Chapter 30

30

Caroline

Present day, Wednesday

As the two officers and I approached the closed door to James’s hospital room, the charge nurse—sifting through paperwork posted outside of the door—informed us that his condition had stabilized. They were arranging to move him out of the critical care unit, but James had insisted on seeing me first.

I slowly opened the door, unsure what would greet me on the other side, and the officers followed me in. I exhaled as I spotted James, tired-looking but with color in his face, propped against several pillows in the hospital bed. But if I looked surprised at his improved condition, it must have been nothing compared to his own look of astonishment when he noticed the uniformed men following close behind me.

“Um, is there an issue?” He looked at the nearest officer.

“They think I poisoned you,” I said before the officer could reply. I walked to the edge of the hospital bed and leaned a hip against it. “Especially since you told the medics we’re having marriage issues.” I scanned the IV drips hooked to his arm, the gauze keeping the needles in place. “Did you not see the warning label on the side of the bottle? Why on earth did you drink it?”

He blew out a long breath. “I didn’t see it. I guess it serves me right.” Then, turning to face the officers: “Caroline had nothing to do with this. The whole thing was an accident.”

My knees went weak; they couldn’t arrest me now, surely. One of the officers raised his brow, and a look of boredom fell over his face, like his hot lead had just gone lukewarm.

“Are we done here,” James asked, “or do I need to sign a statement?” Frustration and fatigue were clear on his face.

The lead officer reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small business card. He made a show of tapping the card against the table at the front of the room, then headed for the door. “If anything changes, Mr. Parcewell—or if you want to share something with us confidentially—call the number on that card.”

“Right,” James said, rolling his eyes.

Then, without so much as an apologetic glance in my direction, the officers left the room.

With the agony of the preceding hour now lifted, I lowered myself gratefully onto the edge of James’s bed. “Thanks,” I mumbled, “and good timing. If you’d waited much longer, I might have been calling from a jail cell.” I glanced at the monitors next to him, a blinking screen of scraggly lines and numbers I couldn’t decipher. But his heart rate looked steady, and no warning alarms flashed. I hesitated to admit it, but I set my pride aside and said it anyway. “I thought I might lose you. Like, really lose you.”

James’s mouth turned upward in a soft smile. “We’re not meant to be apart, Caroline.” He squeezed my hand, an expectant look on his face.

A long pause passed as both of us held our breaths, our eyes locked. It seemed the entirety of our future depended on my response—my agreement with his statement.

“I need some air,” I said at last, tearing my gaze away. “I’ll be back in a bit.” Then, gently dropping his hand from mine, I stepped away and out of the room.

---

After leaving James’s hospital room, I ventured down the hall to the empty waiting room and settled onto a sofa at the far corner of the room. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a table next to an oversize box of tissues. I’d be needing them; tears had begun to prick my eyes like needles.

I leaned back against a pillow and let out a small sob, pushing a tissue into my eyes to soak up not only the tears, but all the other things pouring out of me: relief at James’s wellness, coupled with the continued sense of betrayal about his infidelity; the unfairness of the officers’ questioning, and the knowledge that I didn’t tell them the full...truth.

The truth.

I wasn’t exactly blameless.

Was it really just last night that I’d dug my way into the depths of Back Alley? It felt like a lifetime ago. How did James manage to hide his infidelity for months? I’d kept my secret from James, Gaynor and two police officers for only a matter of hours, but it had proved almost physically impossible.

Why did we suffer to keep secrets? Merely to protect ourselves, or to protect others? The apothecary was long gone, dead for more than two hundred years. There was no reason for me to stand guard over her.

Like two guilty children in a playroom, there they stood, side by side: James’s secret, next to my own.

As tears continued to soak through the tissue, I realized my grief was richer and more nuanced than what lay on the surface. This was about more than the burden of the apothecary, more than James’s infidelity. Intermingled in the mess was another, subtler secret that James and I had hid from each other for years: we were happy, yet unfulfilled.

It was possible, I understood now, to be both at the same time. I was happy with the stability of working for my family, yet unfulfilled by my job and burdened by the things I hadn’t pursued. I was happy with our desire to someday have children, yet unfulfilled by my achievements apart from family life. How had I only just learned that happiness and fulfillment were entirely distinct things?

I felt a gentle squeeze on my shoulder. Startled, I lowered my soaked-through tissue and looked up. Gaynor. I’d almost forgotten that we’d left her alone in the small interrogation room. I composed myself enough to force a weak smile and take a few deep breaths.

She handed me a small brown paper bag. “You should eat something,” she whispered, taking a seat next to me. “At least a bite of the biscuit. They’re quite good.” I peeked inside the bag and found a neatly wrapped turkey sandwich, a small Caesar salad and a chocolate chip cookie the size of a dinner plate.

