The Bottle Stopper by Angeline Trevena Read Free Book Online Page A

as payment. A credit issued in Haverhead. How exactly does a slum girl come across such a thing?”
    Maeve took a step back towards the door. “Maybe a cookbook would be more appropriate after all.” She took another step back. If he reported her, she'd be arrested. Maybe even killed.
    He broke into a smile, stepping forward to catch her arm. “I'm sorry, I'm joking, really. Come on, I'll sell you the book.” His smile faltered. “But if anyone ever asks, it didn't come from me.”
    Maeve nodded. “Sure.”
    He handed her the book. “And if you ever need anything else, maybe on torture techniques, or how to commit the perfect murder, just come back to The Paper Duchess, and Denver will sort you out.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “That's me by the way.”
    “Sure.” Maeve slipped the small book into her pocket and stepped back, glancing around to locate the door.
    “Hey, really, I'm sorry about all that. I read too many spy novels, and fancy myself as something I'm not.” He grinned again. “Really, you're safe here.”
    “Thanks for the book.” Maeve backed to the door, pulled it open, and scurried away.

11
    Kerise dropped from the rafters, landing on the floor without a sound. She reached out and clamped her hand onto Denver's shoulder.
    He spun around, clutching his heart. “Don't do that!”
    Kerise glanced at the door. “Was that her?”
    Denver nodded. “That was her.”

12
    Hemlock had been easy enough to find. It grew plentifully among the tall grasses at the far end of The Floor, and its red-spattered stems were distinctive. Maeve had been careful to keep it separate from the other plants, which would be destined for the medicine bottles.
    She put the basket of cuttings on the kitchen floor, and pulled out the hemlock, constantly reminding herself not to touch her face before washing her hands. She removed the leaves, and wrapped the stems and clusters of white flowers into an old towel. According to the book, the leaves would do the job.
    Crossing to the sink, she scrubbed her hands until they were red. She grabbed a loaf from the worktop, took some old sliced ham from the fridge, and pulled out the small jar of mustard she'd bought on The Hope. The book said hemlock tasted foul, and she hoped the mustard would be enough to disguise its flavour.
    Maeve carried everything to the table. She spread the bread with generous amounts of mustard, wincing at the smell. She layered in two slices of ham, and then looked at the hemlock. Could she really do this?
    Lou strode into the kitchen and peered at the half-made sandwich.
    “I made you lunch,” Maeve said, as casually as she could manage.
    Lou raised an eyebrow. “Lunch?” He folded his arms. “When do you ever make me lunch? It's not poisoned, is it?” He laughed at his own joke.
    Maeve's heart beat like a drum. She was sure he'd hear it.
    “It's a peace offering,” she said quickly, stepping away from him. “An apology.”
    “That mustard stinks. And what's that?” He pointed at the hemlock leaves.
    “Parsley,” Maeve said with a smile.
    Lou snorted. He grabbed the mustard-covered knife, and swept the leaves onto the floor.
    “Rabbit food,” he said. He closed the sandwich and walked back to the shop.
    Maeve looked down at the scattered hemlock leaves. Several of them had dropped into the basket with the other cuttings. She knelt down, scooping up the leaves from the floor. Then she set about inspecting each and every cutting, removing anything that looked even remotely like hemlock. But without their distinctive stalks, it wasn't a simple task.
    When she'd finished, she wrapped the leaves with the rest of the hemlock and stashed it in the storage room. Maybe, if she found the courage, she'd try again.

13
    Maeve woke as Uncle Lou wrenched her thin mattress onto the floor. She rolled onto the floorboards, her nightdress hitching up to her hips.
    He placed his boot on her arm, and looked down at her.
    “The shop is only half