Jemma paused thoughtfully. Poison again! Who would want to poison Georgiana?
Their reprieve was sweet but short-lived. As soon as Doctor Anderson had left and Miss Rutherford had retired to the drawing room to write letters, Agnes was storming up the stairs to order them back to work.
‘Jemma, you can clean Miss Rutherford’s room,’ barked Agnes. ‘Make sure you do it perfectly. Connie, black all the fire grates.’
Connie and Jemma exchanged glances. Jemma licked the last of the chocolate from her mug and stood up to follow Agnes down to the kitchen.
Jemma trudged back up the stairs, carrying a pail with dusters, rags and beeswax. Miss Rutherford’s bedroom was at the front of the house, overlooking Johnston Street towards the bay.
Jemma knocked on the door quietly. There was no response, so she pushed it open to an empty room. She had never been into this bedroom before – Agnes hadn’t trusted her to clean the mistress’s inner sanctum. Jemma gazed about curiously.
A large, bright window, framed with cream lace curtains, overlooked the gardens and the view of the bay in the distance. An unmade, four-poster bed stood in the centre, draped with mosquito netting and piled with overstuffed bolsters and pillows. A marble fireplace stood on the third wall, opposite the windows, with a stately dressing table and chest of drawers on either side of the bed.
Jemma put down her pail and began making the bed. Agnes had taught her to make beds perfectly, with all the sheets tight as a drum and the crimson coverlets smoothed over flawlessly. Jemma then fluffed up the feather pillows, which released a cloud of soft, floral perfume.
Jemma moved to dust the chest of drawers and then the cedar dressing table, with its ornate turned legs and frame. Using a soft rag, she polished the timber with beeswax. Jemma found the work soothing and comforting – almost like meditation.
On top of the chest of drawers was a silver tray with a brown glass medicine bottle stoppered with a cork alongside a silver teaspoon. Jemma picked up the bottle and read its printed label:
Laudanum again, thought Jemma. Another poison. She uncorked the bottle and sniffed the red-brown liquid – she could smell a mixture of strong alcohol, a bitter, herbal scent and a syrupy, sugary overtone. She hurriedly re-stoppered the cork and replaced the bottle on its tray.
The bottle looked oddly familiar, then Jemma remembered her trip to the apothecary when she had picked up half a dozen ones just like this for Miss Rutherford. I wonder if all six bottles were laudanum? thought Jemma.
Next to the tray was a small timber box, ornately carved and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Jemma picked it up and polished the lid and sides. She went to place the box back on the chest of drawers but clumsily dropped it, spilling the contents. Jemma stooped to retrieve the items that had spread over the carpet – a gold brooch, a string of pearls, a few buttons, a silver-framed photograph and a box of pills.
She scooped the items back into the box carefully. Her fingers closed over the silver frame. Jemma recognised the photograph instantly. It was the same portrait that Georgiana had shown her of her father – except the matching pair, the photograph of Georgiana’s mother, was missing.
How odd, thought Jemma. You’d think that Miss Rutherford would keep a photo of her sister, rather than her brother-in-law, in her treasure box.
The last item was a rectangular box of pills:
Jemma read the back of the box:
Arsenic wafers, thought Jemma in dismay. Arsenic is the same poison that was in Agnes’s rat poison and Ned’s pesticide spray.
Jemma opened the box. It was half full of flat, white pills. Someone had already taken a large number of them. But who? Harriet Rutherford? Or Georgiana Rose Thornton …
The sound of hurried footsteps came from the landing. Jemma quickly closed the pills, jammed them back in the ornamental box with the other items, replaced the box on the dressing table and assiduously began rubbing the dresser legs with an oily rag.
Miss Rutherford burst into the room, panting slightly, as though she had been running.
‘Oh, Jemima, I didn’t expect to see you here!’ exclaimed Miss Rutherford, looking flustered and short of breath.
‘I’m just finishing up, ma’am,’ replied Jemma. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, not at all,’ Miss Rutherford assured her. ‘How is Miss Georgiana today? Is she feeling better after her latest bout of illness? Has she been taking her medicine?’
Miss Rutherford’s eyes flickered to the chest of drawers.
‘We are following Doctor Anderson’s instructions to the letter,’ confirmed Jemma. ‘She has been feeling a bit weak and dizzy, but there has been no more vomiting.’
