by Olivia Drake
Punjab had been like a child to her... she, who’d never been blessed with her own baby. Juliet’s heart ached in sympathy and shock. “Perhaps it isn’t too late to revive him. Mrs. Fleetwood knows a bit about herbs. I’ll fetch her.”
Turning, she started toward the door.
“Don’t you dare!” Before she could go three steps, Kent lunged to snare her wrist. “You’re not to move an inch from my sight. Do you understand?”
“But Punjab–”
“Is gone.” Lowering his voice to a rough whisper, he added, “Dead from poison meant for you.”
Her body went cold. Recalling the way he’d wrested the cup from her, she glanced at the saucer the dog had licked clean. “The tea?”
Kent gave her a terse nod.
“Who would do such an awful thing?”
Sinister fury hardened his face. “That’s precisely what I intend to find out.”
Someone here harbored enough malice to execute such a cruel act, Juliet thought. Someone who cared little about harming others, so long as she died. The threat suddenly took on chilling proportions.
“Dear God. I shouldn’t have poured Punjab the tea. If only I’d waited, he’d still be alive—”
“And we wouldn’t have known.” His arms supported her in a desperately tight embrace. “You nearly drank the tea and died. Along with our baby.”
Fear carved a cold, empty place inside her. Shaken, she wilted against his muscled chest and tried to absorb his warmth and life. Steady and strong, his heart drummed against her ear. “And you, Kent. You, too.”
“Not necessarily.”
Drawing her to the table, he picked up the creamer. The liquid bore an amber tinge; he held the dish to his nose.
“Sweetish odor, like opium,” he murmured. “The drug was added to the cream. Everyone here knows I drink my tea black.”
“Tea?” Augusta said in a quavering voice. With the sluggishness of an old woman, she tilted up a haggard face. “I don’t understand, Kent. Did you say someone poisoned my darling’s tea?”
The hyacinth eyes reflected a misty bafflement. If the poisoning had been a horrid error on her part, she hid it well, Juliet thought. Against her waist, she felt tension cord his arm. He was staring at Augusta, his features drawn by both compassion and mistrust.
Shuffling footsteps came from the hall. Blinking behind thick spectacles, Gordon ambled into the drawing room, his hands plunged into the pockets of his frayed smoking jacket.
“Hullo,” he said. “Ah, teatime. Ravi might have told me so when he bustled me from my research. The fellow was quite overbearing. Deserves a reprimand, Cousin.”
His earlier incoherence had vanished. Had the effects of the opium worn off? Juliet wondered. Perhaps he’d feigned that rambling manner. So that no one would suspect him of slipping into the kitchen and tampering with the cream...
Releasing her, Kent turned to his cousin. “Never mind what Ravi deserves,” he said. “Someone’s poisoned Punjab.”
Gordon’s high forehead furrowed. “Poisoned?”
“I’ve lost my baby,” Augusta murmured, wringing the handkerchief. “Oh, Gordon, he’s gone!”
Her husband walked closer and peered at the dog. “Dear me. Dear me, indeed. Yet we needn’t leap to an erroneous hypothesis. Poor beast was getting on in years. Perhaps he suffered cardiac arrest.”
“My Punjab was killed!” she cried. “Oh, who would have done such a wicked thing?”
Tears dampened her sallow cheeks, and her eyes flashed wildly, as if she teetered on the brink of hysteria. Shifting from one foot to the other, Gordon hesitated. Then he gathered her close and his clawlike hand awkwardly patted her back. They made a curious couple, he the shorter of the two, and as gaunt as a skeleton beside her robust frame. Their closeness softened Juliet’s heart.
“There, there, my dear,” he said. “A tragic misfortune, to be sure. Fleetwood must have put out rat poison, and Punjab lapped it up. Arsenic ingestion can generate symptoms of acute—”
“Not arsenic,” Kent said. “Morphine.”
Gordon gave a start of surprise and dropped his arms to his sides. Peering again at the dog, he adjusted his glasses. “Indeed? How very singular. An overdose of morphine produces narcosis, then a coma and respiratory failure.”
