Free Death on the Romney Marsh by Deryn Lake

in here and fetch two glasses as well, the girl’s suspicions should not be aroused that I’ve come to examine it.’
    â€˜I’ll do better than that,’ answered Elizabeth, taking his cloak and hat and motioning him to a chair by the fire. ‘I’ll bring a bottle of claret in with the other. That way she’ll guess nothing.’
    Holding his hands out to the flames, John stared around him. Though modest in the extreme, Mrs Rose had for all that made Petronilla’s Platt cosy. The parlour was whitewashed and beamed and the oak furniture gleamed with polishing. Rag rugs were scattered on the floor and in the cupboard which stood against one wall, the Apothecary could see tea cups and saucers of delicate china. Of the furnishings he could remember from when Elizabeth Harcross had lived in Kensington there was no sign. The poor woman had truly put the past behind her when she had journeyed to Italy.
    Candles stood on the mantelpiece, a tinder and flint beside them, and when his hostess returned to the room, bearing a tray which she put down on a small table beneath the window, she lit them. Even though the sum was still shining outside, it gave the room a pleasing air, driving away any lingering shadows.
    â€˜Here it is,’ said Mrs Rose, and handed John a bottle of a dark red substance together with a corkscrew.
    Taking it to the light, he examined the exterior carefully. A label had been tied to the bottle neck which read as follows: ‘Damson wine, made by Ourselves in the Year 1754. We Hope this little Gift will bring you Cheer.’ Of the donor’s identity there was absolutely no indication whatsoever.
    â€˜The labels from the other two things,’ said John, looking up, ‘did you keep them by any chance?’
    â€˜The answer is both yes and no. I told you that the cake came in a very pretty basket …’ He nodded. ‘Well, I kept that just as it was. But unfortunately the label on the fruit was destroyed.’
    â€˜And what sort of container did that arrive in?’
    â€˜It was on a plate, a plate that obviously I kept as I did not know to whom to return it.’
    John grinned, and Elizabeth said, ‘Oh, you still do that!’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Smile crookedly. I remember that about you clearly. It is one of your most endearing characteristics.’
    The Apothecary coloured a little. ‘It is just one of those odd things. Now, allow me to look at this wine of yours.’
    John carefully drew the cork and sniffed the contents, holding the neck of the bottle close to his nose. ‘Nothing detectable there. Let me try it.’
    â€˜Be careful.’
    â€˜A few drops won’t hurt.’ So saying, he poured out a thimbleful and sipped it. ‘I can’t taste anything untoward. If this is poison it’s a very subtle one.’
    He drained the glass, Mrs Rose watching every move anxiously.
    â€˜Nor is there any aftertaste in the mouth. I wonder what it can be.’ He poured himself some more and sipped again. ‘No burning sensation. In fact it is very pleasant to take. How very odd.’
    â€˜You can discern nothing?’
    â€˜Well, it’s not one of the wolf’s banes, that’s for sure.’
    â€˜How do you know?’
    â€˜My tongue and lips would be swollen by now. It could be meadow saffron, I suppose. Though I somehow doubt it.’
    â€˜What does that do?’
    â€˜Properly compounded it is a good remedy for gout, but it can kill you by choking if given incorrectly. Tell me, did you get any sensation of stifling when you were taken ill?’
    Mrs Rose shook her head. ‘No.’
    John frowned deeply, his mobile eyebrows curving upwards. ‘There’s obviously going to be no easy solution to this. I shall need to take it to my compounding room and try a few experiments.’ He poured out a little more, which he slowly drank.
    â€˜Oh, do have a care!’ Elizabeth