The Perfect Poison Read online

  “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.”

  FORTY-TWO

  LATER THAT DAY LUCINDA SAT WITH VICTORIA IN THE library, drinking tea.

  “I am making plans to introduce Mr. Fletcher to Patricia’s parents in about a week’s time,” Victoria said. “I will have everything well in hand by then.”

  “How will you explain Mr. Fletcher’s past to the McDaniels?” Lucinda asked with great interest.

  “There is really very little to explain when one comes to the heart of the matter. Mr. Fletcher is a very talented gentleman, an orphan from a good family. He was born into the Arcane Society, of course, as was Patricia. For some time now he has been conducting clandestine investigations on behalf of the Council. Very hush-hush. The Master considers him invaluable.”

  “You make him sound like an agent of the Crown.”

  “Well, it is all true. I won’t go into detail concerning his previous experience in the field.” Victoria raised her cup. “I strongly advised Patricia and Mr. Fletcher not to mention such details, either.”

  “I’m sure they won’t.”

  “I will also make it clear that Mr. Fletcher has been received in the homes of certain distinguished members of the Jones family.”

  “In other words, Mr. Fletcher has connections.”

  “At very high levels,” Victoria added smoothly. “That should erase any lingering doubts the McDaniels might have concerning his respectability.”

  “Brilliant work, madam. Absolutely brilliant. I am very impressed.”

  Victoria allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. “I did tell you these things have a way of working out.”

  Lucinda picked up her cup. “Things did not work out by themselves. You are the one who is orchestrating the happy ending for my cousin and Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Well, one could hardly stand by and allow two young people to come to grief simply because the parents didn’t approve of the marriage.”

  “You know as well as I do that a vast number of people would have had no problem doing precisely that. Most would consider other priorities such as social rank, inheritances and income to be far more important.”

  “Yes, well, I think I do have a certain talent for finessing those sorts of issues.”

  “Indeed,” Lucinda said, filled with admiration. “It is always a pleasure to watch an expert at work.”

  “The final touch, of course, will come when I inform the McDaniels that the Master and the Council consider Mr. Fletcher’s talent to be of such critical importance that he has been appointed to head the new Bureau of Museum Security, which will be under the auspices of the Jones agency.”

  “That should go far to reassure the McDaniels that Mr. Fletcher has an income of his own and is not marrying their daughter for her money.”

  “I must admit that I had Caleb’s help on that last bit.” Victoria arched a brow. “And yours, as well, I believe.”

  “I assure you it was not difficult to talk Caleb into creating the Bureau of Museum Security. He is starting to realize that if it is to accomplish its mission, the Jones agency will require extensive resources and a number of consultants and agents. He cannot continue to oversee every investigation by himself.”

  “Indeed.” Victoria took a delicate sip of tea and looked at Lucinda over the rim of the cup. “Now that I’ve finished with Patricia and Mr. Fletcher, what about you and Mr. Jones?”

  “What of us?”

  “Come now, Lucinda. You know as well as I do that you and Caleb belong together.”

  Lucinda blushed. “How odd that you should mention that. As it happens, I agree. Mr. Jones, however, is still coming to his senses.”

  “I see.”

  “Until he does, you will be interested to learn that I am to become a full partner in the Jones agency.”

  “Good Lord,” Victoria said.

  “The firm will henceforth be known as Bromley and Jones. Or, perhaps, Jones and Bromley. We have not come to an agreement on the matter of the name.”

  Victoria was dumbfounded.

  “Good Lord,” she said again. “Either way, I cannot imagine Caleb Jones agreeing to change the name of his firm.”

  Lucinda smiled. “Neither can I.”

  FORTY-THREE

  “IT WAS VERY KIND OF YOU TO CALL ON ME TODAY, Miss Bromley,” Ira Ellerbeck said.

  “I came as soon as I got your message,” Lucinda said. “I was so very sorry to learn of your grave illness, sir.”

  They were seated in the oppressive shadows of Ellerbeck’s large library. All but one of the high Palladian windows was covered with heavy, blue velvet curtains, effectively shutting out most of the early afternoon sunlight. A pot of tea had been brought in shortly after Lucinda arrived.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Ellerbeck said. He sat behind his desk, as though he needed the large piece of furniture to support him. He sipped his tea and lowered the cup. “I confess I have not been up to receiving visitors in recent months but I fear the end is not far off now. I wanted to say farewell to some of my closest friends and associates.”

  “I am honored that you included me, sir.”

  “I could hardly overlook the daughter of a man who was one of my dearest acquaintances. In spite of what happened, I want you to know that I always respected your father.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I confess that, in addition to wanting to say goodbye, I asked you here today in hopes of obtaining your advice. The doctors have told me that there is nothing more that can be done. Indeed, my own talent confirms that opinion. I do not expect a cure, of course.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Although you and I share similar talents, there are some distinct differences. It occurred to me that you might be able to suggest some therapeutic herb or plant that might alleviate the pain.”

