ThePerfectPoison
FORTY-ONE
CALEB LOUNGED AGAINST A WORKBENCH IN LUCINDA’S conservatory and watched her examine the underside of a fern frond with a small instrument. It always gave him pleasure to see her at work here in her cheerful little jungle, he thought. The energy around her was so invigorating. Then again, he got similarly invigorated just watching her drink her morning coffee. Hell, all he had to do was think about her and he got invigorated.
“What the devil is that?” he asked.
“Gymnogramma triangularis,” she said, not looking up. “Gold fern.”
“Not the fern, the instrument you are using to examine it. Looks like a little spyglass.”
“It’s a folding brass linen prover. Those in the cloth trade use such devices to count the number of threads in a square of cloth. Very handy for looking at fern spores. One can carry it around in a pocket. Mr. Marcus E. Jones recommends it highly in his book Ferns of the West.”
He smiled. “Is that so?”
She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I wonder if he is a relation of yours?”
“Marcus E. Jones? I don’t think so.”
“Pity,” she said. “He is a very well-respected pteridologist, you know.”
“Jones is a common name.”
“Yes,” she said, “it is. So common, in fact, that a firm that specializes in a field as unusual as psychical investigations might want a more striking name than, say, Jones and Company.”
“I disagree. The name, as it stands, provides a degree of anonymity that I think will prove very useful in the future.”
“Hmm.” She went back to peering through her glass again. “Any news on Hulsey?”
“Nothing, damn it. He and his son have disappeared. They’ll no doubt be looking for new patrons soon.”
“Not if word gets out that they poisoned their last financial backers.”
“With luck, it won’t. I told Gabe about the poison that was given to Thaxter and Norcross but he has decided not to inform the Council. He’s convinced there are other highly placed members of the Society who are involved in the Cabal. Doesn’t want to warn them that Hulsey might be a somewhat unreliable employee.”
“So the case of the poisoned formula becomes yet another deep, dark agency secret?”
“At this rate it is going to be difficult to keep an account of all the secrets of the Jones agency.”
Lucinda paused again, the little glass poised in midair. “Hmm.”
“What?” he asked.
“I wonder if Dr. Hulsey and his son are using the formula.”
“Good question. I’ve got one, myself.”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“I keep thinking about the third snuffbox.”
“What do you mean? Thaxter must have given it to Hulsey. He will have absconded with it even if he wasn’t using it to keep a supply of the drug. After all, it was quite valuable, and Hulsey appears to be always in need of money.”
“Maybe,” Caleb said.
She beetled her brows. “You never say maybe, Caleb Jones. When it comes to assessing possibilities and probabilities, you always give numerical answers.”
“Sometimes.”
She cast her eyes up toward the roof of the conservatory in a silent plea for patience. “Well then, do you think Hulsey and his son have left London?”
“I’m almost ninety-nine percent certain that if they have left, it will be a temporary hiatus.”
“Why temporary?”
“It would be difficult to find the kind of patrons they require in the wilds of Scotland or Wales. The problem is that the Jones agency isn’t a police force, damn it. I don’t have hundreds of agents to send out to scour the streets, let alone the countryside. And it is not as though I don’t have other cases to see to. Got a new one this morning, in fact.”
She looked up quickly, her eyes bright with interest. “Does it involve poison?”
Her enthusiasm was gratifying.
“I’m afraid not. Evidently someone endowed with a fair degree of talent is posing as a medium.”
“What is so unusual about that? There must be several thousand people posing as mediums in London these days. They’re all frauds.”
“This one actually possesses some talent.”
Lucinda gave a ladylike sniff. “Well, she certainly isn’t using it to contact spirits in the Other World. That is quite impossible. Anyone who claims to speak with the dead is an out-and-out charlatan.”
“Apparently this medium is supplying her own ghosts.”
“What do you mean?”
“The client is convinced that the medium murdered one of the members of her séance group. The victim is certainly dead, so I agreed to look into the situation.”
Lucinda pocketed the little glass and looked at him. “You don’t have time to investigate every case personally, Caleb Jones. You are going to have to learn how to delegate. In addition, we really must build up a roster of agents who can be brought in to assist in various investigations.”
He looked at her.
“We?” he repeated carefully.
“I’ve decided to accept your offer of a partnership.” She smiled serenely. “Provided, of course, that my name will also go on the firm’s cards.”
“If you think for one minute I’m going to order a supply of calling cards with Bromley and Jones imprinted on each one—”
“Oh, very well.” She held up a hand, palm out in surrender. “I’m willing to compromise. I’ll accept Jones and Bromley but, really, Caleb, that just doesn’t sound right. Admit it.”
“No,” he said. “It sure as hell doesn’t.”
“And neither does Jones and Company.”
“Damn it, Lucinda—”
A movement in the doorway made him look around. Victoria stood in the opening. She had a very determined look about her.
“Victoria,” he said. “A pleasure to see you today. But why have I suddenly been overcome with a sense of dark foreboding?”
“Very likely because you have psychical talents, sir.” Victoria walked into the conservatory. She looked around, her expression lightening. “This is the first time I’ve been in here. I must say, the atmosphere is quite refreshing.”
“Thank you,” Lucinda said. “I take it you are here to speak with Caleb. I will leave so that you may have some privacy.”
“No need.” Victoria paused to admire a large cluster of ferns. “As it happens, I would appreciate your assistance in this conversation.”
Caleb watched her warily. “What is it you want me to do, Victoria?”
She turned away from the ferns. “I want you to find Mr. Fletcher a permanent position within the Society.”
“He’s already a member.”
“You know very well that is not what I mean. He requires a steady, respectable income.”
“Why?” Caleb asked.
“Because he is going to marry quite soon.”
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