Miss Rutherford looked distracted and not much comforted by this news.
‘Please leave me now, Jemima,’ ordered Miss Rutherford, rubbing her head fitfully. ‘I’m not feeling well and need to lie down for a while. My nerves are overstretched from all this excitement. Would you mind unlacing me before you go?’
Miss Rutherford turned around. Jemma deftly undid the long row of tiny, silk-covered buttons at the back of her dove-grey dress. Miss Rutherford stepped out of the billows of silk, dropping the voluminous layers of petticoats to the floor. Jemma scooped the material into her arms and draped them with the dress over the nearby armchair.
Miss Rutherford was left standing in her underwear: long, frilly drawers, a daintily embroidered cotton chemise and a pair of stays tightly laced down the back, nipping her waist into a fashionable hourglass silhouette. The knot was difficult to undo, and Jemma fumbled until she could loosen it.
When the stays were released, Miss Rutherford let out a sigh of relief, breathing deeply. Jemma wondered how she could breathe at all with the cruel corset crushing her abdomen all day. Miss Rutherford hurried to the chest of drawers where she took the brown laudanum bottle and, with shaking hands, poured out a teaspoonful.
Jemma dawdled, folding up the stays and putting them away.
Miss Rutherford gulped down the liquid, grimacing at its bitter taste. She licked her lips and then poured herself another teaspoon, which she sipped more delicately.
‘I have a dreadful headache and need my medicine for the pain,’ explained Miss Rutherford, returning the bottle to its tray.
Miss Rutherford kicked off her shoes and peeled off her stockings, flinging them onto the floor.
Jemma raised her eyebrows and stooped to pick up the discarded items. She moved around the room silently, shaking out the grey gown and hanging it in the wardrobe, then folding each of the petticoats.
Miss Rutherford lay down on the bed, her head propped on pillows, a rug tossed over her body. Gradually, her stiff posture relaxed and a dreamy look came over her face. Jemma noticed her pupils had constricted to pinpoints.
‘Could you draw the curtains for me please J … J … Jane, I mean Jenny, dear child?’ slurred Miss Rutherford lethargically. ‘I’m going to have a little rest. I do hope you are happy here with us. It’s a lovely place Rosethorne, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted it … It is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen … I love Rosethorne, more than anything else … Thank you, Janey. You can leave me now.’
Jemma gathered up her bucket and rags and quietly slipped out of the room, her head buzzing with everything she had seen.
In the kitchen, Agnes had planned her revenge. Jemma and Connie had to scrub the kitchen floor again. An iron bucket held hot water and lye. The girls had to scour the floor on their hands and knees with wooden scrubbing brushes and sandsoap, then mop up the dirty water with rags.
The petticoats did little to pad their knees from the hard floor, and the harsh alkaline lye made Jemma’s hands sting and burn. Her arms ached as she rubbed back and forth, and the sweat ran down her forehead, stinging her eyes.
‘Sorry, Connie,’ apologised Jemma. ‘It’s my fault we have to scrub this floor again. If I hadn’t stood up to Agnes she wouldn’t be so angry. I should just have stayed quiet.’
‘And let her
beat me?’ replied Connie. ‘Don’t you worry. It’s worth every second to see Agnes in trouble with Miss Rutherford. And when she sprawled at your feet – I thought I was going to die laughing. It was a sweet scene indeed.’
In the evening, Jemma escaped to the garden at dusk to pick flowers for Miss Rutherford’s dinner tray, carrying a flat basket over her arm and a pair of sharp scissors. She wandered through the garden, inhaling the scent of lavender, gardenias and roses. To the west, she saw the sun setting in a blaze of crimson and hot pink, then to the east she saw a huge full moon majestically climbing into the sky. It shone golden bright, glittering a pathway across the black bay.
A full moon, thought Jemma. I wonder if it’s a full moon at home?
Sighing, Jemma twisted her ivory rose pendant and wondered what her mum and dad were doing now, and Ruby and Sammy, and everyone else she had left behind.
When all the evening chores had been done, she followed Connie upstairs, changed into her nightclothes and climbed into bed, turning off the kerosene lamp.
‘Connie, when I was in Miss Rutherford’s room, I found a box of arsenic wafers,’ said Jemma in the darkness. ‘Do you know what they’re for?’
