Beatrice shook her head. “No, Hammond. It might have been best to do that from the outset, but it would be impossible to move him to such a location now without it adding insult. We’ll simply keep him in the library until Graham and Edmund have returned… have tea sent in. I’ll serve, and then—perhaps some urgent situation could arise elsewhere in the house that requires my attention?”
Hammond, clearly understanding the subtext of the conversation and her request, nodded. “Certainly, Miss. I foresee some disaster relating to a shortage of beef in the kitchen and last minute menu approvals.”
“Bless you, Hammond.”
Returning to the library, she frowned. Mr. Eaves was behind the desk and the papers that were on top of it were now in disarray. “Were you looking for something, Mr. Eaves?”
“No, Miss. Just clumsy is all. Was looking at the books on the shelf here and backed into the desk,” he lied with a too-slick smile on his thin face.
“I see.” Beatrice made a snap decision. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that I’m going to need you to wait below stairs. There’s a small sitting room that Hammond will show you to. I’m needed elsewhere in the house and won’t be able to attend you here. If you’ll come with me, Mr. Eaves?”
He appeared to be on the verge of refusing. The protest was evident on his face but was stayed at his lips. After a long moment of tense silence, he nodded. “Certainly, Miss. You lead the way,” he conceded.
Beatrice walked out into the hallway to see Hammond delivering instructions for tea. “Hammond, please show Mr. Eaves below stairs to the housekeeper’s sitting room and get him some refreshments while he waits for Lord Blakemore and Mr. Blakemore to return.”
The butler raised his eyebrows at the abrupt change of plans but recovered quickly. He nodded to Mr. Eaves, “Please follow me, sir.”
When they had gone, Beatrice retreated back into the library and went immediately to the desk and the sheaves of papers that had been disturbed. She scoured them one by one, but there was nothing that would have warranted Mr. Eaves’ snooping. Unless whatever it was that he’d found was tucked away on his person. Was he a thief and not a snoop? There was no way to verify that without making an accusation and that could be very ugly, indeed.
Plopping down into the chair, she leaned forward and pressed her heated cheek to the cool leather blotter on the desk. “Why can it not be simple?” she asked aloud.
*
Graham entered the house to find the hall empty. The butler was nowhere to be seen and the footmen were proving equally scarce. With a frown, he continued down the hall and opened the doors to the study. He’d informed Edmund he intended to look at the account books and the other man had gone off in a huff. It was a very clear indication for Graham that there would likely be more than a few discrepancies in those books.
As he stepped into the dim room, he stopped in his tracks. Beatrice sat behind the desk, her head laid over on it as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders.
“Surely it isn’t all that bad,” he said softly.
She let out a startled cry as she sat up. With her hand pressed to her breast, she glared at him. “I didn’t hear you come in! You frightened me!”
“I had not expected to find anyone in here,” he replied, then paused and favored her with a curious glance. “Why are you in here?”
“Mr. Eaves,” she said. “He arrived earlier and was shown in here.”
Graham frowned. “The investigator? Does he have information?”
“I couldn’t say,” she replied before adding in a cautious tone, “I think he isn’t here to deliver information as much as to obtain it. He played it off that he’d just bumped into the desk, but after I left him alone in here for a moment, he’d rifled through all the paperwork on the desk.”
“Where is he now?” Graham asked as he crossed the distance between them. The ledgers were in the bottom drawer and he retrieved them. Nothing appeared out of place, they were all in the order that he’d left them. Whatever he’d been looking for had nothing to do with the estate’s accounts.
“He’s below stairs in the housekeeper’s sitting room. Why are you checking the ledgers?”
Graham replaced the books and squatted on his haunches beside her. It was easier to converse when he wasn’t towering over her, and he found that he wanted to see her face, to have the pleasure of simply drinking it in. “He works for Edmund… what if he wasn’t looking to steal information but to replace it? Edmund—who has made for London, by the way—is convinced the estate is failing, but there’s no reason for it to be so. Not really. The farms are small but thriving. The tenants in the village all pay their rents timely. So where has that revenue gone?”
“To Sir Godfrey,” she answered succinctly. “Edmund is not a spender. He’s not extravagant in any measure as far as his dress or entertaining, and while Eloise certainly enjoyed dressing in the first state of fashion, that alone would not bankrupt us. But Sir Godfrey is another matter and Edmund has always been desperate for his father’s favor.”
Graham considered it carefully. “So we still have no idea who attempted to shoot me. We have no idea who pushed you off the rocks at the Cauldron and left you for dead. Mr. Eaves is an investigator and possibly a thief. There is a significant amount of money missing from the family coffers and it appears Edmund may be siphoning funds to his wastrel father. And Christopher is apparently sleeping with Edmund’s wife. Does that cover everything?”
Not entirely, she thought. Did she dare tell him what she’d seen? It bordered on insanity and the truth was she questioned the accuracy of her own vision. It was impossible for Christopher to be in two places at once and to argue that he could be would see her in bedlam.
Instead, she said softly, “Is that not enough?”
Graham pinched the bridge of his nose. As if all of that wasn’t enough to make him want to run eagerly back to the rigorous life of a sailor. “You are quite right, of course.”
