“Have it your way, then!” Mrs. Agatha conceded, “But ’twill be you they bury first. He’ll kill you and never even know he’s done it. ’Tis the way of the curse.”
“Enough!”
Mrs. Agatha closed her mouth tightly, stared down her long nose for a moment then with a nod to the other servants, left the room. Everyone else, save Dorcas and Finella, followed behind her.
“That didn’t go well,” Dorcas muttered.
Larissa turned a baleful eye on the maid. “No. It most assuredly did not.”
Finella rose then, leaning heavily on her cane. “You’ve a way of stirring things up, my girl. Best lock your door tonight and sleep with one eye open. Katherine isn’t one to cross. I warned Spencer about it this morning.”
“Is she trying to kill him?” Larissa demanded.
Finella shrugged. “I couldn’t say what goes through her mind, dear, only that she tends to hold a grudge for a while.”
“Finella, everyone keeps alluding to this curse, but I find that no one can actually specify what the curse is. Do you know what it is?” Larissa asked.
The old woman made a tsking sound. “Of course, I do, child! Wasn’t it my own grandmother who placed it upon the Kinraven men?”
“Can you spare a few moments to tell me about it. Please?” Larissa asked. “I can’t very well combat something when I don’t even understand what it is.”
“I’ll see you in the study, dear. I’ll tell you what I know and I’ll show you the rest.”
To Dorcas, she asked, “How much do you know about hemlock?”
“Enough to stay away from it,” the woman muttered.
Larissa stepped into the hallway and found the valet awaiting her orders. “Forrester, can you stay with him for a bit? Perhaps there is a volume on herbs or medicine in the library that might have some pertinent information for us. I’ll look into it after I talk with Finella. ”
“Of course, miss. What should I do if he awakens?” the man asked, clearly unnerved.
“If need be, ring for the footmen. They can help you subdue him. I hesitate to say it, but I feel that restraining him physically rather than medicinally is the better option… at least until we have some idea what is prompting these episodes,” Larissa added. “Dorcas, come with me.”
“Do I have to?”
Would the woman actually be any help? No. She would not. Larissa threw her hands up. “No, you do not have to stay in the library with me… but go to the kitchen and prepare a pot of tea, please. I will need it.”
“Fine,” Dorcas groused and headed out.
Forrester frowned. “I do not believe I have ever encountered any servant so ill equipped to be a servant, miss. My apologies if my opinion is unwanted.”
That brought a chuckle from her. “Ill equipped is a very kind way of phrasing it, Forrester. I think Dorcas might be more of a companion than a servant.”
“But shouldn’t one desire her companionship?”
Larissa smiled as she headed for the library. “She’s an acquired taste, Forrester. Or perhaps his lordship’s madness is a contagion… I’m beginning to actually like her.”
The valet shuddered in distaste as he climbed the stairs to watch over his master. Larissa stood there in the hall for a moment. She drew in a deep breath and willed away the tears that threatened. Spencer had been mad. He’d had no concept of what he was doing and while he’d recognized her initially, by the time he’d attacked, she wasn’t sure what it was that he saw, she only knew that it wasn’t just her standing there before him. He’d seen something, someone else standing there, something that wasn’t Larissa.
Larissa sighed heavily as the feeling of being so very far out of her depth washed over her. She was drowning, but hers wasn’t the only life at stake here. She was responsible for Spencer, for Dorcas, and for Forrester. She’d drawn Dorcas into this mess inadvertently and by making Forrester a public ally, she’d all but pinned a target on him for whomever was the ultimate source of Spencer’s symptoms. There was no doubt in her mind that whatever was happening with him was of man, or woman, made origin. Of course, if Spencer managed to murder her or do harm to himself before she discovered the source, it wouldn’t matter.
She took another deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the study. Finella would tell her what she could and then she would begin the arduous task of identifying whatever substance might be causing Spencer’s symptoms.
