Chapter Twenty-Two

A lfie had watched Bea leave, and he’d had several more clients before he could shut the door to his apothecary shop and work on the truth serum. It was imperative that he help Felix and his friends, but he hated that the man who’d recruited him on a mission that pushed Alfie’s code of honor was the man Bea was supposed to marry. He’d heard her with Pippa, knew that in spite of their interlude in the kitchen, she longed for marriage with the prince.

Could he dare dream that she cared for him with such longing instead of the prince?

Alfie couldn’t rid the image of Bea from his mind, her presence lingering like a ghostly touch even as he worked. The shop was quiet now, the baby’s cries replaced by the steady rhythm of his own breath. He leaned against the counter, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wooden surface, replaying the softness of her lips against his.

The memory of their kiss surged through him, both exhilarating and confusing. It wasn’t the first time she had kissed him, but each encounter felt more intense and impossible to ignore. Her unexpected tenderness contradicted the disciplined life he had built within these walls. For every herb he ground and every oil he mixed, thoughts of Bea invaded his focus, unraveling his carefully maintained composure.

He knew he should have resisted and maintained the boundaries society imposed. And yet, he regretted nothing more than keeping to those rules for a whole year when he brought Bea tea, honey, and her ointments. Now that he had the rare chance to be with her, he wasn’t going to squander it. But Bea was a force of nature, her affection seeping into the cracks of his resolve. The world needed him here, rooted in his apothecary, serving those who relied on his healing hands. Yet, a selfish part of him longed for her touch, craved the brief moments when the world outside vanished, and it was just the two of them, wrapped in an unspoken promise.

Alfie pressed his fingers to his lips, as if to capture the lingering sensation of her kiss. The conflict within him was a constant battle between duty and desire, and he realized with a jolt that he was losing ground to his heart’s wild demands.

He tried to focus on his work. One step at a time, he layered the potion to elicit the truth and erase the memory of the baron who was supposed to receive this. He put his little finger to the rim of the beaker and licked a drop off. He grimaced. The mixture needed something to mask the bitter taste of the truth serum. He tried honey, and it was a little better, but it was far from good.

Then he tried aniseed. Awful.

Orange peel oil with clove?

Alfie dripped it carefully into another beaker, added some water, then the truth serum, and… oh no! It smelled like the dried ornaments for a Yuletide dinner at an inn.

Time slipped through Alfie’s fingers like grains of sand as he immersed himself in the meticulous process of crafting the masking liquor for the truth serum. The familiar scent of herbs and tinctures filled the room, grounding him in his work even as his thoughts occasionally drifted to Bea. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of his shop, he found solace in the rhythm of his labor, the steady progress of his creation a reminder of his purpose.

“Taste this,” Alfie said when Felix came into the apothecary for some mint tooth powder for a patient.

“I’m not taking your truth serum.” Felix shrugged.

“Just dip your finger in it and tell me if it tastes odd.”

Felix picked up the beaker and swirled the light liquid, sniffing the air that emanated. “Smells like a lady’s cordial.”

“But it tastes so bitter; I cannot find anything to mask the taste,” Alfie said, pointing at an array of vials and flasks on the counter.

“Then don’t mask it.” Felix found the toothpowder and made a note in the ledger so Alfie could track what was taken and what he had to reimburse him for.

“You’re not helpful.”

“It’s the same as with teeth. Sometimes, you can’t hide the gold, so you polish it, and the patient has to lean into the restoration of a broken tooth. It’s better to restore it than to lose it.” With these words, Felix left.

He was all about teeth, teeth, teeth. Regardless of his work’s brilliance, Alfie’s old friend sometimes annoyed him.

Polish and lean into… wait a minute .

Alfie picked up the beaker with the concentrated truth serum and waved his hand over it.

Then he closed his eyes and focused on the high notes, the first to reach his nose and evoke an image. At first, he couldn’t concentrate all his attention on the olfactory experience. But then, he slowly tuned out the bustling in the hall beyond the closed door of his apothecary and the clip-clopping of hooves from the horse-drawn carriages outside. Suddenly, even the noise of the voices in the hall disappeared.

Time to focus.

Alfie tilted his head and acknowledged the tightness of his starched cravat around his neck. It didn’t matter, and so he ignored it.

Concentration.

