Page 2 of Murder on Harley Street
Harmony’s face softened at the mention of her beau, one of the hotel’s cooks. “Point taken.” She shifted the clipboard to her other hand. “Good luck with Lady Bainbridge’s appointment. I hope this new doctor proves better than the last one.”
“As do I.” I glanced at Floyd’s door again. “Perhaps your Pharmaceutical Society presenter can advise Floyd on a cure for over-imbibing.”
“The best cure for that is to drink less in the first place, but I think the Bella Vita Company do manufacture a restorative tonic.”
“Bella Vita!” I grabbed her wrist and lowered the clipboard to read the document. Across the top in neat, bold lettering, Harmony had written Bella Vita Company Presentation.
She frowned at me. “It means The Good Life Company in Italian. It’s Mr. Lombardi’s company.”
I blinked at her. “I think that’s the manufacturer of Aunt Lilian’s tonic.”
She gasped. “The one…?”
I nodded. “The one she no longer uses.” Neither of us mentioned the word addiction out loud, but I’m sure she was thinking it.
My aunt had become addicted to the cocaine in the tonic prescribed by one of London’s eminent physicians. At first, it gave her a vitality she felt she lacked. She took it before social engagements or when she felt low, but after regular use it became clear to all those who knew her that she was becoming more and more dependent on it to lift her mood. Not only that, it changed her character. She went from a kind-hearted, gentle soul to someone who was easily irritated and sometimes even angry, interspersed with moments of deep melancholy, the very thing the tonic was supposed to cure. Those changes were accompanied by excruciating headaches, restlessness and fatigue.
After months of suffering, Aunt Lilian finally realized she needed to stop. She’d thrown out her bottle of tonic, so I couldn’t now check the label to find out who manufactured it.
“We can’t allow Mr. Lombardi to have his presentation here,” I said. “His tonic is doing more harm than good. He’s no better than a quack who peddles so-called remedies on the street corner. I can’t believe Boots and other chemists still sell it, let alone eminent doctors recommend it to their patients. Given Aunt Lilian’s situation, it would be hypocritical of us to host Mr. Lombardi’s event, not to mention unethical.”
Harmony chewed her lower lip.
“I know the presentation is important to the hotel,” I went on, “but I’m sure Uncle Ronald will cancel the contract once he realizes.” We both looked at his office door.
“Are yousurethe Bella Vita Company is the manufacturer ofthattonic?” Harmony asked. “The factory is in Italy.”
“I’m quite sure, but you’re right. I need to be absolutely positive. Uncle Ronald will want proof before he cancels the contract. I’ll purchase a bottle while I’m out. I remember the name and what it looked like, as will my uncle.” I clasped Harmony’s arm and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I know how much hosting this event means to you.”
She gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s kind of you to think of me, Cleo, but there’s no need to worry. I’ll have other opportunities to assist Mr. Bainbridge and, like you, I don’t want to play any part in helping Mr. Lombardi advertise his medicines to the medical and pharmaceutical professions if he is the producer of that tonic. You’re aware he’s already staying at the hotel, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t. It was good to know, however, so I could avoid him.
We parted ways, Harmony heading to the lift while I went to collect my aunt for her appointment. I decided not to check on Floyd. If he was still asleep when I returned, I’d look in on him then.
I was about to knock on the door of my aunt’s suite when Flossy emerged from her room.
“Hello, Cleo.”
Wearing a soft pink gown that fit snugly across her chest, she was a picture of Rubenesque beauty. Not that I would use that word to her face. Once when a gentleman had innocently described her as such, she hadn’t eaten for three days. The fashionably miniscule waistline was simply unattainable for my cousin, unless she starved herself. I wished she saw how naturally beautiful she was, but unfortunately she’d inherited some of her mother’s lack of self-confidence.
“Are you going in to see Mother?” she went on. “Perhaps I’ll join you, since I have nothing else to do. It’s soboringat the moment, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“London. Everyone’s somewhere else at this time of year.”
“It won’t be long before they’re back again.” I knocked on Aunt Lilian’s door. “We’re going out, as it happens. I’m accompanying her to an appointment with a new doctor.”
Flossy pulled a face. “On second thoughts, I’ll find something to do.” She hurried back to her suite before her mother saw her.
Aunt Lilian’snew doctor didn’t have rooms on Harley Street where all the so-called best physicians were located. His practice was located near St. Pancras railway station in a nondescript brick building set in a row of other nondescript brick buildings. He’d been recommended by Dr. Garside, an eminent medical scientist based at St. Mary’s Hospital. Dr. Garside assisted the police on occasion, which was how I’d come to meet him when investigating a death by poisoning. As Dr. Garside was an expert at the leading edge of a rapidly changing profession, Harry suggested we ask him for the name of a doctor who could treat Aunt Lilian’s addiction. With many doctors prescribing cocaine, opium, and other highly addictive substances for treating all manner of ailments, Dr. Garside sometimes came under fire from colleagues unwilling to admit they were wrong, but that was precisely why Harry and I sought his advice. Dr. Garside didn’t have consulting rooms himself, but he’d given us the name of a friend who did.
Aunt Lilian emerged from the consulting room with an air of hope. When she instructed Cobbit, the hotel’s coachman, to stop at a chemist on the way home, I waited until we were seated inside the carriage to ask why.
Aunt Lilian told me the doctor had not only given her a written plan of medication to take, but he’d spoken with her at length, unearthing the root cause of her addiction—her lack of self-worth. I suspected it was the unburdening of her mind rather than the medicinal plan that lifted her spirits most. She handed me the written plan. “The doctor wants me to take a powder, but in decreasing amounts over time. It will help with the headaches and other symptoms. He suggested someone else keeps it hidden from me and is the one to measure out the doses.”
I supposed that was to stop her replacing her addiction to one medicine with an addiction to another. I looked over the plan as we drove. It stipulated precise measurements of the powder be mixed with a cup of water, the doses to decrease a little each week until the content of the cup was mostly water. The idea was to slowly wean Aunt Lilian off her cocaine dependency.
