The Perfect Poison by Amanda Quick Page B

black-and-maroon carriage precisely where Mrs. Shute had told him it would be in Guppy Lane. In the morning light the neighborhood displayed an air of proud, hardworking respectability. It was only a short distance from Landreth Square but it was many leagues away in terms of social status. What in blazes was Lucinda doing here?
    A thin man dressed in a coachman’s hat and multi-caped coat lounged against the iron railing that guarded the front area of a small house. Caleb got out of the hansom, wincing a little when his bruised ribs protested the small jolt. He paid the driver and then walked toward the man on the railing.
    “Mr. Shute?”
    “Aye, sir.” Shute watched him with slightly squinted eyes. “I’m Shute.”
    “Mrs. Shute gave me this address,” Caleb said. “I am looking for Miss Bromley.”
    Shute angled his head toward the doorway to the house. “She’s inside.” He took out his pocket watch and examined the time. “Been there for an hour. Might be a while longer.”
    Caleb studied the door. “A social call?” he asked neutrally.
    “Not exactly. She’s got business inside that house.”
    “Is that so?”
    “You came here this morning because you were curious about what would bring a lady like Miss Bromley to this part of town.”
    “You are a very astute man, Mr. Shute.”
    “Thought she might be in some danger, did ye?”
    “Crossed my mind.” The other possibility, of course, was that she was having an affair. For some obscure reason that had bothered him just as much.
    “Mrs. Shute and I were raised in this neighborhood.” Shute looked at the row of narrow houses across the street. “Mrs. Shute’s aunts live in number five over there. Retired after nearly forty years of service in a wealthy household. When their employer died, the heirs let them go without a pension. Miss Bromley pays their rent.”
    “I see,” Caleb said.
    “I’ve got a couple of cousins at the end of the lane. Miss Bromley employs the girls as maids in her household. Mrs. Shute and I have a son. He and his wife and their two little ones live in the next street. My son works for a printer. Miss Bromley’s father got him the job a few years ago.”
    “I think I’m beginning to understand, Mr. Shute.”
    “My grandchildren attend school. Miss Bromley helps out with the fees. She says an education is the only sure way to get ahead in the modern age.”
    “Obviously a lady of advanced notions.”
    “Aye.” Shute aimed a thumb over his wide shoulder, pointing toward the door to the house behind him. “My sister’s daughter and her family live here.”
    “You’ve made your point, Mr. Shute. My concerns for Miss Bromley’s safety were groundless. She is in no danger here.”
    “There’s folks in this neighborhood and the nearby streets who would slice the liver out of anyone who tried to hurt a hair on Miss Bromley’s head with nary a moment’s hesitation and then toss the body into the river.” Shute’s eyes tightened a little more. “Been in a fight, have ye?”
    “I was involved in a small altercation last night,” Caleb said. He had done his best to conceal his bruised eye by pulling up the high collar of his long coat and angling the brim of his hat but there were limits to such a disguise.
    Shute nodded, unperturbed. “You got the better of your opponent, I take it.”
    “I would say so. He is headed for an insane asylum.”
    “Not the usual ending for a fistfight.”
    “It was not the usual sort of fistfight.”
    Shute gave him a speculative look. “I reckon not.”
    The door to the little house opened. Lucinda appeared in the doorway. She carried a large black leather satchel in her ungloved hand. She had her back turned toward Caleb as she spoke to a woman in a worn dress and apron.
    “Do not worry about trying to get food into him,” Lucinda said. “The important thing is to make sure that he takes a few sips of the tisane several times an hour.”
    “I’ll see to it,” the