Death of an Alchemist by Mary Lawrence Page A

who had just seen the woman vindictive and full of rancor the day before.
    â€œGoodwife Tenbrook, you are not well.”
    The landlady’s rheumy eyes found Bianca. “Ye state the obvious,” she said in a raspy voice.
    â€œShe woke in the night unable to fill her lungs,” said Hughes. He placed a pillow against the wall and eased her back against it. “You must stay upright until your strength returns. It will keep the phlegm from pooling.” He searched in his medical satchel and removed a vial of tincture. “This will help clear your lungs. Tell me where to find a cup.” He glanced around at the cluttered interior.
    Mrs. Tenbrook waved her arm at a cupboard. “Over there,” she croaked, resuming her previous pathetic voice. She squinted at Bianca. “So what are ye about?”
    Bianca took a few steps but took care to stay back from the disagreeable old bit. “I came for the retorts Amice said I could have. The door to Ferris Stannum’s room is locked.”
    â€œPay me and I’ll unlock it for ye.”
    Barnabas Hughes searched for a cup in the dark corner and lit a candle to better see.
    â€œI promised the money to Amice.”
    â€œWell, Amice isn’t here, is she? Ye came over from Southwark for nothing.”
    Hughes pinched his mouth in distaste as he picked through the old woman’s cupboard. He found mouse droppings in abundance and moldy bread that should have been tossed out the window weeks ago. It was bad enough helping her onto her jordan and tasting her urine, but the squalor in which Mrs. Tenbrook lived was more than he could stomach. He found a cup and dumped out a desiccated moth, and just as he turned, his eye caught something of interest. He blinked and held the candle for a closer look.
    â€œPerhaps you might tell me where to find Amice,” said Bianca.
    â€œI might, but I won’t.” Undeterred by illness, Mrs. Tenbrook still generated enough strength to remain ornery.
    Barnabas Hughes turned on the landlady. “Mrs. Tenbrook, tell the girl where to find Amice or I won’t give you the medicine.” His voice had enough edge that Mrs. Tenbrook momentarily shut her mouth, taken aback.
    â€œNo needs getting your willy in a dither,” she said. “Amice lives above the Royal Poke boozing ken. She lives there with her thieving husband.” She glared at Hughes.
    â€œShe is married?” asked Bianca.
    â€œMuch to her old man’s displeasure. Though it matters little now.”
    â€œThey did not end on happy terms,” added Hughes. He poured the tincture into the cup and added a few drops from a second vial. He handed the cup to Mrs. Tenbrook.
    â€œYe isn’t trying to poison me, is ye?” She sniffed the mixture and winced.
    â€œI would not be so obvious.” Hughes packed his satchel as she downed her medicine.
    â€œMeeting her yesterday, I would not have guessed she was married,” said Bianca.
    â€œA girl her age should be settled and chasing after babies,” said Mrs. Tenbrook. “Instead, she is a tavern wench supporting her lazy baboon of a husband.”
    â€œYou should feel better by tomorrow,” said Hughes. “I shall return to check on your condition.” He bowed from his neck to Bianca, who pulled a stool next to Mrs. Tenbrook and sat.
    Once the physician started down the stairs, Bianca pressed the landlady for specifics. “Tell me, Mrs. Tenbrook,” she said. “How long had Ferris Stannum and Amice been estranged?”
    â€œI’d say a year. She rarely came round anymore. It was shocking to see her suddenly show up yesterday. Peculiar in that she picks the day her father dies to finally come calling.”
    â€œDo you know why they were at odds?” Bianca asked.
    Mrs. Tenbrook placed a fist on the bed and pushed herself into a more comfortable position. Her voice lost its raspy quality as she continued. “Amice took up