Read Online Death of an Alchemist by Mary Lawrence - Free Book Online Page B

death. “Bianca Goddard, strange to see ye here.”
    â€œI might say the same of you,” said Bianca, unruffled. The sight of him conjured bad memories of when he had accused her of poisoning her friend. It had been only a few months since that ugly charge, and the thought of their paths crossing again so soon and for yet another death filled Bianca with apprehension, which she was careful to hide.
    The constable straightened and tugged on his new suit of popingay blue, the shine not yet off his brass buttons. “Since last we mets, I was promoted. Southwark is in my past. Is it in yours?”
    â€œI still live in Gull Hole.”
    â€œâ€™Tis a shame you have not improved your station.” Constable Patch picked at his goatish wisp of beard. “Methinks if I was you I would stay away from dead bodies.”
    Bianca stood next to Barnabas Hughes, the physician she had met the day before. “It is not that I purposely seek them out.” She looked disconsolately at her lifeless mentor. “What happened?”
    â€œIs it not obvious?” said Constable Patch. “He died.”
    â€œHe was quite alive yesterday,” said Bianca.
    â€œYesterday, you say?” said Patch, lifting an eyebrow. “You were here yesterday?”
    Bianca did not answer. It took a concerted effort to remain silent and not comment on what he was insinuating.
    â€œOh, aye,” said the landlady, sidling up to Bianca. “She was here. And I never seen her before. It was like she came out of nowheres.”
    â€œIndeed,” commented Constable Patch. An interested expression flickered across his face. “Mrs. Tenbrook, I am familiar with this maid and I agree. She is quite peculiar. However, if ye would be so kind as to repeat your story?” He watched her begin to speak, shifting his eyes to Bianca.
    A flushed Mrs. Tenbrook looked round at the small gathering. The district coroner wore a bored expression and continued his examination, unbuttoning Stannum’s nightshirt, exposing the alchemist’s thin chest. Barnabas Hughes watched without comment.
    â€œIt was a warm night, it was,” started Mrs. Tenbrook. “Most everyone on the lane had thrown open their windows and doors for some night air. Ye would think, bein’ as it was so steamy, that most cozens would respect a man’s right to slumber and not go prowlin’ about murderin’ old men in their sleep.”
    The coroner leaned over Ferris Stannum’s neck, sniffing the skin. “I have not yet determined this is murder,” he said without looking up.
    â€œMrs. Tenbrook, it is not our place to jump to inclusions.” Constable Patch felt the need to demonstrate a newfound objectivity, as if it came with his newly acquired position.
    The goodwife blinked at the constable, momentarily confused. Bianca understood what Patch meant, having dealt with him before. She thought the suggestion was more of a reminder to himself than to the landlady to remain impartial.
    â€œAw. I just think it is low for anyone to murder another in their sleep, especially an old man.”
    â€œYou had harsh words for your tenant yesterday,” said Bianca.
    Mrs. Tenbrook took exception. “What you saw yesterday was just our daily dealings. I never mean nothing by words. I just wanted him to pay his back rent.” She looked anxiously at Constable Patch, who nodded for her to continue.
    â€œAs I said, last night, every window and door was open on the lane. He probably left his open, too. ’Cause that’s how I found it this morning—wide open.” She appealed to Hughes and Bianca. “And he had it open all day. Both of you was here. Is it not true he had his door opened wide?”
    Barnabas Hughes and Bianca agreed.
    â€œIt was a fitful night for most, but I slept like the dead.” Mrs. Tenbrook looked round at them, glanced at Stannum, and crossed herself. “I didn’t hear a