by Dean James
Luke de Montfort stepped between them, his face dark with anger. “Millbank, I cannot believe you lied to me. You told me your scheme had the complete approval of the landowners here. God’s blood, man, why did you lie to me?”
“My, my, what a dramatic little gathering this is.” The cool amusement in the newcomer’s voice startled everyone. Tristan Lovelace, dressed in the black robes of a Benedictine monk, strode forward into the pavilion. Though he had not had himself tonsured to complete the effect, Tris made an imposing figure as a monk.
Several voices rose at once, and the resulting din made my head ache. Lady Prunella was screeching at Millbank, and Luke added his voice to her complaints. Millbank, beleaguered on two sides, tried to compensate by raising his voice to drown out both of theirs. Adele de Montfort clutched her brother’s arm, babbling away, as if she feared he would strike someone. Indeed, he did appear angry enough to do violence to someone.
I looked at Tris, a question in my eyes. He nodded and held up three fingers. On the count of three, we thundered in unison. “Quiet!”
Our combined voices were so loud I swear the table rattled, but we achieved the desired effect. The quarreling ceased.
“That’s better,” I said. “None of you will solve anything by this screaming at one another. Either you all sit down to dinner and behave in a civilized fashion, or take it elsewhere.” I took turns glaring at Millbank, de Montfort, and Lady Prunella. Even Luke quailed slightly at the scowl on my face.
Totsye stepped forward and in a quivering voice asked everyone to be seated. Wonder of wonders, no one left. All the combatants meekly found their places and sat down. Totsye dithered about the table, pouring mead for everyone. She held a cup up at an angle, then tilted the pitcher to fill the cup. She called out for someone named Adelisa as she worked her way around the table, but there was no response.
“Where can that girl be?” Having finished pouring the mead, Totsye went to the door of the pavilion and peered out. “Well, drat the girl, she’s disappeared.”
“Who could blame her?” Tris said to me in an undertone. “She probably heard all the yelling and decided she wanted nothing to do with this farce.”
I nodded to Tris but got up from my place next to him and went to Totsye, standing indecisively in the opening of the tent.
“We shall have to serve ourselves,” Totsye said, turning to me with a frown. “That girl! I suppose she was frightened.”
“No doubt,” I said, “but it’s no matter. We’re perfectly capable of serving ourselves. Where is the food?”
“The dratted girl was supposed to deliver it with the help of a couple of men, but they’re nowhere in sight!” She wrung her hands. “Oh, dear, what shall we do?”
I was just about to offer to go in search of the missing food, when a scream from behind us startled us both.
Adele de Montfort was on her feet, staring down in horror at her brother, writhing on the ground. “Luke! Oh my God, somebody help him!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Everyone stared at the stricken man clutching his stomach as he twisted and turned on the ground. He wheezed and gasped for breath.
His sister continued to scream, until we all snapped out of our shock and began moving in to help. Lady Prunella and Totsye took hold of Adele and moved her out of the way. Tris got down on his knees beside Luke and attempted to help him, but Luke kept twisting and turning, then he vomited. Tris jerked aside barely in time to avoid getting splattered.
“He’s been poisoned,” I said to Giles and Murdo Millbank. “Is there a doctor anywhere in the camp?” I raised my voice, and Totsye heard me.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll get her at once.” She pushed Adele into Lady Prunella’s arms and darted through us and out of die tent
“Tell her he’s been poisoned,” I moved quickly to the opening to call after her. She raised a hand and waved to acknowledge me as she bustled away. “Giles, help your mother,” I said, coming back to the table. “Millbank, do you have a mobile with you?” He stared at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, then nodded. “Call for an ambulance, then,” I snapped at him. He pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers.
I joined Tris on the ground with Luke. He had ceased writhing and now lay still, except for his la-bored breathing. I felt completely helpless. “What do you think, Tris?”
Tris stared bleakly down at his former protege. “He was poisoned,” Tris said, “and I’d be willing to bet it was digitalis. I’ve seen it before.” Something in his expression warned me not to question his knowledge. I shivered.
