Nightshade by E. S. Thomson

Author:E. S. Thomson [Thomson, E. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-14T23:00:00+00:00

We walked back towards the apothecary in silence. We did not look back, other than once, and there was no one there resembling the creature we had seen in the garden though there were plenty of other people about. Usually, I was glad to get away from the noise and bustle of St Saviour’s Street. Now, I was relieved to be amongst my fellow human beings. Nothing could happen to us while we were on the Queen’s highway, surely?

‘Whoever that was,’ said Will, ‘I imagine they know exactly who we are and where we live, and so have no need to skulk after us through the streets to see where we are going.’

‘No doubt.’ I walked faster all the same. Usually Will and I were evenly matched, we were the same height, we took the same long stride. But Will was slow, and he seemed to be finding it hard to keep up with me. He pulled his scarf around his nose, for already the fog had veiled the city in brown, and the dark streets had taken on a dim, underwater appearance. I pulled him to a halt, removed my own scarf and wound it about his neck and the lower half of his face. ‘Don’t argue,’ I said. ‘You mustn’t breathe this stuff in.’

He nodded. I could see that he was trying not to cough. His eyes watered. His ‘Thank you, Jem,’ was no more than a whisper.

At length we turned into Fishbait Lane. I could not resist a look back. There was nothing to see, I knew there would not be, and yet the feeling we were being followed still hadn’t left me.

I could have found my way down Fishbait Lane to my apothecary in the dark, which was just as well as there was little enough to light our way. The lamps inside my neighbours’ shops showed as dim yellow smudges. But mine glowed brightly, the bottles of coloured liquids that proclaimed my profession, golden St John’s Wort, flame-coloured calendula oil, rosehip syrup a bold glowing crimson, marking out our windows with their warm gules of colour. I flung open the door and marched in. The scent of the place – hops, lavender, attar of roses – was a balm to us both, and as I shut out the night we exchanged a glance, and smiled.

‘Sit here, Will,’ I commanded. Pulling up a footstool, I bent to remove his wet boots. ‘Gabriel, boil some water and get the mustard. I want some peppermint, rosemary and lavender in the water too.’ I turned to Will. ‘The rosemary and mint will help your congestion, the lavender will soothe your throat and lungs. Jenny, make some tea. And you, madam.’ Mrs Speedicut watched me from her chair in front of the stove. ‘Move your fat arse and fetch Mr Will a blanket, some dry socks, and a plate of bread and cheese.’

‘Not that mousetrap stuff,’ said Will. ‘And can I have some brandy in that tea? Thank you, Jem.’ His eyes were closed as I pulled off his wet boots and socks.

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