Death at Apothecaries' Hall by Deryn Lake

charming ordinary witnesses and charming the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries is a considerable one, young man.’
    â€˜I’m sure it is, Master,’ Nicholas answered cheerfully, and swallowing down the last bite of his breakfast went whistling off to work.
    â€˜I simply can’t credit it,’ said Michael Clarke, eyes bulging. ‘He must have had a total relapse. The entire occurrence beggars belief.’
    â€˜As a result, I feel my treatment has been called into question,’ John replied gloomily. ‘Almost as if the poor man’s death is a slur against my professionalism.’
    â€˜But your treatment was perfectly correct. Did I not tell you of it that very afternoon?’
    Knowing that this was going to be a powerful weapon with which to persuade Mr Clarke to help him, John put on a sad face and sighed deeply. ‘Indeed you did, Sir. Indeed you did.’
    â€˜Then my judgement must be called into question equally with yours.’
    â€˜It is noble of you to say so.’
    Michael cleared his throat. ‘I feel, in view of all that has happened, we need to know more about this mysterious outbreak. What caused it and how such a terrible thing can be avoided in the future.’
    â€˜So do I. If I am to rest easy in my bed I would like to know what substance it was that could not be cured by normal means.’
    â€˜There’s only one thing for it,’ Michael Clarke said with determination.
    â€˜And what is that?’
    â€˜Jane Backler must come out of her hysteric and tell us exactly what ingredients went into that dinner.’
    â€˜Indeed she must,’ responded the Apothecary vigorously, and assumed his not to be thwarted expression.
    Moving as one in what could only have been an hilarious fashion, John realised, the two men left the shop and marched purposefully under the arched entrance to Apothecaries’ Hall, across the courtyard and through a door on the right that led inside the building itself. Immediately facing them was the mighty wooden staircase rebuilt after the Great Fire, ornately carved and rising magnificently to the Hall above. Beyond that, small but functional, lay an area known as the pantry, the province of the Butler herself.
    Tapping on the door, Mr Clarke was rewarded by a faint voice calling, ‘Come in.’ His pale eyes popping with intrigue, the shop manager beckoned John to follow him.
    The Butler was seated on a stool before a wooden table which also acted as a desk, listlessly going through a sheaf of bills. She looked up as the two men entered the room and gave a feeble smile, in that her eyes continued to look hunted and haunted though her lips parted to reveal a set of teeth with an intriguing gap between the front top two.
    â€˜Yes, Mr Clarke?’ she said politely.
    â€˜Mrs Backler,’ he replied with a faint bow, ‘have you heard the grave news?’
    The Butler dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘About Liveryman Alleyn? Yes, indeed I have. I have not slept since.’
    â€˜How did you find out?’ John asked, curious.
    Jane Backler gave him a penetrating glance. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had the honour …’
    He bowed low. ‘Excuse me, Madam. I forgot myself. John Rawlings, Yeoman of the Society. I attended Master Alleyn when he returned from the Dinner. I chanced upon him by Black Friars Stairs and considered him too ill to travel alone.’
    She rose and curtsied stiffly, obviously defensive. ‘Everyone is blaming me, Sir, for buying rotten foodstuffs, but I swear to you upon my honour that I did not. The only conclusion I can come to is that the flour used in the high sauce was in some way tainted. God be my witness, I have run a clean kitchen since Sotherton was appointed Beadle. I have taken my duties most seriously. I simply cannot understand what has occurred.’
    The gap in her teeth made her look curiously child-like and vulnerable,