Free Death in the Dark Walk by Deryn Lake Page A

the silence, almost as though he expected it to be broken by the sound of the murdered woman returning home.
    Then he froze, his blood turning to ice, for there
was
a noise. Faintly but distinctly came the tap of a light footfall as someone climbed the stairs towards the second floor. Thoughts raced through John’s mind: a ridiculous notion that Lizzie’s shade was revisiting its old haunts dismissed by the idea that he had been wrong all along, that this apartment belonged to another female entirely who would come storming through the door at any moment, demanding an explanation for his presence. Not knowing quite what to do, John concealed himself behind the dining room curtains.
    He had closed the front door behind him and now his heart sank as a key was inserted into the lock and slowly turned. There was a momentary pause followed by the creak of hinges as the door swung open. Terrified, the Apothecary peered out from his hiding place and into the parlour.
    It was almost a relief to discover that an old woman had come into Elizabeth Harper’s apartment, an old woman loaded with various cleaning utensils, who puffed and blew with the effort of the climb and muttered to herself as she set about swiping at the various pieces of furniture with a dusty cloth. Nonplussed, John stood stock still and watched her.
    â€˜Fine business,’ the woman grumbled, half-heartedly going to clean out the grate then seeing that it had not been used, ‘still not come home, eh? Dirty little stop-out. God’s old bones, that Frenchie won’t be pleased.’ And she cackled a laugh like a witch’s, then narrowed her eyes. ‘I wonder,’ she said, and plodded through to the bedroom, walking right past John in his hiding place, presumably to see whether the bed had been slept in.
    He seized his opportunity and, moving faster than he ever had in his life before, shot through the front door and down the stairs, not stopping until he was out in the street again, extremely out of breath and wondering what to do next. Then the outline of Lizzie’s medicine bottle in his pocket gave him an idea. Assuming a nonchalant expression, John climbed the stairs at a leisurely gait and gave a polite knock on Elizabeth’s door which still stood open as the old woman had left it.
    From within he could hear the combined sounds of a clattering bucket and further grumbling, but eventually the cleaner’s footsteps became audible and she appeared in the entrance.
    â€˜Yes?’ she said, peering at him suspiciously.
    John assumed a charming smile. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you. My name is Rawlings, John Rawlings. I am an apothecary.’
    The beldame sniffed. ‘Are you one of Lizzie’s fancy men?’
    John contrived to look slightly shocked. ‘Indeed no. I have been compounding medicine for her.’ He snatched the bottle from his pocket. ‘And have just prepared some fresh. But, in the circumstances, I hardly knew what to do for the best.’
    The old woman glared at him. ‘What circumstances? What babble’s this?’
    John took a step backwards. ‘I’d best be off. It is not fitting that I be the bearer of such tidings.’
    She narrowed her eyes to slits. ‘Nay, you’ll come out with it, whatever it is. Speak up or I’ll box your ears for you.’
    He bowed his head as if in acquiescence. ‘Then may I step inside?’
    She opened the door a little wider and motioned him within. Sitting down carefully, John assumed a grave expression. ‘Before I begin, may I know to whom I am speaking?’
    â€˜Eh?’
    â€˜I said, what is your name.’
    â€˜Oh. It’s Hannah Roper. I take care of these apartments, the landlord living elsewhere, like. Now spit out your business.’
    â€˜It’s about Elizabeth Harper. She met with an accident two nights ago. I shrink from giving you such grave news but that is the truth of the