  “I will do my best. Please describe your symptoms.”

  “They are both psychical and physical. My senses are failing quickly, Miss Bromley. They have become erratic and unreliable. I suffer from terrifying hallucinations and disturbing dreams. My nerves are shattered. In addition, I am experiencing severe headaches.”

  “I assume you have tried morphine or some other opium concoction?”

  “Bah. You know how it is when it comes to the milk of the poppy. The quantity required to bring relief from the physical symptoms puts me into a deep sleep.” He grimaced. “That is when the dreams come. I do not wish to end my life in a nightmare. I am seeking an alter
native.”

  She glanced down at the satchel that she had placed on the carpet near her feet. Then she raised her eyes to meet his again. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I have anything that will be effective in easing your particular symptoms.”

  “I was afraid of that. Well, it was worth a try.”

  “May I pour you another cup of tea?” she asked, getting to her feet.

  “Thank you, my dear. Forgive me for not rising. I find myself quite exhausted today.”

  “Please don’t concern yourself.” She crossed to the desk, picked up his cup and saucer and carried it back to the tea tray. “Do you have any notion of what brought on your unusual illness? Was it preceded by a severe fever or an infection of some kind?”

  “No. The first symptoms appeared several months ago but I was able to keep them somewhat under control for a time. Gradually they have worsened, however. The doctors are at a loss and so am I. But enough of such depressing conversation, my dear. One hears that you have become a close friend of Mr. Caleb Jones.”

  She carried the cup and saucer back to the desk. “The fact that you have been housebound has obviously not kept you from hearing the latest news.”

  “Gossip has a way of filtering in everywhere, does it not?”

  She returned to her chair, sat down and picked up her own cup. “Indeed it does.”

  “Dare I presume on my old friendship with your father to ask if Mr. Jones has honorable intentions?”

  “Mr. Jones is a very honorable man,” she said politely.

  Ellerbeck’s mouth tightened. He appeared to hesitate. Then he heaved a deep sigh. “Forgive me, my dear, but if you are entertaining a marriage offer from Jones, I feel I must bring up a very unpleasant subject.”

  “What is that, sir?”

  “There have been rumors over the years that there is a streak of instability on the Jones’s side of the family.”

  “Perhaps we should change the subject,” she said coolly.

  Ellerbeck flushed. “Yes, of course. I realize it is not my place to offer you paternal advice.”

  “Especially in light of the fact that you were involved in my father’s murder as well as the murders of Gordon Woodhall and my fiancé.”

  Ellerbeck started so violently that tea splashed on the desk. He stared at her. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “I am quite certain that you are also connected to the attempt that was recently made on Mr. Jones’s life. Perhaps you would care to discuss that, instead?”

  “You astonish me, Miss Bromley.”

  “Why bother to lie. You are dying, after all.”

  “Yes. You are quite right, my dear. Quite right.”

  “I know that you are taking Hulsey’s latest version of the formula. I sensed it in your aura the moment I walked into this room. It is deadly.”

  “You really do possess a most amazing talent.”

  She made a slight dismissing movement with her ungloved hand. “It is a poison. I am very good at detecting poisons.”

  Ellerbeck snorted derisively. He reached into his pocket and removed a small gold snuffbox. Green stones glittered on top. He set the box on the desk and studied it as though it were a strange artifact from another realm.

  “Hulsey gave me what he claimed was the new, more stable version yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I took three doses and was quite pleased. It seemed so much stronger than the earlier versions. It was not until the fourth dose last night that I realized what the bastard had done to me. To all of us, I suspect.”

  “He poisoned Thaxter and Norcross, as well, if that is what you mean. They are both dead.”

  “I thought as much. I estimate that I have a day or two left at most.”

  “The original version of the drug was a poison, too. You said your symptoms came on several months ago.”

  “The deterioration from the first version was much slower.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “I had time. Now I have none.”

  “If you knew the founder’s drug was dangerous, why did you take it?”

  He fixed her with a bleak look. “All great scientific advances involve some risk. You cannot begin to imagine the power of the drug. One is infused with the most thrilling sensations. My talent rose far beyond its previous limits. I could see colors in the botanical world that I had never before been able to observe. I could comprehend aspects of plant life that had always been just beyond my reach. I could have accomplished great things, Miss Bromley.”

  “If it had not been for the unfortunate fact that the drug was killing you,” she concluded.

  “It transpired that I am allergic to it.”

  “In other words, it was killing you faster than it will kill the others in the Order.”

