Page 3 of The Laudanum Ladies' Society

She had visited the pharmacy only that morning, calling in for it quickly and taking Mr and Mrs Walters by surprise. Had Mr Walters changed the recipe or had something gone wrong in his hurry to prepare it?

Once or twice, when her monthly cramps had been particularly bad, Jenny had taken a small dose herself. There was only one way to find out if the tincture was responsible for Conrad’s odd behaviour, so in the spirit of ‘scientific experimentation’, which she had so often read about, she wiggled her little finger inside the neck and licked the resultant drops.

By the time she got into bed she was filled with a sense of gentle euphoria, and for a period of time that she could not later quite place, she found herself fascinated by the play of shadows on the ceiling.

Itwasthe tincture. A sense of contentment filled her, and she sighed happily at having her suspicion confirmed.

Hail Science!

Chapter Two

The next morning, Jenny ventured downstairs with some trepidation, wondering what mood her uncle would be in. She need not have worried. Uncle Conrad had already breakfasted and was in the parlour.

‘Good morning, Jenny. You’re rather tardy today. I must say, I slept very well last night. I feel like quite a new man.’

‘That’s interesting,’ Jenny said, indicating the brightly coloured canvas that was still on the easel.

Uncle Conrad frowned. ‘I think the light was poor and I mixed up my paints because I’m sure I have no minerals quite so garish. The colours are quite extraordinary. I was attempting to capture the playing of the light, and I believe they rather suggested a stained-glass window.’ He brightened. ‘Perhaps that is what I intended, after all. The colours are reminiscent of some of the great cathedral windows, wouldn’t you agree?’

Jenny agreed, keeping to herself that he had told her the edifice was a necropolis for crustaceans. There were some things better left forgotten.

‘I confess, I am rather pleased with the composition. It captures the essence– that is the inner life, if you will– of the subject matter. The minerals that grew over millennia. The world is much older than we first imagined, my dear. Where science leads, art must be ready to follow.’

‘Yes, I imagine it is older,’ Jenny agreed brightly. Ever keen to seize the opportunity for an excursion, she added, ‘Perhaps we could go together to one of the museums and learn a little more about it.’

Uncle Conrad tutted. ‘No, I don’t think so. I might perhaps visit one or two. However, I don’t think that’s something that you need to trouble yourself with.’

He took the painting from the easel and regarded it with a slightly sad expression. ‘As for this fellow, I do not believe I shall be exhibiting it. Throw it on the fire, Jenny, or stow it in the attic. I don’t think that will be suitable for my book.’

He handed it to her.

‘I would like you to speak with Miss Winchester today and see where economies can be made in the coming quarter. Do the servants need quite as much milk in their tea, and must they spread jam so thickly on their bread, for example?’

‘Of course.’ Jenny’s jaw clenched. Every three months she had to have the same conversation with the cook. The numerous pharmacies that Conrad owned all appeared to be doing well, so it seemed unnecessarily parsimonious of him. Then again, ‘looking after the pennies saves the pounds’ was an excellent maxim that she should herself heed.

‘After that, I suppose you will want to amuse yourself with sewing or playing the piano.’

‘I suppose I will. I might even read a book, if it isn’t too taxing,’ Jenny answered, knowing the sarcasm would be lost on him.

By one o’clock, Jenny had consulted with the cook and discussed the excessive use of jam, confirming her suspicions that there was no wastage, but that prices had risen since the meeting two months previously. She felt she deserved an hour to herself. She sat at her piano and riffled through the sheet music, but there was nothing she hadn’t played a hundred times, at least. She only had a small allowance (which was unlikely to increase, if Uncle Conrad was so concerned with jam consumption) but she would save up and purchase a couple of new pieces.

She thought back to the night before. Uncle Conrad had been inspired by his sleeping tincture, and she’d felt the slight effects herself. Why not see if it was definitely the cause? She put three spoonfuls in a small glass of water, mindful that she was unused to the effects. It tasted reminiscent of Christmas. She waited for something to happen, but perhaps because she was watching out for it, there was no effect, and when the first surge of creativity overtook her, she barely noticed. She let her hand rest along the piano keys and played an arpeggio that sounded bright and brittle.

‘Oh,’ she purred. ‘I like that.’

Hearing the pleasure in her voice made her giggle. She played it again, then played the next one up the scale. She let her hands idle on the keys, allowing them to find their own tune. She played a few notes that became half the tune of ‘Amazing Grace’. After that she let her hands just roll across the keys, not particularly caring what they did, but enjoying the sounds. Hearing melodies floating around her, made Jenny feel warm inside and she could happily have continued playing all afternoon. She began to hum over the top, harmonising with her playing, and then found it impossible to control her giggles, but eventually she began to yawn through the songs. When she thought to consult the clock on the mantelpiece, Jennywas astonished that almost two hours had passed. It really was quite remarkable. She rang for coffee and sat in a comfortable armchair, sipping it thoughtfully until the tiredness ebbed a little.

What had Mr Walters done that was different? Was he even aware that he had done so? There must be something. Galvanised no doubt by the effects of the tincture, she resolved to go and speak to him at once, taking with her both the bottle and the painting. The afternoon was half gone, but if she hurried, she could reach the pharmacy before it closed. Even if she was late, she would invoke the privilege of being the niece of the owner and ask to be admitted.

It was late in the day when Jenny arrived, slightly out of breath, at the pharmacy. She stopped to neaten her appearance, glancing up at the gold-painted sign that proclaimed it to be ‘C. Rosewood’s Original Pharmacy’ (neatly suggesting that there were indeed other pharmacies, though callously making no mention of Mr Walters who ran it).

Mr Walters was serving a customer, while his wife sat at his worktable with a large ledger laid out in front of her. Mrs Walters jumped slightly when the bell chimed, and, closing the book hastily, she approached Jenny, smoothing down her apron.

‘Miss Rosewood, how nice to see you again so soon. How can I help you? Is your uncle well?’

Was it Jenny’s imagination or did Mrs Walters look slightly pensive? Did she know something about the odd bottle?

‘Yes, we’re both perfectly well, thank you.’ Jenny looked over to Mr Walters, who was carefully counting out change on the countertop. ‘There is no problem, exactly. I was just hopingto speak with your husband about the most recent bottle of sleeping tincture that he made for my uncle.’