Light flickered when people passed by the window of his apothecary or when a large carriage stopped near the building and blocked the light. No more, he decided to turn his inner eye away from the distractions.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He’d learned this in India but hadn’t practiced genuine moments of introspection to catalog scent notes since he’d started his apothecary. The array of pre-mixed ointments, salves, and tinctures had dulled his senses, and he may not have acknowledged anything nice about the prince, but he’d given him a new challenge, and Alfie cherished that more than the noble cause for which he was making the serum.

Alfie inhaled deeply and observed the scents in his apothecary. Crisp burns from the alcohol he used for dilutions, a faint powdery rose from the stand with women’s rouge in the far left corner of the room, mint and chamomile mixed with some dust from the dry tea on the scale. He inhaled again.

His polished counter’s dry, woodsy scent hung low, but he could notice it now. A clean, soapy smell from his apron and the cocoa bean oil he’d rubbed on his hands and hair after the morning shave. All those scents were noise.

Now, he swirled the concentrated truth serum and inhaled deeply, stopping just the moment before his chest stretched uncomfortably. From the initial impression to the lingering after-notes, he needed to figure out the highest notes first.

Invigorating, pungent, and slightly bracing. Lemon.

Something sharp but clean. Ginger.

As the fragrance notes began to register, an image started to form in his mind. Lemon and ginger could be associated with a strong winter tea, but that was not right.

They had been mixed with other fruits in India for curries.

He inhaled again, and images of mountains… no… forests—in high altitudes came to mind. Crisp and cool water flowed in the late afternoon when the air heated with sunlight, but the trickling of a tiny creek preserved the dewy freshness of morning mist.

Alfie exhaled and then inhaled again. Mint.

Not just peppermint, but several kinds.

Even citronella could link the minty notes to the lemon.

Yes.

Then, there was a sharpness so intense in the middle notes that the high and fleeting ginger almost paled.

Spicy and woody… rosemary .

Alfie swallowed hard. There had to be more in the bouquet of scents, and he brought the beaker closer, keeping his eyes carefully shut.

Something earthy was needed but not leafy. Aromatic herbs, perhaps.

The depth of the lingering notes was the most important one. Once the alcohol’s burn was gone, he had to ensure that the aftertaste invited the sharing of secrets, invoking a feeling of being huddled on a soft carpet near a blazing fire while it was cold outside.

He had figured out what was there and how he could heighten the notes to draw attention to the scents inherent in the concoction rather than mask it. Felix had been right; he had to build on what was there and lean in the direction he’d been given. Only a master of his craft could manipulate the most bitter mixtures and create something so delightful that the recipient would request more.

Every novice knew that a medicine had a more significant effect on a receptive patient—even if the medicine was an involuntarily administered truth serum.

Alfie blinked his eyes open, and the sounds of the bustling Marylebone streets outside, the bright afternoon sun shining through the window, and the chaos of flasks on his counter anchored him back in the present.

Then he got to work.

First, he tempered the bitterness with rich and robust molasses, dark but sweet like the secrets he hoped to draw out of Baron von List. Those were best complemented by a woody, slightly bitter undertone from the roots and barks, such as gentian or angelica root, lest a seed like anise create a cordial rather than a strong digestive liquor as the one he was creating. It had to be masculine and sharp, yet not overpowering so that the person drinking it could feel strong and cocky, so much so that he’d be reckless enough to tout truths and give away secrets rather than guard his clandestine motives.

Confidence.

Relaxation.

Power.

That’s what this drink had to imbue in the recipient.

Alfie added a hint of oak-ripened whiskey for the honesty from the cask aging process, which brought to mind layers of vanilla and a touch of smokiness, but didn’t quite offer either.

He swirled the mixture around, and the bitter undertones were minimal.

Good.

Then he tipped the beaker to about a 50-degree angle, touched his finger to the oily film on the glass, and tasted it.

Something else was missing.

The woody elements were there; the scent was fresh, but it wasn’t relatively high enough or crisp. It didn’t beg for seconds, which was what he needed.

Alfie pulled out his old botany book and turned to the needle trees. Coniferous forests usually existed at higher altitudes, but some evergreens had similar notes and more promising medicinal uses.

He didn’t need the camphor notes or the sinus-clearing pine tree effects. What he needed was broad and heavy but light enough to linger like the crisp and cool air in the mountains, demanding to be inhaled deeply, reaching down to the lowest spots of List’s darkest secrets.

Myrtle.

And he knew just where to find it.