Connie snorted.
‘’Course, lots of ladies take arsenic wafers to make them more beautiful. It gives them that pale, frail, helpless, ladylike look.’
‘But arsenic is a deadly poison?’ asked Jemma.
‘Only if you take too many tablets at once,’ explained Connie. ‘Lots of ladies put arsenic and lead powder on their face to make their skin whiter and softer. I’ve thought of doing it to get rid of my freckles.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ exclaimed Jemma, sitting up straight.
Connie just grunted in reply, turning over and pulling the blanket over her head.
‘Connie, have you thought about leaving here and going back to school?’ suggested Jemma. ‘If you could just finish school, then you could train as a teacher or a nurse or something, and it would be a much better life than scrubbing floors forever.’
‘Hmmmph,’ replied Connie. ‘Can you please go to sleep!’
Connie was soon deep in slumber, breathing rhythmically. Jemma tossed and turned but couldn’t get comfortable.
At last, Jemma slipped out of bed, grabbing a blanket to throw over her long nightdress, and crept down the stairs. She felt she should sleep in Georgiana’s room again, to keep her safe.
‘Who’s there?’ whispered Georgiana in fright as Jemma opened the door with a creak.
‘Shhh. It’s only me – Jemma. I thought I’d sleep in here with you, if that’s all right? I can sleep on the floor on the rug.’
‘Oh,’ replied Georgiana, sounding relieved. ‘Sure – are you worried about me? I do feel so much better.’
Jemma tiptoed over towards Georgiana’s bed and made a pallet for herself on the floor once more, using the cushion from the armchair. Through the window, the garden was bathed in bright, cold moonlight, creating strange shadows that looked like creatures of the night. The lace curtains stirred in the slight breeze from the open window.
‘You know, Georgiana, yesterday when you were so terribly sick – what else did you have to eat or drink besides Agnes’s gruel?’ asked Jemma. ‘Can you remember?’
Georgiana shrugged in the shadows, thumping her pillow to make it softer.
‘Nothing much – porridge and tea for breakfast – then more tea – and Aunt Harriet brought me some pills just before lunch …’
‘Pills?’ demanded Jemma, sitting up abruptly and forgetting to whisper. ‘What kind of pills? Were they small, white wafers? And how many did you have?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’ asked Georgiana. ‘Aunt Harriet said Doctor Anderson had said I must take three tablets to help me sleep. She said she wanted to watch me take them so she knew I was following Doctor Anderson’s instructions. Aunt Harriet said she was worried I hadn’t been taking all my medicine lately … though I don’t know how she guessed. That was just shortly before you brought the gruel up …’
‘Promise me, Georgiana, that you will never take any of those pills from your Aunt Harriet again,’ Jemma insisted. ‘Ever!’
Jemma reached over and shook Georgiana’s leg to emphasise her point.
‘Why? Do you think the pills might have made me ill? I’m sure Doctor Anderson wouldn’t give me medicine that would make me sick. He’s such a caring, lovely man.’
‘No, not Doctor Anderson, but … but … Perhaps your aunt accidently gave you the wrong dose … or gave you pills that weren’t really meant for you …’ Jemma couldn’t bear to tell Georgiana that perhaps her only living relative was trying to murder her.
Why? Why would Harriet Rutherford want to murder her niece – daughter of her only sister?
‘Georgiana … Who owns this house?’ asked Jemma.
‘Why, I do,’ replied Georgiana. ‘At least it’s held in trust for me until I turn twenty-one. Papa left me all his money and shares, along with the house, with Aunt Harriet as my guardian until I come of age, which is not for another nine years.’
‘And say something terrible happened to you before you turned twenty-one, who would inherit everything?’
Georgiana shrugged. ‘Well, Aunt Harriet I guess, as she’s my only living relative, but that’s unlikely. She’s years older and will surely pass away before me. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, no particular reason,’ Jemma replied. ‘Is Doctor Anderson coming tomorrow to check on you?’
‘Yes, he said he’ll come at about nine o’clock, when he’s on his rounds.’
‘That’s good,’ answered Jemma. ‘We’ll talk to him then.’