  “Much faster. Most will have years. Time enough to produce a more stable version of the drug. But I soon realized that I had only months.”

  “If you are severely allergic to the formula, how did you survive this long?”

  “I used my talent to buy myself some time while Hulsey worked to improve the drug. Yesterday he gave me the results of his latest research.” Ellerbeck’s mouth twisted. “The bastard assured me that it would soon alleviate all of the allergic symptoms. Instead, it will put me into a coffin within forty-eight hours. He has murdered me as surely as I sit here.”

  “Why did you ask me to come here today?”

  “I refuse to die until I have had my revenge on you, Miss Bromley.”

  “You blame me for what has happened?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Bromley, I blame you.”

  He pushed himself to his feet with great effort. She saw the gun in his hand.

  “Do you intend to shoot me here in your library?” she asked, rising slowly. “That will be somewhat messy and rather difficult to explain to the police, will it not?”

  “I no longer give a damn about the police, Miss Bromley. It is too late. You have destroyed everything. But I will have my vengeance on you if it is the last thing I do on this earth. I am feeling quite weak, however. I need some of my special tonic. Come with me. You are very likely the only other person in London who can truly appreciate what I have created.”

  She did not move.

  He jerked the gun toward the conservatory and then pointed it at her again. “Open the door, Miss Bromley. Do it now or I will shoot you where you stand and to hell with the mess on the carpet.”

  She crossed the room and opened the door to the conservatory. She was braced for the impact but the currents of twisted, malevolent energies struck her senses with such force that she swayed. She grabbed the doorframe, instinctively trying to close down her senses.

  Ellerbeck came up behind her and shoved her into the glass-walled chamber of botanical horrors.

  “Welcome to my private hell, Miss Bromley.”

  Still off balance, she stumbled forward and nearly went down. She reeled, barely managing to catch hold of the edge of a workbench. Her skirts twisted treacherously around her ankles.

  The sound of a key in a lock sent another shiver through her. Ellerbeck had sealed them inside the conservatory. She looked around, amazed and horrified.

  Malformed plants and darkly luminous greenery filled the glass-and-iron chamber. She recognized an array of bizarre hybrids, cultivars and varieties of dozens of dangerous and poisonous species. Other specimens were so distorted that it was impossible to identify them. When she opened her senses very cautiously, she could detect traces of the original plants but the disturbing energies the strange new creations produced iced her blood.

  “What have you done here, Mr. Ellerbeck?” she whispered, stunned. “Nothing is right in this conservatory.”

  “Nature does not recognize right or wrong, Miss Bromley. Only that which survives.”

  “You have distorted everything in here.”

  “After I developed the allergy to the founder’s drug, I discovered that the atmosphere in this chamber could alleviate the worst of the side effects. Indeed, it has been a
ll that has sustained me for the past few months. I have been unable to leave it for more than an hour or two at most. I was forced to sleep in here. In effect, this conservatory became my prison.”

  “Why did you do this to these plants?”

  “This conservatory contains my life’s work. Years ago I devoted myself to psychical plant research in an effort to find a cure for my son’s insanity. What you see here is the result.”

  “Did you ever find the cure?” she asked, the botanist in her unable to resist.

  “No, Miss Bromley, I failed in that, as well. And now Allister is dead.”

  Understanding slammed through her. “Allister Norcross was your son?”

  He nodded bleakly. “Yes, Miss Bromley.”

  “Tell me why you murdered my father and his partner.”

  Ellerbeck took out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating brow. “Because they found out that I was the person who had taken one of the plants that you brought back from the Amazon.”

  “Mr. Jones was right,” she said. “It all goes back to the last expedition.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  “THAXTER WAS INSANE AT THE END BUT ODDLY LUCID,” Caleb said. “He was the leader of the Seventh Circle of Power. As was the case with the Third, there is no obvious link to the other Circles or to those at the top of the Cabal.”

  He and Gabe were in his library-laboratory. He was attempting to provide his cousin with a full report of what had transpired, but a growing sense of unease was gnawing at him. It was not just the restless sensation that always came over him when he knew he was overlooking some vital piece of a puzzle. This was something else, something connected to Lucinda.

  “We must assume that we did not find all of Stilwell’s notes and papers,” Gabe said. “There are obviously other copies of that formula floating around. That is very likely how the members of the Cabal obtained the recipe.”

  “The genie is out of the bottle, Gabe.”

  “Yes.” Gabe folded his arms. “Hulsey deliberately altered the drug in such a way as to kill both Norcross and Thaxter in order to avenge the death of Mrs. Daykin?”

  “She was his longtime lover, business partner and the mother of his son. He discovered that the Seventh Circle had arranged for Norcross to murder her. One can understand his desire for revenge.”