A Beautiful Blue Death

Chapter 20

Before he went home, Lenox decided to stop by and see Jensen at his apothecary. He had been there only yesterday, but he thought he could use another lead. Night had fallen completely over London by now, though a pitter-patter of sleet on the streets shone in the gas lamps along Piccadilly Circus. Nelson’s Column rose high in the distance, visible to Lenox as he walked along in the direction of Trafalgar Square. That had been built in… was it 1840? Another monument from Lenox’s youth. Amazing to think that if he had been born fifty years earlier London would have been so much barer a city, violent and unpredictable, full of gin alleys, without the bobbies or the new Parliament or Nelson’s Column. What an era to live in!

Jensen was preparing to close for the night. As he approached, Lenox saw the old man wandering down the aisles of his shop, turning a jar of cream to face forward or making a note on a little chit of paper, probably about replenishing his stock. The front lights were dim. Jensen lived above the store, and Lenox saw bright lights in those windows, as well as Mrs. Jensen, a plump old woman in a blue frock, busying herself with supper and setting out a bottle of wine. For no reason he could think of, Lenox thought of Lady Jane.

He pushed open the door and immediately felt comforted by the familiar smell of wood chips and shaving cream.

“Mr. Lenox!” said old Jensen, turning around. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“I must say, my stomach is rumbling. Pork chops, I think.” He smiled and patted his stomach.

“Ah. In that case, I can return at another time—”

“No, no! I have what you were looking for.”

“Do you then? I’m impressed that you found it so quickly.”

Jensen went behind the counter, disappeared for a moment, and returned with a large ledger with the word TRANSACTIONS embossed on its cover in gold letters. He made a great show of taking out his glasses, perching them at the end of his nose, and flipping through the pages carefully.

“How much do I owe you?” Lenox asked.

“One shilling, please.”

Lenox nodded and put a shilling on the counter. Then he added another, and said, “As a down payment for my next professional visit.”

Jensen pocketed the money and nodded gravely, then took out another, smaller ledger and put a shilling’s credit by Lenox’s name.

“Let me see here,” he said, again scrolling through the larger book. “I always get lost among these lines when I open the book. My wife keeps the accounts, you see. But I’ll find it in the end.”

Lenox nodded and smiled. “It does smell like pork chops,” he said.

Jensen looked up. “And parsnip soup, if I’m not mistaken, with peas and onions on the side.” He patted his stomach again. “Ah!” he said, finding the correct entry. “Here we are.”

“Yes?” Lenox said.

“The arsenic was from Lymon’s, on the good side of Shore-ditch. You can tell from the crest. Luckily, Lymon is a member of our little club, the Ten O’clock Chemists. I went and spoke to him.”

“What’s the Ten O’clock Chemists?”

“We have a few rooms in the West End, with newspapers and cards and a good supper of meat on the joint every Wednesday. About fifty of us. At our meeting yesterday—we meet at ten, you see—I asked them to look for this bottle—Lymon marks each one specifically. Arsenic Act of 1861. Otherwise I doubt I could have traced it; takes the government too long to file all the records. Lymon sent over the note today.”

“Please tell him how grateful I am to him. Sounds like a charming club, too.”

“Full of decent folk,” said Jensen, smiling. “Don’t mind having my pipe there now and again.”

“Who bought the poison then?” Lenox asked.

Jensen peered down through his glasses. “Let me see then,” he said. “Ah. Does this name ring a bell? A Mr.… Mr. Newton Duff?”