“How swiftly would the drug work?” Juliet asked.
His pale eyes focused on her. “A lethal amount administered to the adult human could kill within an hour. For such a small creature, the end might well occur more rapidly.”
Augusta dabbed her eyes. “Must you go on so clinically? We must find the person responsible!”
He placed a gnarled hand on her broad shoulder. “Beg pardon, my dear. I had no intention of causing you further woe.”
“Someone here hated my poor darling... ” Her watery gaze shifted to the door. “Someone...”
Chantal and Rose hastened into the room. They were a study in contrasts, the regal blond in the flamboyant garnet gown and the girlish brunette in modest gray silk.
“Ravi said that Punjab has taken ill.” Spying the still form, Chantal brought a hand to her bosom. “Mercy! Is he all right?”
“He’s dead.” Augusta aimed a shaking finger at them. “And one of you must have poisoned him!”
“That’s absurd,” Rose said, lifting her chin. “Kent, tell her to stop making such unfounded accusations.”
He remained silent, watching the group. Fear wormed into Juliet’s bones. One of the people here could be the killer...
“Unfounded?” Augusta said. “You’ve always resented me. You and your actress mother. I have a legitimate place in this household.”
A furious flush pinkened Rose’s cheeks. “But you haven’t the noble blood of the Deverells flowing through your veins. Do you?”
“That’s enough,” snapped Chantal. “You’re hardly behaving nobly at the moment.” To Kent, she said, “Will you be so kind as to tell us what’s happened? Was Punjab really poisoned?” Bewilderment lifted her voice.
“Yes. And I intend to find out who—”
Maud burst into the drawing room, her cobalt skirt swishing, the feather on her hat bouncing. Henry followed, the Fleetwoods and Ravi close behind.
Maud squinted at the dog and swung away in wide-eyed alarm. “Egad! Someone has committed a heinous crime!”
Henry thrust his bowler hat at Fleetwood, then strode to Augusta and pressed her hand. “My poor lady. You have my very deepest condolences.”
Her jaw quivered, but she held herself stiffly upright. “Thank you, Henry. You’re most kind.”
Maud tugged on his tweed sleeve. “This is exactly like in my book. I told you... the one that was stolen!”
“Dash it all, darling,” he chided. “This is no time to be prattling about your penny dreadfuls. Besides, I found the book, slipped behind a chair cushion.”
“But it can’t be a coincidence. The same thing happened to the dog in A Study in Scarlet.” She lowered her voice. “The villain employed a poison used by South American natives on the tips of their arrows.”
Kent aimed a withering look at her. “This was morphine.” To his cousin, he added, “You keep a supply for times when you’re in acute pain, do you not?”
Gordon blinked, then walked slowly away. “Yes, but I cannot comprehend how a dog could have gotten—”
“The poison was secreted in the cream.” Kent stared at each person in turn. In a savagely soft voice, he went on, “I believe it was meant for Juliet.”
A hush settled over the gathering. With an inward shiver, Juliet studied the others. Chantal wore a dramatic posture of shock. Rose clenched both hands to her fichu. Maud half swooned against a grim-faced Henry. Augusta pressed the handkerchief to her mouth. Gordon sagged into the desk chair. Fleetwood stood frozen beside his wife, who clasped her pudgy hands in prayer. Only Ravi exhibited no sign of surprise.
A clamor of voices exploded.
“I don’t understand—”
“This ca
n’t be true—”
“You must be mistaken—”
“Who would harm–”
“Quiet, everyone!” Chantal stepped forward, fluttering her voluminous sleeve. “Are you saying someone tried to murder Juliet?”
“That’s madness!” Augusta said, staring. “You mean the poison wasn’t meant for my Punjab?”
“Precisely,” Kent stated.
Lacking her usual grace, Chantal began an agitated circuit of the room. “But... why?”
“That’s what I would like to find out.”
Mrs. Fleetwood approached him, her hands gripping the white apron around her bulky midsection. “Yer Grace, if I might have a word.”
“Go on.”
