by Bree Wolf
A moment later, her eyes opened, focused on the task at hand. Her hand moved, and the knife dug into her husband’s throat, making a small horizontal incision.
Blood well up, but Evelyn kept the pressure steady until she felt the tip of the knife go through the last barrier.
Around her, everything was deadly quiet. No one dared to move or say a word. Everyone stared silently as Evelyn fought for her husband’s life.
“Here is the quill,” Camilla called, rushing to her side. “Oh, my god!” she exclaimed when her eyes fell on the knife in her son’s throat.
Ignoring her mother-in-law, Evelyn held the knife where it was and looked up at her father. “Cut off the ends and make certain it is clear. Then–”
“I know,” her father replied, taking the quill out of Lady Ashwood’s limp hands, then quickly proceeded to do as his daughter had said. “Here,” he said, barely a few seconds later, holding out the quill to her.
Taking it, Evelyn willed her hands to still. Then she brought the quill to the incision and slid it downward along the blade of the knife, slowly pulling it out of the incision as the quill went in replacing it.
Releasing the knife, Evelyn heard it clatter to the floor before she wiped her hands on her dress. Her focus remained with her husband as she leaned forward and breathed into the quill. Two puffs of air went in, and hope surged into her heart when his chest rose and fell with each.
Around her, Evelyn dimly heard murmurs, but she could not make out what was said. Instead, she searched for her husband’s pulse, relieved to feel it. Weak, but there.
He was still alive.
Evelyn had to make certain it stayed that way.
She repeatedly breathed into the quill, seeing his chest rise and fall with each breath.
Seconds ticked into minutes as Evelyn waited for him to recover, her pulse hammering in her veins as she fought the panic that threatened to extinguish the last shred of hope she had left.
Leaning forward once more to give him her breath, Evelyn suddenly felt his chest rise under her hands. Her head jerked up, and her eyes focused. Fearing that she had only imagined it, Evelyn stared down at him, willing him to breathe in again.
And then he did.
Evelyn almost slumped to the floor in relief.
“Richard,” she whispered, dimly aware of the sighs of relief around her. “Richard, can you hear me?” Bending over him, she gently cupped his face with her hands, rejoicing at the sight of his eyelids beginning to flutter.
The moment they opened and their familiar silver-grey looked back at her, Evelyn could have wept with joy.
***
Blinking, Richard opened his eyes to find his wife’s beautiful face hovering above him. Voices whispered in the background, but he only had eyes for her. Her warm brown eyes as they looked into his. A tear welled up and then spilled over, dropping down onto his cheek.
Licking his lips, Richard swallowed, feeling a strange pressure in his throat.
Then panic welled up as the memories returned in a sudden flash.
He could not breathe!
Instantly, his arms flew up, trying to reach for his throat, trying to remove the obstruction that squeezed the life from him.
But his wife interfered.
Lightning-quick, her hands grabbed his arms and pushed them down onto the floor beside his head. For a moment, her eyes vanished from his sight as she looked up. “Help me hold him down!”
Instantly, Sebastian appeared by his side, his face taut and pale. His hands clamped mercilessly around Richard’s arms, pressing them onto the wooden floor.
“Richard.”
Hearing his wife call his name, Richard stopped struggling, his eyes finding hers once more.
“Listen to me,” she pleaded, her voice soft but insistent as her hands gently settled on his face once more. “Listen. You need to stay calm. Everything will be all right, but you need to stay calm and breathe slowly. In and out. In and out.”
Richard froze as he felt his chest rise and fall, and yet, no air passed his lips. Staring up at his wife, he opened his mouth.
But no sound would come out.
Once more panic gripped him mercilessly.
Instantly, her hands tightened on him. “Richard, look at me! Look at me!”
And he did.
“You need to trust me,” she whispered, her brown eyes warm and reassuring. “Can you do that? Can you trust me? You will be fine. I promise you. But you need to trust me.”
Swallowing, Richard once more felt a strange pressure on his throat when his instincts kicked in, urging him to remove it. However, his heart halted his movements.
Looking up at his wife, Richard nodded in confirmation. As much as he felt compelled to give in to panic, he knew he could not. His wife was here by his side, urging him to believe her that he would be fine. And whether or not it was reasonable to do so, he realised that he did believe her. Trust her.
Slowly, his heart calmed down. He unclenched his hands, feeling the strain of this ordeal on his muscles as they began to ache.
“Good,” his wife whispered. “Good. Try to relax. You will be fine. You can breathe. Feel it. You can breathe.”
Concentrating, Richard realised that she spoke the truth. His body filled with air, and yet, it felt different.
Strange.
“If you promise me to stay calm,” Evelyn said, her thumbs tracing gentle circles over his cheekbones as her hands still held onto him, “I will tell you what happened. Agreed?”
Again, Richard opened his mouth, only to be disappointed when words refused him. Swallowing, he nodded instead.
“You couldn’t breathe, remember?” Evelyn began. “Your throat closed up. Why, I cannot say.” She swallowed, and her eyes moved, became distant for a second before they settled on his once again. “I had to make a small cut and insert a tube to allow you to breathe.”