I nodded in appreciation, tears threatening once again. In a sea of strange faces, she had proved a true friend.

Not a crumb remained once I finished. I drank half a bottle of water and blew my nose with another tissue, steeling myself. This wasn’t how, or where, I imagined sharing everything with Gaynor, but it would have to do.

“I’m so sorry,” I began. “I didn’t want to drag you under with me. But when I was with the police and you called, I thought you might be the only person able to help me.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “Don’t apologize. I would have done the same thing.” She sucked in a breath, choosing her words carefully. “Where has your husband been the last few days? You haven’t mentioned him once.”

I looked down at the floor, concern about James’s health now replaced with shame over everything that I’d hid from Gaynor. “James and I have been married ten years. This trip to London was meant to be our anniversary trip, but last week, I learned he’d been unfaithful. So, I came alone.” I closed my eyes, raw with emotional fatigue. “I’ve been running from the reality of it, but James showed up yesterday unannounced.” At Gaynor’s look of surprise, I nodded. “And as you know, today, he unexpectedly fell ill.”

“It’s no wonder the police were suspicious.” She hesitated, then said, “Probably not the anniversary celebration you expected. If there’s anything I can do...” She trailed off, as lost for words as I was. The situation, after all, wasn’t remedied. James might have been on the mend, but we were not. I envisioned us together in Cincinnati again, trying to undo the tangled knot he’d brought into our lives, but the vision was murky and unsatisfying, like an ill-fitting resolution at the end of an otherwise decent movie.

Gaynor reached into her bag and pulled out my notebook. When I’d left the interrogation room with the police, I hadn’t even noticed that the notebook remained in the center of the table, right in front of Gaynor. “I didn’t look through it,” she said. “I thought I’d give you a chance to...explain.” Her face twisted as though she didn’t want to know the full truth—as though her ignorance would keep us both safe.

This was my last chance to escape unscathed; my last chance to salvage a remnant of our friendship. By falsifying a story about my own research, I could avoid admitting to the worst wrongdoing of all, which was that I’d breached a precious historical site. If I told her, who knew what she may do? She might chase after the two officers and report the offense; she might cash in on the incredible, newsworthy discovery; or she might reject me altogether and tell me to never contact her again.

But this wasn’t about what Gaynor would or would not do with the information. This was my burden, and if there was anything I’d learned in recent days, it was that secrets wreaked havoc on lives. I needed to let out the truth about my trespassing—which now seemed minor, relative to the murder charge I’d nearly faced—and I needed to let out the truth about the unfathomable discovery I’d made.

“There’s something I need to show you,” I said at last, checking to ensure the waiting room remained empty. I pulled out my cell phone and navigated to my photos of the lost apothecary’s register. Then, with Gaynor peeking eagerly over my shoulder, I began to unveil the truth.

---

When I returned to James’s bedside, it was midafternoon. Little had changed—only now, he slept soundly. When he woke, later, there were a few things I needed to tell him.

Before settling myself into the chair near the window, I made my way to the restroom. Suddenly I froze, looking down at myself with wide eyes: I’d felt that unmistakable, leaking sensation from between my legs. Clenching my thighs together, I rushed into the cold bathroom in James’s hospital room and sat down on the toilet.

Thank God, I finally had my answer: I was not pregnant. I was very much not pregnant.

The bathroom was well-stocked with pads and tampons, the latter of which I eagerly tore open. When I was done, after washing my hands at the sink, I peered up at myself in the mirror. I pressed my fingers to the glass, touching my reflection, and smiled. No matter what would come of my marriage, there was no baby to complicate things. No innocent child to stand by helplessly as James and I redefined ourselves, both as individuals and as a couple.

I returned to my seat next to James and leaned my head back against the wall, considering whether I might be able to catch a short nap in such an uncomfortable position. In the moment of warm, satiated respite, a memory slipped toward me: this morning, in the coffee shop, with Gaynor. She’d given me the two articles about the apothecary, but I hadn’t yet read the second one.

I frowned, reaching into my crossbody bag and pulling the articles out. Why on earth didn’t I show these to the officers earlier, when they threw doubt on my research claims? In truth, I’d forgotten about the articles entirely, given the more immediate concerns at hand.

I unfolded the two pages; the earlier article, dated February 10, 1791, was on top. It was the article about Lord Clarence’s death and the wax impression of the bear logo. Since I’d already read it, I moved it to the back, and my eyes settled on the second article, dated February 12, 1791.

I gasped as I read the headline. This article, I understood now, explained what Gaynor meant at the coffee shop, when she referred to Lord Clarence’s death as the beginning of the end for the apothecary.

The headline read “Apothecary Killer Jumps from Bridge, Suicide.”

The article began to tremble in my hands, like I’d just read the death announcement of someone I knew all too well.