“The cream came from ol’ Bessie, it did. Skimmed it just this mornin’ and poured it into the creamer meself.” Doubt pervaded her thick country accent. “I didn’t see no poison! I run a clean kitchen, I do!”
“No one’s accusing you,” he said gently. “Was anyone else in the kitchen while you were preparing the tea tray?”
“Lots of folks traipsed in an’ out. Madam brung in a baby gown to soak in the scullery. Mr. Ravi fetched a cup o’ tea. Mr. Henry even popped his head in to say hello.”
“Did you ever see anyone near the tray?” Juliet asked.
Mrs. Fleetwood shook her head vigorously. “Come to think, though, I did step out for a few minutes.” A blush stole over her doughy features. “Had to tend to a call o’ nature, I did.”
Maud hissed out a breath. “Then we must deduce that’s when the killer seized his chance!”
The butler noisily cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon. I remained close by, Your Grace, yet I heard nothing. I was in the pantry, cleaning the silver service for dinner.”
Kent looked at Rose. “What about you? You went to fetch a tisane for your mother.”
“Me? I peeked into the kitchen, but when I saw how busy Mrs. Fleetwood was, I decided to return later.” Her brown eyes glossed with tears. “Surely you can’t suspect me.”
“I must consider everyone,” he said quietly.
“Well, I didn’t do it. Father would never have doubted me.” Whirling, she flounced toward a window and folded her arms over her breasts.
His mouth compressed into a strict line, he stared after Rose before turning to her mother. “And where were you, Chantal?”
“In the tower, of course.”
“Alone?”
She gave a royal nod. “Of course, you have only my word on the matter.”
Could she have stolen down to the kitchen? Juliet wondered. Dread formed an icy knot inside her. No one here could prove his innocence. Which left the killer free to strike again.
“I don’t suppose the medication was locked up,” Kent said to Gordon.
He raised himself from the desk chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No. Someone must have pilfered my capsules!” Hands thrust into his pockets, he cast a glance at the door, as if longing to flee back to his books. “Oh, dear me. This state of affairs is my fault. My failing.”
Augusta’s shoulders sagged. “And my poor darling is the victim.”
Silence hung like a pall. Ravi left and returned a few moments later with a blanket. Kneeling before Punjab, he wrapped the small body.
By unspoken agreement, everyone gathered close, their faces sober. Maud tiptoed to Juliet’s side and squeezed her hand.
“That might have been you,” she whispered, her blue eyes big with alarm. “But don’t worry. Henry and I are working on a theory.”
“Just be careful.” Sickness churned inside Juliet. She placed a protective hand over her belly and prayed for her baby’s safety. Who knew what trick the murderer might try next?
Augusta hovered over Ravi. “Do have a care,” she murmured, coiling the handkerchief in her stout fingers. To Kent, she added, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see about arranging a proper burial.”
As Ravi carried the precious bundle from the room, she trudged at his side.
A minute crept by in solemn stillness. Standing by the chimneypiece, Kent frowned at the peacock cut into the center of the marble. His face might have been carved from the same stone. Juliet wondered if he was as baffled and frightened as she.
With the drama of an actress stealing center stage, Chantal marched inside the circle of chairs. “If you ask me,” she said, her blue eyes piercing, “what happened today is the fault of the curse. Dreamspinner has caused yet another tragedy.” Skirts swishing, she stalked from the scene.
Gordon drifted after her; Rose trailed him. One by one, the others slipped out.
Fleetwood went to the tea tray. “Shall I dispose of this, Your Grace?”
He made a distracted wave. “Yes, yes.”
The butler bore the silver tray out, leaving Juliet alone with Kent. Aware of a sudden frailty in her knees, she collapsed into a chair. “I don’t know whether to be joyful that I’m still alive or saddened for poor Augusta.”
He wheeled around. A grimace of anxious fury compressed his mouth. “You’re damned lucky, that’s what you are. There wouldn’t have been an attempt if you’d gone to London as I told you.”
Stubbornness shot strength into her spine. “The matter has already been decided. I’m safe nowhere.”
“We can both go away, then. To the Continent... to America ... to India, wherever suits your fancy. We’ll venture so far afield that no one will ever track us down.”