Panic once more licked at him and he felt his eyes widen, but Richard fought it back down, doing his best to keep his promise. To remain calm.
“That is why you cannot speak,” his wife explained. “Until the swelling is down, the tube needs to remain in.” Her gaze intensified as her thumbs stopped their movement. “If you pull it out, you will suffocate. Do you understand me?”
For a long moment, Richard held her gaze before he nodded, currently his only option.
Relieved, his wife smiled down at him before she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. Her face held utter relief as well as exhaustion, and for a brief moment, Richard could feel her hands tremble as they brushed over his chest.
Mesmerized, he stared at her, realising how hard she had fought to bring him back. He had stood at Death’s door, and yet, he had returned.
Because of her.
Because she would not let him go.
Because she loved him.
Richard’s eyes misted with tears, and he wished he could tell her he loved her as well. But his time would come. He was not dying after all. There would still be a new chance to prove himself to her.
And she deserved nothing less.
Chapter Thirty-Four – A Glass of Champagne
Entrusting her husband to Lord Weston’s care and emphasising the necessity of the quill remaining where it was, Evelyn stood back as Richard was moved to his bedchamber. Her hands balled into fists as she inhaled a slow breath.
One.
Then two.
Then another.
Her hands still shook as her thoughts and emotions ran rampant, the adrenaline in her body urging her to act.
But what could she do?
“Thank you,” Claudia spoke beside her, her eyes red-rimmed as she grasped Evelyn’s hands. “Thank you for saving my brother.”
Evelyn smiled at her, nodding her head, as her fists loosened, and she gripped her sister-in-law’s hands tightly. More expressions of gratitude followed from the rest of their family before they all dispersed. Some to tend to Richard while others felt the need to be with thos
e they loved the most, once more aware how precious life was and how quickly and unexpectedly it could be snatched away.
A warm hand descended on Evelyn’s shoulder, and when she looked up, she met her father’s eyes. Swallowing, she glanced around, ensuring that they were alone before she voiced the thoughts that had assaulted her the moment her husband had returned to her. “He did not swallow anything that could have blocked his windpipe,” she whispered, feeling her father’s gaze on hers as insistent as was her own. “I’m certain of it.”
Her father nodded, and she saw understanding take root. “But how? We all ate the same food, drank the same champagne.” He turned to gesture toward their glasses. “How did this happen?”
Evelyn shrugged, her gaze drifting over the festively decorated banquet. “I do not know.” She walked toward the table. “But it started after Lord Weston’s toast. I turned to Richard and saw him crinkle his nose as though he smelled something unpleasant.” Evelyn inhaled a deep breath as she came to stand in front of her husband’s glass. “It must have been in the champagne.”
“But only in his,” her father added, coming to stand next to her. “No one else has shown any symptoms.”
Reaching for her husband’s glass, Evelyn slowly brought it to her nose.
At first, she could not detect anything out of the ordinary. However, when she inhaled a few more times, a faint odour touched her nostrils. Something familiar, but unpleasant. Something that did not belong there.
“Here, smell it,” she said, handing her husband’s glass to her father before reaching for her own. Holding it to her nose, Evelyn knew instantly that hers was fine.
“It might be prussic acid,” her father mumbled, slowly moving the glass back and forth under her nose. “However, I cannot be certain as the scent is fairly faint.”
“Prussic acid,” Evelyn echoed, closing her eyes and praying that the dose had indeed only been small. Extracted from the seeds of stone fruits, prussic acid was a lethal poison.
Only too well did she remember the day her father had come home from tending to a little boy who had ingested a handful of bitter almonds as a dare. His throat had closed up so quickly, he had died before his friends could alert their parents.
Her father had seemed like a broken man that day.
Defeated.
Helpless.
He had held her close, his eyes gliding over her as though to assure himself that it was not his child that had been lost. Evelyn had been no more than eight years old when it had happened, and yet, she still remembered the horror in her father’s eyes.
“This was no accident,” Evelyn said, finally finding the courage to voice her suspicions. “This was deliberate.” Gritting her teeth, she looked at her father, wishing he would contradict her.
Instead, he nodded in agreement. “It seems that your husband has an enemy.”
Releasing a puff of air, Evelyn sank into the chair she had vacated upon her husband’s collapse. A cold shiver ran down her back, and her head spun. “Who would do such a thing?” she whispered, unable to believe that anyone would dare harm her husband. Certainly, he was not the most amiable of men and often appeared cold and detached to those who did not know him. However, that was far from a sufficient reason to wish him harm, let alone ensure it by one’s own hand.
“We better find out,” her father said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “before whoever did this tries again.”
***
Settled in his bed, Richard found himself the centre of attention as his mother and sister as well as Sebastian and Mr. Bragg stared at him. However, only the latter had a most unpleasant look in his eyes that bothered Richard more than he could say.
As though the man was shocked that Richard had dared to survive. Hateful man! There was definitely something wrong with the way he looked at him. Richard wished he could remove the man from his house personally.