As she entered the study, she saw Finella before the bookshelves. The old woman withdrew a particular volume and placed it on the desk. “That book is what you’ll be most interested in. It was my grandmother’s grimoire.”
Grimoire. Larissa paused mid-stride, stunned by such a frank admission. She recovered quickly and moved deeper into the room. “Your grandmother was a witch?”
“A healer … midwife… and yes, a witch.” The older woman turned to stare at her over her shoulder, her assessment cool and a little hard. “Do you find that shocking?”
Larissa realized immediately that how she answered that question would determine whether or not the aged spinster would be friend or foe. “That she was a witch? No. I don’t find it shocking. I was merely taken aback that you admitted it so freely and without censure. Many hold such persons in a very unfavorable light.”
Finella cocked an eyebrow at her and it was the first time that Larissa saw any family resemblance between the residents of Kinraven. She made a mental note to look into the family tree and find out precisely how Spencer was related to both Finella and Katherine.
“Many people… but not you?” Finella queried astutely. “All of the Kinraven women have been gifted. Though I daresay none as gifted as you.”
Honesty would get her much further than caution. “My own family,” Larissa admitted, “has a long history of having certain abilities that set us apart and often saw us labeled as your grandmother was. Many of my ancestors paid the price for being so gifted.”
Finella nodded. “As did she. Though the truth of it is that her husband cared naught about her dabbling. But when he wished to wed his mistress who was about to give him a child—one she swore would be a son—it was a convenient way to rid himself of an unwanted wife.”
“He cast her aside and annulled the marriage?”
Finella cackled humorlessly. “He did, but that was not enough for his mistress! She wanted my grandmother eradicated. So he turned her over to the witch hunters. They burned her right there in the courtyard. My poor, dear mother saw the whole thing.”
Larissa’s blood ran cold. The very thought of it left her dizzy and weak. “I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been for her,” she finally managed.
Finella ran her fingers over the cover of the book. The leather was old and cracked. Pages had been added so that the cover bowed. “After she was gone, he allowed my mother to remain in the house, he continued to claim her as his when he could have cast her out, though her position in the household was not so exalted as it once had been… they called her the devil’s bastard, primarily at the insistence of her stepmother.”
“That’s terrible. The poor child,” Larissa murmured, unable to fathom how horrific it had been.
“Aye. Her life was a misery here. My grandfather’s new wife treated her a servant rather than a daughter of the house. She married young and left, but my father was killed at Culloden so my mother, my sister and I returned here.”
“Your sister?” Larissa prompted.
“Katherine’s grandmother. She died of a fever when Katherine was only a girl. The earl at the time was a tight fisted miser. He allowed us to remain here but treated us more like servants than family. I was younger then and more able to work… People spoke more freely about the curse then. Katherine grew up hearing of her great grandmother’s death and of the curse she hurled upon her husband’s head just before they lit the pyre.”
Larissa sank into one of the chairs. “What was the curse exactly?”
“That no man who hel
d the title of Kinraven would know peace or happiness. That misery and death would stalk them all from the moment they donned the mantle… that any woman who dared love them would meet a fate just as gruesome, lest she be a Kinraven herself.”
“And has that held true?” Larissa demanded.
“In the last twelve years, five different men have held that title. Not one of them would agree to wed Katherine, though most of them were all too eager to bed her. They wanted a bride with a fortune. The means to end the curse was right in front of them and none would take it. What do you think?”
“I’d be very curious to know what happened to the earls that preceded them. Were their lives shortened to such a degree or is all this a more recent development? Perhaps developing after Katherine became of a marriageable age?”
Finella smiled coldly. “Tread lightly, my dear. Seeking answers others do not wish you to find can have dreadful consequences.”
“They cannot possibly be worse than what is happening right now. Spencer is in misery. When he’s himself, he lives in terror of the moments he won’t be. And when he isn’t, I cannot even imagine what horrors he sees to prompt such violence from him.”