“What can we do for him?” I asked.
“Not much,” Tris said. “We need to try to keep him breathing, keep his throat from becoming constricted. He’s already vomited a bit, at least. We can’t do much without a doctor. If she doesn’t have some potassium chloride or some form of atropine, I don’t know if he can survive long enough for us to get him to a hospital.”
Tris and I tended Luke as best we could while we waited for help to arrive. Tris held Luke gently while Luke vomited up what looked like the remains of one of the fried fig pastries Totsye had set at each place. Not a pleasant sight, but it did give me pause for thought. Frowning, I got up and looked at the table.
I quickly found Luke’s place at the table, and there was just one complete pastry on his plate. He had eaten one, then been overcome. How could the fig pastry have been poisoned? Were both of the pastries on his plate poisoned?
Before I could contemplate the question any further, a tall, very young woman dressed in simple robes came running into the tent, toting a hefty Gladstone bag. The doctor had arrived. Breathing heavily from exertion, Totsye came in almost on the doctor’s heels.
The doctor, who seemed barely old enough to have qualified, knelt beside Luke and commenced examining him, checking his vital signs, while Tris tersely explained his theory about digitalis poisoning. The doctor listened to his heart beat, then checked his pulse. She opened her bag and rummaged until she found a small bottle of some solution and a needle. Without being prompted, Tris held one of Luke’s arms and pulled the sleeve of his gown up to give the doctor access to a vein.
The injection ready, the doctor stuck the needle into Luke’s arm. We all watched in horrified fascination. Would what the doctor just injected help Luke? Was it some kind of antidote?
“An ambulance is on the way,” Murdo Millbank announced into the tense silence.
Adele de Montfort broke out into fresh, loud sobs, and Totsye and Lady Prunella tried to com-fort her. The doctor watched her patient, who had grown very still. Tris looked up, and I met his eyes. They held no hope for Luke’s recovery. Tris bent his head again, and I speculated. Was this his doing? Had Tris poisoned Luke?
Tris seemed awfully certain about the poison. How did he know so much about poisons? He seemed to know more than the doctor, at least Had he used poison in the past to rid himself of someone causing a problem like the one Luke had posed?
No, surely Tris wasn’t the poisoner.
If not Tris, who? Was it someone in the tent with us now? I concentrated and tried to get a reading on the various emotions emanating from the people around me. I could feel fear and horror, and even pity, but from nowhere could I get any sense of satisfaction, no feeling that someone here was happy over what had occurred.
That made me nervous. Surely, if one of the persons in this tent had brought this about, he or she would be feeling quite happy over Luke’s condition. But if it were Tris, then I wouldn’t be able to read him. Another vampire could successfully hide his emotions from me, unlike the humans around us. Unless they were extraordinarily skilled at hiding their feelings.
Uneasy, I stared at Tris. For a moment, he held my gaze, and I had the strangest feeling he was assessing me. Surely he couldn’t think that I had poisoned Luke. The idea was ludicrous.
I had never seen Tris look at me like that. Perhaps he thought I had poisoned Luke to protect him from Luke’s blackmail scheme.
No, that was too absurd. Even with his colossal ego, Tris couldn’t think I would kill someone for him, at least not for such a reason. He knew me better than that
We all became aware of commotion outside the tent Eager for something to do, I moved to the doorway and looked out A crowd had gathered, and the babble of excited voices was growing louder by the moment I was just about to shush them when Harald Knutson pushed through the crowd to stand in front of me.
“What the devil is going on in there?”
“Luke de Montfort has been taken ill,” I said, choosing my words carefully. I didn’t want to cause any kind of panic or start rumors flying just yet. Time enough for that later. I raised my voice. “The doctor is with him, and an ambulance has been called.”
In an undertone, I continued, “Come on, man, use whatever authority you have, and get these people to disperse. They’re not doing anyone a bit of good milling about like this.”
