” David said to Thorne and Sadie. “I was just thinking it was a proper shame that we haven’t had you over for a meal yet.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows at Sadie. “Mrs. Locksley is a dab hand at tarts, and she always brings too many for us to finish.”

Sadie bit her bottom lip and gazed up at her father.

Thorne and Lucy stared at each other for a moment. His revelations earlier had made her sick with disappointment. How could she bear to sit across from him at dinner, knowing that he believed one of her siblings was a thief?

“Of course, you will join us,” Juliet said.

The choice was taken away from them both.

—

Thorne glanced down at Sadie before knocking at the Petersons’ door. She’d dressed for the occasion and looked pretty. Nerves made his hands clammy; he resisted the urge to pick her up and carry her back to their rooms, covering them both with blankets and falling into the world of Oliver Twist and his hapless friends.

The door swung open. “My, aren’t you splendid in your gown. We are so glad you could join us.”

David Peterson bowed to them both, then took Sadie’s arm to lead her in as though she were a lady. She stared up at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed with, well, perhaps the same nerves that left Thorne momentarily frozen in the doorway.

Would they dance?

Was there wine on the table?

The building owned by Mrs. Merkle was for teetotalers only. No drinking allowed. The tiny widow was pedantic when it came to her sayings, but Thorne had found her honest faith reassuring.

Thorne’s faith had been born of desperation, a call out to the universe for someone to guide him from the life he lived to the life his daughter needed. He held on to God by his fingertips and always believed the ambivalence might be mutual.

“Mr. Thorne, you are most welcome.”

Miss Juliet came and offered her arm, and there was nothing to do but bow correctly and promenade her the four feet to the Petersons’ supper table, laid out with a cheerful red cloth and twinkling candles.

Lucy peered out from the kitchen and clapped her hands. “Ah, some new victims for my latest formula.”

Sadie giggled and David grimaced. “Do not encourage her, Miss Thorne. Last week she decided to experiment with turmeric in our food as part of a new recipe, and we were subjected to strange, yellow-hued dishes.”

Thorne’s gaze went to Lucy, and her cheeks turned red. “Yes, I have procured recipes from Mrs. Parekh for dishes that include turmeric, and I tried them out on my unsuspecting siblings. Tonight, I have prepared their favorite.”

Juliet’s eyes narrowed, and she examined both Thorne and Lucy while David busied himself with setting Sadie at the table.

“I have no quarrel with the curry you have made for tonight,” David said. “In fact, it is delicious. However, I am not as fond of the month you experimented with the properties of garlic.”

His nose scrunched in a manner most folks would have found charming but Thorne found irritating. Had Lucy said anything about the fraud to him? Was this an act on his part?

When Thorne declined an aperitif, the party settled themselves at the table. No one said anything about his refusal, and he wiped his sweating palms surreptitiously on his trousers, feeling as though he’d passed an exam.

Lucy explained the origin of the dishes while she brought out a set of plain but elegant tureens that matched the delicate porcelain plates. The family must have been prosperous at one time to afford such a serving set.

Sadie’s impeccable table manners impressed them all, David remarking that he didn’t think they’d ever dined so amicably with a child. Thorne did not hold with too many compliments, but he kept silent while Juliet and Lucy agreed that Sadie was a perfect dinner guest, and they would invite her more often.

“You haven’t touched your claret. Would you care for something else, Mr. Thorne?” Lucy asked.

“Papa does not partake of spirits,” Sadie said matter-of-factly.

David’s attention, focused on the savory curry, now shifted to Thorne, a canny look in his eyes.

“Why is that, Mr. Thorne?” the younger man asked.

Thorne could lie. He could say it was a matter of digestion, a matter of taste—he could come up with any number of reasons. He could spin a tale that would make his refusal look like a sacrifice and impress Lucy Peterson or make Sadie proud.

But he looked at Lucy then. She had been nothing but honest with him.

They will find out at some point , he reasoned. It was a small gesture that he presented Lucy with the truth.

“That is because I was once a drunkard, Mr. Peterson.”