Finella once again traced the intricate pattern on the cover of the worn book. “You may find something in here to help, but what I have no idea. I never had any interest in my grandmother’s ways. That was left to my sister and her daughter.”
“And your grandniece?” Larissa demanded.
Finella leaned heavily on her cane as she stepped toward the door. “I’ve told you more than I ought to already. You’re a good girl and I don’t want to see you hurt. Be prudent in your choices, dear… I fear you should not have come to Kinraven. It will bring you naught but misery.”
Chapter Six
Dorcas slipped into the kitchen as quietly as possible. It wasn’t in her nature to do things quietly as a general rule, but she didn’t want another run-in with the housekeeper. Earlier in the day the woman had caught her slipping into the pantry for a little nip of the whiskey she’d found there. It wasn’t gin, but it was better than naught.
It wouldn’t hurt to have another sip, she thought. The stress of the evening had taken a toll on her after all, she reckoned. Opening the door to the pantry, Dorcas heard the hushed voices coming down the opposite hall. Without hesitating, she stepped all the way into the pantry and squeezed herself into a small cupboard there. It was tight, but she would just as soon avoid having to explain her presence to anyone.
She recognized the cook’s voice immediately, but couldn’t make out who the other person was. “She gave him too much!”
“I thought for sure he’d killed her!”
“If’n he don’t,” the cook said, “Miss Katherine might. I’ve never seen her so mad. When she was a child, she had this kitten… like all kittens do, it scratched her one day. Never seen nor heard of that kitten again.”
The pantry door opened and another woman stepped inside. Her back was to the cupboard so Dorcas couldn’t see her face, but the black fabric of the dress looked suspiciously like Mrs. Agatha.
“Enough gossip. See to your chores,” Mrs. Agatha said. The unknown servant left, and the cook and housekeeper faced off against one another. Mrs. Agatha was the first to break the silence. “Did you do it?”
“Do what?” the cook asked.
“Did you put it in his tea?”
The cook drew herself up to her full height and glared at the housekeeper. “I wouldn’t do such a thing! I’ve never!”
“Well, see that you don’t! With that busybody, upstart miss here putting her nose into everything, heaven only knows what kind of accusations will be hurled around. This time, she’ll have to do her own dirty work,” Mrs. Agatha said and held out her hand.
The cook reached into her apron and pulled out a small vial. “That’s the last of it from me.”
Mrs. Agatha nodded. “Make sure the others know. For now, it all comes to a halt. I don’t care what she says.”
Inside the cupboard, Dorcas’ eyes were the size of saucers. The plot was unfolding right in front of her. Ooh, she needed to get back and tell Miss Larissa everything she’d heard!
The two servants walked out of the pantry, and though it pained her to do so, Dorcas stayed where she was for several minutes. Finally, when she was certain she was alone, she opened the cupboard door and carefully climbed out. Rather than simply burst through the doors, lest someone was waiting on the other side of them, she pressed her face to the gap in the wooden slats and looked out into the kitchen. The cook was standing before the stove. She stirred a pot carefully and as Dorcas looked on, retrieved a vial from her apron pocket similar to the one she’d surrendered to Mrs. Agatha. The cook placed three drops of the liquid into the pan she stirred before transferring the contents into a bowl. She placed it on a tray and then rang for the maid.
“You’re to take that to the lordship’s chamber,” the cook said. “Make sure he gets it all. Spoon it down his throat if you have to. Tell the valet ‘tis on Miss Walters’ orders.”
The maid nodded and walked away with the tray. Dorcas took a deep breath. She’d never get past the cook. Of course, if the cook were knocked out somehow, she thought, it wouldn’t such a problem. Looking about the pantry, Dorcas settled on a heavy butter crock. Hefting in her hands, she positioned herself behind the door and then kicked the rack of pots and pans, setting them all to clanging.
“Filthy rats!” the cook was cursing as she pushed open the pantry door.