Knutson stared at me as if he would object to my giving him orders, but then he turned to face the crowd around us. He held his hands up, and quickly the throng fell silent. “Everyone, please go back to what you were doing. The Duke of Wessex has fallen ill. All is well in hand here, and we need to make room for the emergency team.”
Almost upon the words, we heard the ululation of the siren as it approached. Knutson continued to exhort the excited crowd, and slowly they began to trickle away.
I stepped back inside arid moved to stand near Tris and Luke, still recumbent on the ground. Eyeing him critically, I could see that he was still breathing, shallowly. The doctor watched him with considerable anxiety. No one else in the room moved or said a word as we waited for the emergency personnel to arrive.
Time seemed to hang suspended, but it really was perhaps only two minutes later that the cavalry arrived. Everyone except Tris and the doctor left the tent to give the EMTs plenty of room to work. A tense silence had fallen over the area immediately around Totsye’s pavilion as we waited.
Moving quickly and efficiently, the EMTs brought Luke out on a stretcher. One of them held an IV bag, and the doctor from the encampment scurried along with them as they moved the patient through the grounds. Adele de Montfort, still sniveling, went with them, and the doctor reached out a comforting arm to her as they disappeared through the tents. A couple of minutes later, we heard the siren once more as the ambulance began the journey to the nearest casualty center in Bedford.
“Did anyone call the police?” I asked, turning to Millbank.
He blinked at me. “When I called, I told them it was suspected that the poisoning was deliberate. The operator said he would inform the local constabulary.”
That meant my friend Detective Inspector Robin Chase would likely get the call, unless he were off duty. I hoped that Robin did come, because I respected his intelligence and professionalism. I also appreciated his willingness to listen to my ideas and to accept my assistance. He might take exception, however, to finding me at the scene of yet another potential murder.
“You did this!” The screech of Totsye Titchmarsh’s accusation startled all of us. I turned to see to whom it was directed.
Totsye had advanced upon Harald Knutson, who was standing just inside the doorway of the tent He stepped back against the canvas to the side of the opening in reaction to Totsye’s onslaught. “Did what? What are you talking about you harridan?”
Totsye got right up in his face and shook a finger at him. “You poisoned Luke, that’s what you did! You knew he was going to defeat you, and you took the coward’s way out.”
A slap rang out and Knutson slumped hard against the side of the pavilion. For a moment I feared he might pull the whole thing down on top of us all, but he righted himself quickly. The pavilion shivered from the impact but otherwise remained sturdy.
“You’re a lunatic, Totsye,” Knutson said, rubbing his cheek. “I did not poison Luke, and I’ll see you in court if you persist in such irresponsible talk.”
“It’s exactly the kind of cowardly thing you would do,” Totsye said, her anger undiminished. “Sneaky, underhanded, devious. Coward!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” Knutson said, raising his voice. “And just how would I have poisoned Luke? It was your tent he was dining in, not mine. How do we know that you didn’t poison him yourself? Who had a better opportunity to do it than you?”
“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Totsye sputtered back at him. “Everyone knows in what high regard I hold Luke. Why should I want to poison him?”
“High regard,” Knutson said in a sneering tone. That’s a laugh, that is! You’re besotted with the man, that’s what you are. But you don’t have the sense to know that he’s never going to return the feeling. He’s a ponce, for god’s sake. He doesn’t like women!” He hooted with laughter. “You’re a laughingstock, because you keep chasing after a man who’d never want you in a million years. I daresay you finally got fed up and decided to do away with him. He turned you down one too many times, didn’t he?”
Totsye had grown increasingly pale as she stood before Knutson, listening to his venomous attack. That’s not true,” she said feebly. “It’s not true. It’s not!”
Sobbing now, she turned away, and Murdo Millbank was there, surprisingly, offering her his shoulder. He tucked an arm protectively around her and patted her awkwardly with his other hand. She cried so hard his robe would be soaked in no time.