Jemma settled down onto her hard bed, disturbed but relieved that she felt she had solved the mystery. Tomorrow she would present all the evidence, including the arsenic wafers, to Doctor Anderson – surely he would believe her now and do something to stop Harriet Rutherford. She drifted off to sleep, truly relaxed for the first time in days.
It was much, much later when something woke Jemma – a creaking. The full moon was shining right inside Georgiana’s room, leaving pools of liquid light on the floor. Jemma wriggled away from the glow, deeper into the shadows beside Georgiana’s bed, falling quickly back towards sleep.
The creak sounded again, intruding through Jemma’s sleepy fug. Her eyes flickered open as consciousness slowly returned.
Jemma suddenly breathed in deeply. The creak had come from inside Georgiana’s room. Someone was in there! Jemma could see a white figure floating slowly across the room. A ghost!
Jemma shrank down onto the floorboards, trying to make herself invisible, her heart thumping in fear. Jemma hardly dared to breathe; her eyes were round and huge, peering into the dimness. Then she closed her eyes, willing the apparition to disappear, but when she opened them again the apparition was closer, floating towards her.
Jemma smelt something sweet, floral and oddly familiar.
The apparition stumbled over Jemma, then bent over the bed, seemingly unaware of her presence. The figure placed something over Georgiana’s face, pressing down. With a jolt of terror, Jemma realised it was a thick feather pillow, suffocating Georgiana.
Jemma screamed. Georgiana gasped and then struggled as the pillow smothered her face. She fought free, hitting up with arms and legs.
‘Jemma! Jemma! Help me, Jemma!’ screamed Georgiana desperately, breaking free momentarily. The pillow plunged down again, covering Georgiana’s nose and mouth, suffocating her, stealing her life.
Jemma leapt to her feet and charged the apparition, punching, pulling and pushing it. Georgiana screamed again – a long, piercing cry that was hastily cut off by the smothering pillow. The apparition pushed down with iron strength. Georgiana was weak, sick, tired. She struggled more and more futilely, then collapsed.
Jemma found the edge of the pillow in the darkness and pulled with a strength born of fear. The apparition and Jemma tussled for control, back and forth, before Jemma won, seizing the pill
ow and hurling it across the room. The apparition turned on Jemma, flailing, punching, kicking.
Jemma grunted with pain and retreated.
A lamp flared, flooding the room with golden light. Georgiana, pale and shaking, held up the lamp, her eyes huge with terror. The attacking figure wasn’t a ghost – it was Harriet Rutherford in a white nightdress, her long hair streaked with grey tumbling down her back.
Miss Rutherford snarled at Jemma like a wild animal, her pupils constricted, her hands clenched like claws.
‘You,’ she spat. ‘You devil’s spawn.’
Miss Rutherford launched at Jemma again, scratching at her face. Her fingers grasped around Jemma’s neck and squeezed. Georgiana screamed again.
‘You’re on Rose’s side,’ accused Miss Rutherford, shaking Jemma. ‘My perfect sister. Everyone loves her. Everyone gives her all the attention. She even stole my beau. I should have been the one to marry him. I should have been the one to be given this house. Not her. Not Rose.’
Jemma choked and struggled, trying to free herself.
‘Aunt Harriet!’ pleaded Georgiana, her voice raw. ‘You’re hurting Jemma.’
Over Miss Rutherford’s shoulder, Jemma could see first Agnes, then Connie and Ned rush into the room, summoned by the frantic screams.
‘Miss Rutherford!’ screeched Agnes. ‘What on earth are you doing? Stop it. Please stop it! You’re not yourself – you’re having one of your turns!’
Miss Rutherford faltered at the sound of Agnes’s voice. Her hands slipped and tangled in the fine gold chain hanging around Jemma’s throat.
‘She was trying to kill Georgiana,’ gasped Jemma. ‘She’s been poisoning Georgiana with arsenic pills.’
‘No,’ cried Agnes. ‘Miss Rutherford isn’t well, but she wouldn’t kill anyone.’
Miss Rutherford paused, her eyes wide with fear and madness, then lunged violently towards Jemma.
‘Jemma,’ yelled Ned, his face pale with concern.
The gold chain tangled around Miss Rutherford’s finger and snapped, sending the ivory pendant skittering across the floor and into the shadows. Miss Rutherford struck Jemma again, sending her reeling. Ned charged forward, running to Jemma’s rescue.
The Ivory Rose Page 19