Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [81]
He found one within half a mile, but it was small and dark, and when he went inside the solitary young woman behind the counter, and the piles of jars and packets balanced on it, were of little help. She offered him alternative powders for toothache, the name of a dentist she recommended, or several other patent remedies for pain of one sort or another, but did not seem to know where he might obtain opium. She had a mixture adequate to give a crying baby, in order to lull it to sleep, which she thought might contain opium, but she was not sure since the ingredients were not listed on the bottle.
He thanked her and declined, then went out again to resume his search. He walked as briskly as he could through the swirls of people buying, selling, running errands and gossiping on the footpath and spilling onto the street, jostling the traffic, shouting at each other amid the clatter of hooves and wheels, the jingle of harness and whinnying of horses.
The second apothecary’s shop he found was a much larger establishment, and when he went inside the counters were clear, the shelves behind stacked with a marvelous array of colored bottles filled with every manner of liquids, crystals, dried leaves and powders, all labeled with their chemical names in Latin. Another shelf was filled with packets, and occasionally along its length there were cupboards set in, their doors ostentatiously locked. The man superintending this alchemist’s glory was small, bald headed, with spectacles halfway down his nose and a general expression of interest on his face.
“Yes sir, and what may I do for you?” he enquired as soon as Pitt was inside. “Is it for yourself, sir, or your family? You are a family man, yes?”
“Yes,” Pitt agreed, smiling without knowing why, except that there was something about being seen to belong to a family which pleased him. But the admission rather altered what he had intended saying regarding opium.
“Thought so,” the apothecary said with satisfaction. “Fancy I can judge a man pretty well by his appearance. Begging your pardon for the familiarity, sir, but it takes a good wife to turn a collar like that.”
“Oh.” Pitt had no idea anyone could tell his collar and cuffs had been taken off and turned so the worn bits were on the inside, thus prolonging the life of the garment. He put his hand up to it unconsciously, and realized his tie was crooked and thus Charlotte’s neat stitching showed. He straightened it with a faint blush.
“Now, sir, what can I do for you?” the apothecary said cheerfully.
There was little point in anything but honesty now. The sharp-eyed little man would be insulted by deviousness, and probably be aware of a lie.
“I’m a police officer,” Pitt explained, producing his identification.
“Indeed?” the apothecary said with interest. There was no shadow of anxiety in his open expression.
“I should like to know more about the availability of opium,” Pitt replied. “Not to smoke, that I know already. I am looking into the liquid form. Do you have any information you could give me?”
“Good gracious, sir, of course I have.” The apothecary looked surprised. “Easy to get as you like. Mothers use it to quieten a fractious baby. Poor souls need a little sleep, and give the child enough to keep it from crying half the night, keeping the whole house awake.” He pointed to a row of bottles on one of the shelves behind him. “Godfrey’s Cordial, sell a great deal of that. Made up of treacle, water, spices—and opium. Works very well, they say. And then there’s also Steedman’s powder. And Atkinson’s Royal Infants