However, at present, that was not an option.
Not only because of the quill sticking in his throat–which he could not even see, but perhaps that was for the better! –but mostly because of the sudden weakness that seemed to have claimed his limbs. They felt heavy as lead. His head pounded, and his stomach twisted and turned as nausea rolled over him.
Unable to lift even a finger, Richard tried to concentrate on breathing in and out. Slowly and steadily, as his wife had told him. Still, it felt beyond strange not to breathe through his mouth and nose, and the pressure on his throat constantly urged him to lift his hands and relieve it. Fortunately, his limbs would not comply.
As his head began to spin, Richard closed his eyes, dimly wondering what had happened. How had he ended up like this on Christmas Day? Everything had been perfect, and now this. How had this happened?
Then the door opened, and Richard’s eyes snapped open the moment he heard his wife’s voice.
“How is he?”
About to reply, Richard sighed…or wanted to, but that was not possible, either, as no air currently travelled through his mouth. All that could be heard was a faint rushing sound as the air moved in and out of the quill.
Holding his gaze, Evelyn smiled at him, and instantly, Richard’s world righted itself at least a little.
However, instead of approaching the bed, she exchanged a glance with her father and then turned to Mr. Bragg, her eyes hard, calculating, before she leaned forward and spoke to him in hushed tones.
Instantly, the man’s face grew hard, his lips clamped shut, before he stormed out of the room, banging the door loudly behind him.
Exhaustion once more closed Richard’s eyes, and he could not bring his mind to focus. Perhaps all he needed was rest, and tomorrow, he would speak…or write to his wife and find out what had happened.
Dimly, he saw his mother turn to Evelyn and her father. “What is going on? Why is Mr. Bragg so upset?” Then she turned to look at him. “What happened to my son? Will he be all right?”
Once more, glances were exchanged that Richard could not make sense of, especially in his current state. However, he did notice his wife finally approach the bed and sit by his side, her warm hand finding his.
Forcing his eyes open, he looked at her, feeling peace wash over him at seeing the gentle smile on her face. “You must drink,” she urged him, holding a cup to his lips. “At least a little.”
Richard did as she asked although swallowing felt even stranger when water travelled down his throat. Dimly, he wondered why it did not run out the quill. After all, there was a hole in his throat, was there not?
Closing his eyes, Richard felt his head fall back. Tomorrow he would ask her about that.
“Claudia,” he heard his wife say, “would you go and see to Lord Weston’s family. Assure them that all is well.”
For a moment, everything remained quiet as though for once his sister did not know what to say. Then he heard footsteps approach the bed, and before long she grasped his other hand, squeezing it gently. “Don’t you dare leave me, big brother,” she warned him, her voice choked, and Richard wished he had the strength to reassure her, to tell her that he had no immediate plans of leaving this world.
Not now.
Not when he had finally found his place in it.
The moment he heard the door close behind his sister, more footsteps shuffled across the floor as Sebastian, his mother and Evelyn’s father drew closer.
“If I didn’t dare suggest it,” Sebastian all but whispered, his voice tense as he spoke the words rather reluctantly, “I would think he was poisoned.”
Richard’s mother drew in a sharp breath.
With his emotions dulled, Richard did not experience anything resembling shock. He merely thought that poison would explain why he felt so poorly.
Once more, he tried to open his eyes, tried to listen to what was being said, but his body would not comply. His breathing evened, and he felt himself slipping away as sleep claimed him for good.
Richard could not say that he minded much.
Chapt
er Thirty-Five – Suspicions
A shriek escaped Camilla’s lips, and her face went pale as her hands flew up to cover her face.
Spinning on her heel, Evelyn looked at her husband, panic quickening her heartbeat as she all but flung herself toward him.
His head had rolled back, and his eyes were closed. His skin looked still pale and was clammy to the touch. For all intents and purposes, he looked like someone who had been poisoned.
And yet, his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep.
Closing her eyes, Evelyn allowed her fingers to linger a moment longer on the faint, but steady pulse that proved that he was still with them.
That he was not lost.
“He fell asleep,” she said over her shoulder, meeting Camilla’s eyes. “He’s only sleeping.”
Relief washed over her mother-in-law’s face, and she seemed about to sag to the floor as her shoulders slumped forward. Once more, she buried her face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks and quiet sobs rose from her throat.
Giving her husband a gentle squeeze, Evelyn hastened to Camilla’s side and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Over the woman’s shoulder, she met her father’s gaze.
“Will he be all right?” Lord Weston asked, his gaze going back and forth between her and her husband’s still form. “If it was indeed poison, then…” At a loss, he held her gaze, unable to express the concern so clearly written on his face.
Once again, Evelyn met her father’s eyes, hoping against hope that he would simply nod his head in confirmation, assure her that her husband would be fine.
But he did not.
He could not.
There was no way to know yet. They had to wait. They had to be patient.
Stepping back, Evelyn kept an arm around Camilla’s shoulders as she met Lord Weston’s gaze. She knew even before she opened her mouth to speak, he could read the truth on her face.