“And how would we live?”
“Off your dowry.”
“For how long, Kent?”
“Forever, if need be.”
The concentration of his stare unnerved her as much as the prospect of shedding danger and darkness. He was willing to live as a kept man, dependent on her money. He’d abandon his ancestral home, his family, his beloved fields. For her sake and for the safety of their child. Resisting a quick leap of hope, Juliet lowered her lashes. Because he loved her? Or because he felt guilty... obligated to protect the wife he’d wronged so terribly?
She raised her eyes to his impossibly handsome face. The words choked her throat. “You’ve orchestrated my life from the very start, Kent. I’m staying until we find Emily’s murderer.”
The intensity faded, leaving his features barren of emotion. He turned slightly to gaze out the window. Though a bar of sunlight illuminated his strong profile, she had the impression he stood wrapped in shadow.
“And then?” he murmured. “What will you do afterwards?”
“I haven’t decided.”
That much was the truth. As Kent walked slowly away, she recalled how the reassuring warmth of his arms had chased away the horrid image of him dead from drinking the tea. Now the rift was back between them, as vast as ever. Could she stay at Radcliffe and endure a lifetime of polite distance? See him every day and know that she could never trust him, that he might be secretly contemplating another way to get revenge on her father?
He claimed to want to end the feud. But he’d lied to her about that many times before.
An unutterable weariness dragged on her heart. Soon she would have the funds to set up her own household wherever she pleased. A town house in London. Or a peaceful cottage in the country, where she could grow a garden and watch her child play and thrive.
Kent’s child, too.
As he went to the desk, she couldn’t stop her gaze from following his familiar form, the shoulders honed hard and brawny from physical labor, the black hair and bronzed skin that formed so stunning a contrast to his white shirt, the narrow waist and firm male hips that inflamed her blood...
“What the devil—” he muttered. Pivoting sharply, he drilled her with a furious, baffled glare. “The necklace is gone! Someone’s stolen Dreamspinner.”
Chapter 23
“What do you suppose it means?” Juliet mused.
She glanced up at Kent, then gazed again in perplexity at the note in her hand. The firm script flowed across the sheet of scented stationery. Just moments ago, someone had slipp
ed the envelope under her bedroom door. Kent had hastened into the hall, but whoever had left the message was gone.
Standing at her elbow now, he bent closer to reread the words. So close she caught his sandalwood scent. She kept her eyes fixed on the letter.
Juliet, I’ve something of grave importance to tell you. Please come to see me at once. Chantal.
“There’s only one way to find out what she means,” he said, straightening. “I know this is addressed to you, but I’d like to accompany you if I may.”
“I’ll freshen up first.”
Stalking into the dressing room, she closed the door and blew out an exasperated breath. His request was a mere formality, for she knew he wouldn’t allow her to go alone. Was it his constant presence that made her feel on the verge of exploding?
Three tedious days had passed since the poisoning attempt that had culminated in Dreamspinner’s disappearance. Three sleepless nights of lying beside Kent and wondering how much longer she could bear living like this, so close yet so far apart.
Crumpling the note, she flung it onto the dressing table, where it rolled to a stop among the ancient bottles and jars. She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror; the wavy glass held little evidence of her agitated mood. Wistful eyes stared back from a pale face. A gown of fashionable topaz silk skimmed her still slender figure. No one would guess from her appearance that she would bear a baby come spring. She looked like an ordinary woman with an ordinary wish for happiness.
Only the dark smudges beneath her eyes hinted at hidden sorrow and unmitigated strain.
Sighing, she smoothed her chignon and dabbed perfume at her wrists and throat. Obeying a sudden strong impulse, she opened a drawer and drew forth the pearls her father had given her on the occasion of her debut. His gruff voice echoed in her ears and the memory of his quick embrace brought a phantom warmth.
I can’t wait to show you off, Princess... the jewel in my crown of achievements.
She swallowed a lump of grief. That enchanted night seemed as if it had happened to another girl. She was a woman now. A woman who had chosen a path for her life and must now follow it.