History

Ralf and Konstanze Ott immigrated to the UK with dreams of starting a family and a new business that would sustain them all in perpetuity. With years of experience working for a prominent druggist in Berlin, Ralf was well-positioned to open his own shop in a section of London that was touted as "up and coming" — A prophecy that bore out as the city's population grew and more and more citizens sought reasonable rents without sacrificing safety. With the addition of the newly-completed Hammersmith Bridge in 1887, South London grew apace, and so did Ott Apothecary.

Only a few months younger than the shop, Miles grew up learning his father's tradecraft, and was a natural at both the technical side of recalling figures and formulas, as well as the empathy needed to assist those in need. His younger sister Freya was not as adept at weighing and measuring, but staffed the beautifying counter as soon as she could properly reach the shelves, and quickly became a customer favorite for her bright personality and excellent recommendations.

Life was brilliant, and the future seemed bright for them all.

In 1882 at age 20, Freya married a barrister, whose name Miles refuses to so much as think of. While of a serious nature in contrast to his new wife's, the hope was that Freya would provide a counterpoint to her solemn husband. The match was certainly advantageous from the outside. Miles had always been more interested in the business than romance — Not least because his preferences tended toward the illegal — and it was a relief to pass the burden of providing grandchildren onto someone willing to have them. Freya settled into her new marriage, and Miles settled into full charge of the shop as Ralf and Konstanze retired early to the countryside on a nice monthly stipend.

In May of 1884, after several weeks without any visit from Freya, and concerned his sister might be ill, Miles packed her a basket and paid an unexpected visit. Freya tried to have him turned away, but after insisting, he found her indeed ill — At her husband's own hand. Covered in bruises and recovering from a kick to the stomach, she confessed her reality in tears as she clung to Miles and he stroked her hair. Legally, there was nothing for them to do: A man had a right to beat his wife. Yet allowing Freya to remain with such a man was unthinkable. Immediately, Miles began formulating a plan.

Opportunity presented itself in the form of a regular customer, who was overseeing the hiring for a new house outside of Glasgow. Miles secured Freya a position as a housemaid — A bit of a come down, but safe — and bought her a train ticket for Scotland. Whether her husband discovered the ticket or was enraged for other, unknowable reasons, the intervention proved too late: The day before her departure, Freya was declared dead from "a fall down the stairs."

In his grief, Miles tapped into a deep and abiding rage, and immediately began to pore over every pharmaceutical text in his vast collection. A week after Freya had been laid to rest, Miles visited her widower under the auspices of collecting a trinket as a memento, and poisoned the man's tea. The poor sod died of a broken heart, everyone said. Infuriating when one considered the truth, but the important part was that he was dead.

In the time since Freya's death, without quite intending to, Miles has slowly but steadily built a network of willing conspirators — People he vets as safe, with as much to lose as himself — who act as go-betweens for himself and women desperately in need, whether for an abortifacient or removal of an abusive husband or father. Miles supplies the draughts and tinctures, and they are passed through at least two other sets of hands before landing with the "client." He charges nothing, and keeps a keen eye on his own anonymity — Because if he doesn't fill this need, who will?