Chapter Four: Adela Crowle Part 2

March 15th, 1879

London, England, United Kingdom, Europe

Marie awoke that morning before the sun rose, and her hands ached with an oncoming rainstorm. She held in a cry as the broken knuckles felt twisted and torn as she rolled out of bed and onto her feet.

Her room was small, big enough for a cot and a bedside table with a chest of clothes at the end of her bed. She stood and dressed quickly by candlelight after lighting her single candle in the room. Marie didn't have gas-lit lamps in her home or shop and used her candles sparingly in each room.

She dressed in a navy dress with a small bustle and long sleeves and collar covering her neck, donning her regular leather gloves as she did so. Then, using her brush, she brushed her hair out from her braid and tied it up in a bun. Finally, leaving her room, she dressed warmly for the chill weather and left her tiny home, and started on the hour and a half walk to her shop.

Thirty minutes in, a carriage drawn by two horses rattled to a stop next to her, and the door opened.

"Would you like a ride?" A familiar voice asked, and she looked up to see Albert Moriarty. Pausing, she took in the biting chill of the London air and hid a shiver.

"If it isn't too much trouble." She replied and accepted Albert's hand to help her up into the carriage.

As she did, she recognized Fred Porlock and Sebastian Moran driving the carriage. Adjusting her skirts, she took a seat and settled in. Then, with a signal from Albert, the carriage rattled into motion.

Going the wrong way.

It looks like she wouldn't be able to get to her appointment with Adela Crowle any time soon. But, glancing out the window, she saw the sun was just peeking over the horizon. She still had time.

After a few moments of silence, she spoke.

"Thank you. But might I ask where we are going?" She said softly, and Albert offered a small smile,

"It's no problem at all. I hope you don't mind, but we aren't heading directly to your shop. My brother William has some things he wants me to discuss with you." He replied and handed her an envelope with her first and last name written neatly on the front. After a glance at Albert and his encouraging nod, she opened it.

"Boat schematics?" She asked, confused.

"It's called the Noahtic. It's a newly built, state-of-the-art boat that we will be boarding in three days' time. We want you on board with us. William wants to use your expertise in poisons on someone." He explained, and Marie nodded with a quiet 'ah' in understanding. Part of her was giddy; it was her first task from the Moriarty's and her first 'mission' if she could call it that. It was the first step for her to help make a difference in this plan of theirs. The more rational part of her mind still had questions. But as she read the letter penned in neat cursive, she slowly started to connect the dots.

"How am I to help with this Count Enders? It seems you have it all figured out." She asked, and Albert nodded to the paper,

"It's detailed near the end of the letter. We want a hallucinogen to help disorient Enders to help move him to the next phase of the plan. Do you have anything like that in your shop?" At this, Marie thought for a moment before nodding.

"I have a variety. Each poison will take time to prepare. Give me two days, and I'll have something."

At another signal from Albert, the carriage made a turn and headed back in the direction of Marie's shop. She could hear a quiet conversation between Sebastian and Fred as she and Albert rode in silence. Then Albert spoke,

"May I ask a question, Ms. Dubois?" He said, and Marie frowned at his tone. He was speaking as if he was going to ask something sensitive.

"I suppose. And please, just call me Marie. I may have gray hair, but I'm not that old." Albert chuckled at her quip and smiled. He looked nice when he smiled.

"If it isn't too sensitive, why do you wear gloves all the time. From what I noticed, you never take them off." She froze at the question, and pain made her knuckles ache as she clenched her hands into fists.

"There— there was an accident. It permanently disfigured my hands and made my hair turn gray. I wear the gloves, for others' sake. They don't need to see what my hands look like." She said quickly and curtly. Albert noticed this but remained quiet, dipping his head in apology,

"My apologies; it wasn't my intention to dredge up unpleasant memories." He said, and she shook her head,

"No, no, it's fine. It's just not something I like to talk about, is all."

The carriage rattled to a stop outside the alley that housed Marie's shop. Albert got out first and offered her a hand down which she accepted. Then, stepping back into the carriage, he offered her a polite smile and bid her goodbye.

Turning, she headed down the alleyway towards her shop and withdrew the sing iron wrought key that opened the locked door—time to prepare the poison for Jude Crowle. Adela would be arriving in a few hours, and she would need to have it ready by then. And she already had an idea of how to poison him. Going towards her leatherbound register, she took up her pen and wrote in her usual shaky cursive:

Lord Jude Crowle. Arsenic prepared March 15th, 1879. On

account of Lady Adela Crowle.

Adela Crowle didn't arrive at midday as planned. Marie frowned and checked the small clock that sat ticking in one corner. It was indeed midday, nearly an hour past, in fact. She still hadn't shown up. As she waited, the small bottle of poison in her hand, she couldn't help but ponder where Adela might be.

Was she simply running late?

Had she run to the police instead?

No.

She wouldn't have. Not with those injuries; she needed help.

Right?

A knock on her shop door roused her from her thoughts, and she quickly opened it to reveal a now-familiar woman dressed in all black.

"Nessie? What are you doing here? Where is Adela?" She asked as she allowed the woman inside and ushered her to a seat where Nessie threw back her veil and sobbed into a handkerchief.

Marie was stunned. Just what was happening? Nessie stood and threw her arms around Marie in a tight hug and cried,

"She is dead!"

"Wh-what? What do you mean? Do you mean Adela? Nessie, you must tell me." Marie took ahold of Nessie's shoulders and looked her in the eye—clear hazel eyes meeting swollen and red-rimmed blue ones.

"Jude! He had one of his rage fits; I just know it! He beat Adela to death! They're all saying she had an unfortunate accident, but I just know the truth!" Marie's blood ran cold as ice and the only thing keeping her from squeezing Nessie's shoulders until they cracked was the pain in her disfigured fingers.

"And what's worse!" Nessie started, hiccuping through her words.

"What is worse, Nessie.? Marie's voice was deadly quiet, nearly a whisper. Her following words stopped Marie's heart in her chest.

"He beat it out of her! He knows about you now! He's on his way!"