From Speculation: Undercurrents of Treachery:
“The afternoon sun fought a losing battle against the heavy clouds gathering over the Suffolk coast, leaching the colour and vibrancy from everything in their shadow.
Inside the gloomy chamber at the rear of the Half Moon Inn, Dee and Goodwife Harewell worked with desperate concentration, their hands moving between bottles, pouches, and small ceramic vessels laid out across a worn oak table. The air was thick with the scents of herbs and minerals; wormwood, willow bark, vinegar, and the sharp tang of arsenic that they were trying to neutralise.
On the bed, Nicholas lay shivering despite the blankets heaped upon him, his skin still having the same alarming pallor as Sanders’ when they’d first found him in the cave.
“Drink this,” Dee urged, supporting Nicholas’ head as he pressed a cup of murky liquid to the young man’s lips.
Nicholas grimaced, but swallowed obediently. “Is it… working?” he asked, his voice barely audible.
Dee and the woman exchanged a glance.
“Your symptoms haven’t worsened,” Dee replied carefully. He realised it wasn’t a very positive assessment, but before he could try again, the old woman thumped his arm and said, “You’ll soon be fine, young master. Make no mistake.””