Death at Apothecaries' Hall by Deryn Lake Page A

despite the fact that she must be fifty, and it was all John could do to stop himself putting his arms round her and comforting her. Mr Clarke, however, narrowed a protuberant eye.
    â€˜Be that as it may, Mrs Backler,
something
went wrong. However hard you tried, everyone at the Livery Dinner suffered from food poisoning. And now with fatal consequences for one of their company.’
    Poor Jane’s hand flew to her throat and her cheeks flushed. ‘I know, I know. But what am I to do? How can I clear my name?’
    John spoke quietly. ‘Would it be acceptable for me to search in the kitchen? It is just possible that the source of the outbreak might still be there. Then, if it were something over which you had no control, the matter could be resolved satisfactorily.’
    She looked at him curiously, her eyes and face still attractive despite her anxiety. ‘But what sort of thing could that be?’
    The Apothecary looked vague. ‘Perhaps some poisonous substance, yew for example, might have hidden itself amongst the vegetables.’
    â€˜But the vegetables were thrown out after the dinner, as were the meats, fish and fruits. Normally I make bundles for the poor with what is left over, but as soon as news came to me of the outbreak of illness, I burnt everything.’
    John’s heart sank. ‘What about the flour? The one used for the high sauce? Has that gone too?’
    She nodded, a wisp of light brown hair flying out from the sensible cap she wore. ‘I destroyed everything, Mr Rawlings. It seemed wiser to do so.’
    Barely disguising a groan of annoyance, the Apothecary said, ‘None the less, Madam, I would appreciate a look round.’
    Mr Clarke became officious. ‘I believe we should take this matter very seriously. I agree with Mr Rawlings.’
    Jane Backler turned a stricken face on them. ‘I
am
taking the matter seriously. If only something
could
be found to disprove my supposed negligence.’
    â€˜One never knows,’ John answered, without much hope. ‘Lead the way, Madam.’
    They fell into step behind her as Jane walked from the parlour, through the entrance hall, then opened a door on the left. From there a narrow passageway led to a large kitchen, a fireplace adorned with spits and hanging cooking pots dominating the far wall.
    â€˜Were those used to prepare the Livery Dinner?’ John asked, pointing.
    â€˜Yes, but they’ve been scrubbed since.’
    â€˜Still, may I look?’
    â€˜Of course,’ the Butler answered, and began taking the pots down, one after another.
    â€˜Will you help me inspect them?’ the Apothecary asked Mr Clarke, who was growing ever more large-eyed.
    â€˜Yes, but what are we meant to be seeking?’
    â€˜Traces of food, traces of anything. In fact any residue at all. Scrape it out with your herb knife.’
    They set to, holding the pots up to the light, scouring round the surfaces, removing anything they could find and depositing it on a piece of paper that Michael Clarke hurried back to the shop to fetch.
    â€˜What are we to do with all this?’ he whispered.
    â€˜Analyse it.’
    â€˜For what?’
    John could not resist looking up and winking a very solemn eye. ‘Poison.’
    Mr Clarke started violently. ‘Did you say poi …’
    â€˜Shush!’ warned the Apothecary, staring round as if he expected interlopers. He raised his voice to normal level. ‘Where did you keep the flour, Mrs Backler?’
    â€˜In the big pot up on that shelf. It’s empty now.’
    And it was. Further, unlike the cooking vessels, there was not a trace of residue left in it. Every last grain of flour had been rinsed away. The pot stood devoid of any clues. Disappointed, John handed it back to the Butler and stood thinking for a moment before dropping to his knees and examining the stone flags that made up the floor.
    â€˜What are you doing?’
    â€˜Looking for