He observed their separate reactions—Juliet’s eyes widened, and David had the grace to look embarrassed.

Why had he done this?

Thorne looked back to Lucy, but she simply tilted her head as though listening to the things he couldn’t say with no sign of surprise or disgust.

He had done this for her.

Because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, Thorne wanted her.

“Mrs. Merkle always said wine leads to debauchery,” said Sadie, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort of the adults around her. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds uncomfortable.”

“Hmmm, it can be,” Thorne told her.

Sadie was the reason he stopped drinking. She was the reason for everything he did or tried to do. He wondered if she knew that on some level.

“Alcohol is responsible for a multitude of physical ailments,” Juliet said. “I believe it acts to unbalance our humors. Someone who drinks too much is often at the mercy of a bilious liver.”

Therein followed a short but uncomfortably detailed discourse between the sisters on the efficacy of various treatments on bilious complaints, including bloodletting. Sadie followed the conversation with fascination while David gazed off into the distance.

When supper ended, Juliet and David were the ones who cleared the table, insisting that Sadie and Thorne sit and digest the meal. Juliet came back out with a plate of the fabled tarts, and all agreed they were indeed delicious.

“Shall we have a round of cards?” David asked.

“Papa does not play cards,” said Sadie.

The Petersons looked at Thorne, who raised a shoulder. “Methodists generally look askance at games of chance.”

David looked at Sadie. “Do you fancy dance, then? I’ll roll up the carpet and we...”

“We do not dance.”

David’s mouth dropped open at Sadie’s declaration, and he didn’t bother to hide his shock.

Lucy spoke up, casting a worried glance in David’s direction.

“We shall play a word game, then. Do you know Grandmother’s Trunk?”

Thorne unclenched his jaw as the siblings agreed enthusiastically.

“Rather than explain the rules, you can learn by paying attention,” said Lucy. “Madame Mensonge always says it is better to show than tell.”

“Now, I opened my grandmother’s trunk and found an apple ,” Juliet said slowly.

David shuddered. “An apple in a trunk? How long had it sat there for?”

“Not the point, Squeaky,” Lucy admonished. “I opened my grandmother’s trunk and found an apple and a bear .”

“Ha,” said Juliet. “Much more disgusting to think of a bear lying in a trunk for months than an apple.”

“Not the point,” Lucy repeated.

“I opened my grandmother’s trunk and found an apple, a bear, and a coin ,” said David.

Already having caught on, Sadie pumped her legs back and forth beneath her chair faster and faster as her turn approached.

“I opened my grandmother’s trunk and found an apple, a bear, a coin...” Her toothy smile looked nothing like Genny’s. Sadie’s joyful expressions were her own, and never failed to pull Thorne’s heart from its usual place in his chest and toss it about in the air. Sometimes so much so he couldn’t breathe.

“And a dish!”

“Huzzah,” David cheered, and the sisters clapped their hands.

“I opened my grandmother’s trunk to find an apple, a bear, a coin, a dish, and an elephant.” Thorne drew out the last word like the sound of a trumpet.

As they listed the contents of the grandmother’s trunk, the candles burned low, and Juliet turned up the oil lamp on a side table. David glanced often to the spinet in the corner and the fiddle that rested atop, though he didn’t say a word and seemed to enjoy the game as much as the rest of the party.

Well before Sadie was ready to leave, Thorne thanked the Petersons for a lovely time. When Sadie protested later in their rooms, he explained that a favored guest was like a fish—“Both can ruin an evening if they’ve been sitting around too long.”

“Is that something Mrs. Merkle told you?” Sadie asked through a yawn.

Thorne tucked his daughter beneath the blankets and, after a moment, pulled a quilt from out of the trunk at the foot of her bed and covered her with that as well. The wind was picking at the window casement, whining with displeasure at being kept outside.

“Mrs. Merkle is not the font of all wisdom,” he said. “Your papa does know a few things himself.”

“Mmmm,” Sadie said. “You’ll be looking for a new wife soon, I expect.”

Thorne kissed his daughter on the nose and told her not to stick it in his business, but Sadie was half-asleep by then and the warning hung wasted in the air.