ofessed to be a clumsy dancer.
Perhaps it wasn’t a falsehood, the angel on his shoulder argued. She had no reason to lie. Numerous excuses filled his head. Perhaps the lady had a secret. No. Perhaps he was the one being foolish for jumping to conclusions.
“Very well,” he said when the carriage stopped farther on the road. “Wait here. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Disappointment dripped from every word. Still, she remained resolute.
Lockhart found himself stomping along the pavement in a bid to banish these crippling suspicions. Mistrust was his constant companion. Why had she behaved as if she’d seen an evil spectre not a villager from Flamstead?
Trying to push his misgivings aside, he entered an apothecary shop. Despite offering a bribe for information, the proprietor could not recall a customer named Terence Lockhart. The same was true for the next two shops. Both men failed to recognise the name even after gentle persuasion.
Instinct told him he’d found the right place as soon as he crossed the threshold of Wilfred Wolfson’s store. The name roused an image of a predatory beast. Indeed, the man behind the counter stared with bulging eyes as his tongue swept over cracked lips.
“Welcome.” The fellow rubbed his red, blotchy hands. “How may I assist you today?” He had the slippery voice of a swindler. A man who lured the unsuspecting into believing they suffered from all sorts of terrible ailments.
“Are you Wolfson?”
“Indeed, I am, sir.” The fellow scanned Lockhart’s face. “You look like a man who struggles to sleep.”
Well, that much was true, though it had nothing to do with an illness and everything to do with craving Claudia Darling’s luscious body.
“I’m tormented by an addiction,” Lockhart confessed as he prowled towards the counter. “Is there a cure for a man whose cravings keep him awake at night?”
Wolfson nodded. “There’s a cure for most things, sir. If one is willing to pay the price.”
“Is there a cure for lust?” And yet something more than lust flowed through his veins.
“There’s a medicine that makes it difficult to perform if you take my meaning.”
“Is there a cure for love?” Lockhart wasn’t sure why he’d asked.
Wolfson chuckled. “That’s called marriage. Three months of nagging and endless women’s talk should see you right again.”
Miss Darling didn’t nag. And he could listen to her talk for hours.
Lockhart reached into his pocket and removed three sovereigns. He placed them on the counter. “Can you tell me if you supply a Mr Terence Lockhart with medicine?”
Wolfson glanced at the coins and then at Lockhart. “Can’t say as I recall the name.”
“Then permit me to prompt your memory.” Lockhart removed another sovereign and added it to the pile. “He purchases laudanum in large quantities, cough suppressant and a range of other medicines without labels.”
Wolfson frowned. “All the medicines sold here come with a full list of ingredients.”
“I’m sure they do.” Perhaps Terence removed the labels. Perhaps Justin and Selina had administered the wrong medication. Lockhart added two more sovereigns to the pile. “Terence Lockhart. I want to know what he purchased.”
Wolfson licked his lips and stared at the coins as if admiring a huge chunk of meat pie. “Lockhart, you say.”
“He looks like me but lacks my charm.”
“He lacks your generous nature, too.”
“Then you remember him?”
“A man doesn’t forget the weird ones.”
“Weird?”
“He orders laudanum, of course. The rest, well …” Wolfson flicked his gaze back to the coins.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Lockhart said, adding another coin. “That’s the last. So spill your guts unless you want me to spill them for you.” He flashed the shopkeeper a look menacing enough to send the wolf scampering back to his underground den.