Chapter One: Nessie Morgan

"I swear and promise before God, Author, and Creator of all things…

Never to teach ungrateful persons or fools the secrets and mysteries of the trade…

Never to divulge the secrets confided to me…

Never to administer poisons…

To disavow and shun as a pestilence the scandalous and pernicious practices of quacks, empirics, and alchymists…

And to keep no stale or bad drug in my shop.

May God continue to bless me so long as I continue to obey these things!"

~Ancient Apothecary's Oath

"The Lost Apothecary" by Sarah Penner

February 27th, 1879

London, England, United Kingdom, Europe

Fog rolled through the London air, mixing with the smoke of chimneys to create a heavy smog that weighed down on the townsfolk. The streets were empty save for few drunkards stumbling the streets or a few commoners hurrying home to get in from the rain.

A woman—thirty-seven-year-old noblewoman Nessie Morgan—clutched her shawl closer to her shoulders as she hurried down the cobblestone streets, black parasol barely shielding her from the light misting rain falling from the sky.

She knew not whom she would meet when she arrived at her destination. It could be a man or a woman, a devil or a human. It could be an undercover police officer or a friend. She knew not the person's status in society—whether they were noble or commoner—she knew not what this person would say; whether they would be harsh or kind, sweet or bitter.

Despite all of this, she trusted with who she was about to meet. She trusted that this person would help her kill her husband.

She lifted her shawl slightly to glance at the letter—darkened by rain and barely illuminated by the dying streetlights—left to her by whom she assumed she was meeting. A servant girl had left it on her vanity the day prior, and it only said three things in slightly wobbly cursive as if the person who wrote it didn't have a steady hand.

For your husband, with his breakfast. Pick up at 701 South Victorian Street. February 27th at daybreak.

She had nearly burned the letter the moment she received it but kept it for fear that she would forget the address. However, it was burned in her mind—701 South Victorian Street.

Nessie stopped at an alleyway and looked at the paper again before the street sign. This was the place; however, there was nothing here, just an alleyway. Was she indeed at the right place? Had the person she was supposed to meet tricked her? Movement down the alleyway caught her attention. A door opened, and a woman stepped out.

The woman had graying hair yet a youthful face, deep hazel eyes that had dark bags underneath them, and she wore a simple brown button-down dress with a small bustle and a tight bodice. She had leather gloves covering her hands, and when she glanced down the alleyway, their eyes met. The gray-haired woman tilted her head, and she gestured for Nessie to follow her,

"Mrs. Morgan, I presume?" The woman's voice was soft and quiet, comforting. It sounded like a warm summer's day and helped fight off the chill of the rain as Nessie followed the woman down the alleyway to the door she initially saw the woman come out of.

Inside was warm and dry. A single barrel that served as a table with two chairs sat in front of a fireplace crackling with a blazing fire. Shelves lined the walls filled with herbs and powders and tonics and tinctures. A large leatherbound register book with worn pages sat on a desk, and a pen sat next to it. Nessie took all this in quickly.

First, the woman led her to one of the chairs and sat her down. Next, she went to the fire, where a pot of bubbling tea was sat in the coals and boiled slowly. Then, pouring the tea into a cup without a handle, she handed it to Nessie and took a seat across from her.

"So, you received my letter and came. Whom do you need to kill?" The woman asked, and Nessie shuddered, taking a sip of the tea and very nearly crying out at the scalding liquid.

"M-my husband: Lord Anthony Morgan. He-he-" Nessie broke down in tears, her eye aching from where her husband's fist had collided with her brow bone not two days earlier. The bruising had gone down, but the wound remained.

She felt a gloved hand on her own bare one and looked up; the woman looked at her with a kind look in those tired, hazel eyes of hers. In her other hand was a handkerchief that she handed to Nessie. Nessie took it and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to mess up the makeup around her eyes.

"You don't need to talk about it. I understand. I will help you." She said softly and stood, approaching one of the shelves and running her fingers across the jars and vials before stopping at one of the shelves and selecting a vial.

It was a nondescript vial, clear in color with a clear liquid inside. There was a picture of St. Nicholas of Bari and said on the label, "Manna of Saint Nicholas." The vial was perhaps two fingers full with a little dropper to distribute the liquid inside. The woman shook the vial and showed Nessie.

"A mere one to two drops a day will do the trick. This is colorless and tasteless. Put a few drops in his tea at breakfast. It will take three days to kill him, enough time to get his affairs in order." She explained curtly and quickly, presenting the bottle to Nessie, who took it and inspected the label.

Would she be able to last three more days? Anthony was getting more and more violent in the past fortnight; he said he would kill her. That was the reason she asked this woman for help in the first place. The woman placed a hand on Nessie's arm.

"Just three days, you can do it. Soon Lord Morgan will be too sick to do anything."

She frowned,

"Will my husband not realize that he is being poisoned?" She asked and swallowed the fear that rose when she mentioned the man she was trapped with. However, the woman before her shook her head and tapped the bottle.

"Hide it on your vanity. It contains belladonna and can be disguised as a cosmetic product. However, don't use it on yourself, or you will suffer the same fate. Return the bottle in two weeks' time, after the funeral and after mourning has begun."

Nessie left the shop, not knowing the name of the woman who was saving her life.

Marie Dubois watched as Nessie Morgan hurried down the street with the bottle in one hand and her parasol. She could only hope that she would be able to administer the poison successfully. She noticed the fading black eye the moment she laid her eyes on her. No woman or man should have to suffer in a relationship.

Leaving the doorway, she tenderly rubbed at her hands and shed her leather gloves, tossing them onto the barrel that served as a table and held her hands over the fire. Her knuckles in each hand were swollen and bruised and disfigured, all having been broken years earlier and just never healed correctly.

Her fingers were crooked and stiff as she opened and closed her hands over the fire. At her wrists lay large scars, mottled in light pinks and faded white. Her hands ached and hurt, from her numb fingertips to her scarred wrists. But the heat helped, loosened the aches and pains in her knuckles.

The discomfort in her joints and knuckles had grown over the years, consuming her being so that not a single waking moment was left without pain. Every poison dispensed by her felt as if it it brought a new wave of pain and stiffness to her bones. But she couldn't stop, not while there were people who still needed her help.

Soon the air grew thick with smoke and she opened the single window that lay in her small shop. The fire was nearly spent and the sun would rise soon. She could see the rays peeking above the horizon and hoped Mrs. Nessie Morgan made it home safe and sound.

Leaving the fire and approaching her large leatherbound book that sat on her desk and flipped it open, taking up her pen and taking a seat as she did so. The pen shook slightly in her broken fingers. Then, dipping her pen nib in the well of ink, she put it to the paper and wrote in shaky cursive:

Lord Anthony Morgan. Aqua Tofana prepared February 27th, 1879. On

account of Lady Nessie Morgan.