“You’re a prat, Knutson,” Millbank said in fierce tones. “I had no idea just what a wanker you are, but now I see with me own eyes just what everyone else has been telling me.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Knutson,” I said, step-ping forward, “but weren’t you and one of your henchmen here in this very tent, speaking with Totsye, when Giles and I arrived earlier this evening?”
He looked blankly at me.
“Surely you remember,” I said. “The two of you almost knocked me and Giles down, you were in such haste to leave.”
“What of it?” Knutson replied, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“I’m just saying that you, or your lackey perhaps, did indeed have an opportunity to poison the duke.”
“Ridiculous! I did no such thing, nor did Guillaume.”
“I didn’t say you actually did it, Knutson. I merely observed that you had the opportunity.” I smiled at him. “And I’m certain that the police will be following up on that when they investigate.”
“Yes, we will,” observed a cool voice from the opening of the tent. Detective Inspector Robin Chase stepped into view, and behind him I could see several other police personnel.
“Good evening, everyone,” Robin said as he moved further inside the tent. “Professor Kirby-Jones. How unusual to find you here.”
“Evening, Detective Inspector,” I said. No doubt the others around me heard the irony in Robin’s voice as he greeted me, but that didn’t bother me one whit.
“I’m afraid I must ask you all to vacate this tent,” Robin continued. “In situations such as this, we must investigate, and we’ll need to secure the scene of the unfortunate event.”
Two of his men held open the tent flaps, and slowly the entire dinner party, plus Knutson, moved outside. Robin addressed us again once we were outside. “Please remain nearby for the moment I shall need to speak with each of you, and I will endeavor to do so in as timely a manner as possible.” Without waiting for our assent, Robin turned back into the tent Moments later, in the quiet around us, I could hear the chirping of a mobile phone. Robin answered and spoke in low tones, so low that even I couldn’t make out his words.
Robin now came to the door of the tent. He regarded us solemnly. “I regret to inform you that Mister d’Amboise has died.”
Making a small sound of distress, Totsye Titchmarsh slipped from the shelter of Murdo Millbank’s arms and crumpled on the ground in a faint.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pushing the ineffectual Millbank aside, Lady Prunella knelt beside her stricken school friend. Sh
e grabbed one of Totsye’s hands and began chafing it between her own. “Totsye dear!” She kept railing the woman’s name.
After a minute or so, Totsye slowly began to come around. “What happened?” she inquired in a weak voice. As I watched, I could see the memory of what had caused her to faint come back to her. Lady Prunella and Millbank helped her to her feet, and she leaned heavily on Lady Prunella.
“Oh, dear, what shall I do?” Totsye said, looking piteously about her.
“There’s nothing to do, Totsye dear,” Lady Prunella assured her kindly. “We must find you a place to rest. You have had quite a shock, my dear.”
“Oh, yes,” Totsye replied, almost whispering. “Poor, dear Luke. Whatever shall I do?”
She was acting more like a bereaved spouse than a friend. Had she really deluded herself to that extent? Had she truly believed that Luke returned her feelings?
Across the way, a woman called out, “Please bring the poor dear in here. I’ve a place for her to rest.”
Lady Prunella and Totsye hobbled gratefully into the tent, away from the prying eyes of the encampment. The crowd had gathered again, but they were quiet, perhaps in respect for the fallen Duke of Wessex. Judging from their faces, I figured the news had spread rapidly through the encampment.
Many eyes were fixed on the king, and I wondered whether he would make some sort of announcement, now that official word had come of Luke’s death. As I watched, Knutson opened his mouth to speak, but Robin Chase interrupted him before he could utter a word.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Robin said, projecting his voice to reach all those now gathered around Totsye’s pavilion, “I regret to inform you that a tragic accident has occurred. Mr. Luc d’Amboise has died, and since the circumstances of his death are somewhat uncertain, we must investigate.” Robin went on to introduce himself and his men, then concluded with, “We will endeavor to disrupt your proceedings as little as possible, but I would remind you that we will need to gather information, and your cooperation will be greatly appreciated.”