Dorcas took one look at the heavy rolling pin in the hefty woman’s hands and didn’t hesitate as she brought the heavy butter crock down on the woman’s head with a solid thud. The cook sank to the ground and Dorcas stepped over her quickly, running as fast as her legs would carry her back to the library and Miss Larissa.
The cook, stunned but still conscious, was screaming and cursing behind her. Dorcas didn’t slow. In fact, she gained speed and actually jumped over some of the furnishings in her haste.
The library door opened and Larissa stood there, staring at the woman in dismay. “Whatever is going on?”
“Poison!” Dorcas gasped.
The cook came around the corner then, her rolling pin still in her hand and murder in her eyes as she settled her gaze on Dorcas.
“That creature!” the cook began, “Is a menace!”
Dorcas ducked behind Larissa. “She’s got a bottle in her apron pocket.”
“So do you,” Larissa pointed out.
“Not gin, miss. ’Tis a bottle like from an apothecary… she was putting drops of it into something and told a maid to carry it up to his lordship and tell the valet that you sent it! They’re poisoning the earl, miss! Just like you thought!”
Larissa stared at the rather large and intimidating form of the cook and gulped nervously. “What is your name?” she asked the servant.
“Gertrude, miss.” the cook answered.
“Gertrude, I need you to empty your pockets,” Larissa said softly.
The cook glanced nervously about her. “I can’t do that, miss.”
“Yes, you can and you must. If my companion says that she saw you drugging his lordship’s food, I have to insist that you reveal me to what you have hidden in your apron pockets,” Larissa stated calmly as she held out her hand.
Several of the footmen, drawn by the commotion, had gathered near and stared on with rabid fascination. The cook, reluctantly, reached into the pocket of her apron and placed the vial in Larissa’s outstretched hand. “It ain’t what you think, miss! We’re helping ’im, I swear!”
“If you are helping him, why hide it?” Larissa demanded. Carefully, she uncorked the vial and cautiously sniffed the contents. “Ginger?”
“For protection, miss. It protects against evil and is good to clear the mind,” the cook said. She’d no sooner finished the statement than she began to weep. “We don’t want ‘im to wind up the way the other earls did! Before he started to have them spells, he was good to u
s, miss… and he paid us regular like!”
Larissa sniffed the bottle’s contents again. Ginger. “From now on, Gertrude, if you add ginger to food it should be solely for the purpose of flavor and not for any mystical reasons. Nothing, aside from the contents of the recipe itself, should be added to his lordship’s food or drink without his knowledge or consent. Is that understood?”
“Yes, miss,” the cook said, bobbing her large and rather squared head. “That woman is a menace! She broke me best crock!”
“I’m sure it was an accident,” Larissa stated.
“She broke it over my head!” Gertrude insisted.
“Oh,” Larissa said and looked back at Dorcas.
Dorcas shrugged. “I thought she was set to poison the earl!”
Larissa nodded sagely. “It was a horrible misunderstanding, Gertrude, but as you can see, both you and Dorcas have the same goal in mind… to see to the best interests and good health of the earl. We’ll call pax on all of this and each of you will return to your regular duties.”
Gertrude nodded but she cast a squinty eyed glance at Dorcas as she headed for the kitchen. It was clear that their truce was an uneasy one. Larissa turned to her companion. “You certainly know how to make an impression, Dorcas. Let’s refrain from causing bodily injury to anyone else today? There’s been enough violence in this house for one day!”
“How was I to know it wasn’t poison?”
Larissa shook her head. “You weren’t, and I do thank you for your quick thinking and willingness to jump into the fray… but I’m less interested in who is putting what in his food than I am in who is ordering them to do it. The best way to catch a criminal, Dorcas, is to let them commit their crime first.”
Dorcas rocked back on her heels. “You’re smarter than you look… cagier, too.”
“We all have our gifts,” Larissa said airily. “I’m going back to researching herbs and poisons. I can’t help but believe there is more at play here. And I need to find out more information about this alleged curse.”
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