“But there is one bit of good news. Your friend, Dr. Warner, has arrived,” she finished lamely. “He’s seeing to Lady Agatha now. In fact, he should already be finished with his examination.”
“Then Eaves can stew for a bit longer,” he said decisively. “Let’s go see what Warner has to say about my m—Lady Agatha.”
Beatrice had not missed his slip of the tongue and he could see from the expression on her face that she would not let it go easily. “Can you not even call her mother? It would mean so much to her,” she urged.
“And if I do and it is not true, what then?” he asked. “I need to maintain some reasonable distance in the event that we are mistaken and I am not who I believe that I am.”
That question plagued him endlessly. The small flashes of memory, a scar that may or may not be entirely coincidental, and his resemblance, on the report of others, to a man he could not recall as his father were not substantial proof for him. He needed more. He needed to have the damnable gaps in his memory filled. If Warner and his mystical methods could manage that, he’d gladly indulge him.
With Beatrice at his side, they climbed the stairs toward Lady Agatha’s room. They were still yards away when they heard the shouting.
Beatrice looked at him, eyes wide, and uttered one single word. “Crenshaw.”
Chapter Fourteen
The chaotic cacophony inside Lady Agatha’s chamber only worsened as they entered. Crenshaw was all but screeching about her innocence and persecution. Dr. Warner was valiantly trying to calm Lady Agatha who was weeping softly.
“Enough!” Graham shouted, loudly enough and forcefully enough that everyone in the room simply stopped. Not a sound was made by a single living soul in that chamber.
Impressed and more than a little envious of the skill, Beatrice waited for him to follow up. He did not disappoint. To Crenshaw he said, “Not a word from you until I have heard from Dr. Warner. Not a word!”
The maid drew herself up stiffly, her back poker straight and chin high, but she
gave a curt nod of understanding.
He turned then to the good doctor. “What the devil is going on here?”
Dr. Warner held up his hands in mock supplication while offering a charming smile. He was too handsome to be trusted, Beatrice thought with a frown.
“First, I must say that I am not accusing Mrs. Crenshaw of anything… I only asked to view all of the tonics and elixirs that have been prescribed for Lady Agatha as I think they might actually be contributing to her illness,” the doctor explained.
“Poison?” Graham clarified, his tone clearly indicating his surprise at such a hypothesis.
“Well, yes, but it may not be intentional poisoning. Until I examine the substances I will not know for sure,” Dr. Warner insisted. “And I cannot tell you how imperative it is that I do this quickly before any more time is wasted.”
“Crenshaw,” Beatrice spoke to the maid calmly, attempting to avert disaster. “Go and fetch them. No one here believes you would ever do anything to intentionally harm Lady Agatha, but perhaps Dr. Shepherd was incorrect in prescribing one of those remedies. Let us help Dr. Warner to discover that and not be a hindrance, please.”
The maid was somewhat mollified by the request and nodded curtly before leaving the room to obtain the necessary items. The door had no sooner closed behind her when Beatrice turned back to find that Graham had pinned Dr. Warner with a hard stare.
“Now tell me what is really going on here,” he demanded, his tone clipped and angry.
The doctor looked at Lady Agatha sadly. “I know this is distressing for you, my lady, but it’s best we talk about it openly.”
Agatha appeared weary and so much older than Beatrice could comprehend as she nodded her assent. “Go ahead, Doctor. It is best if they know the truth, shameful as I find it.”
Dr. Warner patted her hand in a consoling manner before explaining, “Dr. Shepherd has been giving Lady Agatha laudanum for decades. Initially, it was to negate the stress of your disappearance, my lord, but when she elected to stop taking it, he concealed it in other medications that he prescribed. Since the accident where her son—you—disappeared, she has been consuming a highly addictive substance daily!”
“How can you know that?” Beatrice asked.
Dr. Warner patted Lady Agatha’s hand reassuringly. “The symptoms of opium addiction are quite easy to identify, Miss Marlowe, and unfortunately Lady Agatha has displayed them all. Also, I noted that her pupils were heavily dilated and she admitted to me that she had taken her medications just an hour earlier. That is a hallmark of opiate usage. But there is more at stake here than simply that. Her body has become dependent upon it and it takes more and more of the substance to have the same effect and, when it is not forthcoming, it results in illness. That explains a portion of her symptoms, but not all. I believe that some of the tonics she has been given are laced with foxglove.”
“Foxglove?” Beatrice exclaimed with horror. The poison was terrifyingly effective. “Foxglove is not something that is accidentally prescribed!”
“No, it isn’t,” Dr. Warner agreed. “But I do not think it has been prescribed. Nor do I believe that Lady Agatha has been betrayed by her loyal maid. I do, however, believe that someone who was unaware of Lady Agatha’s treatment with laudanum has hidden the poison amongst her regular medications.”
“Why would that matter?” Beatrice asked, clearly puzzled by the statement.
“Because, my dear Miss Marlowe,” the doctor explained, “laudanum counteracts many of the more harmful effects of foxglove. Were it not for Lady Agatha’s dependency on the rarified form of opium, no doubt the foxglove would have killed her already. Were they not administering it in such a small dose—well, I do not have to tell you what the consequences would be.”
Lady Agatha’s weeping intensified. “I cannot imagine who would do such a thing? Why?”
“Greed,” Graham answered softly. “But the question remains, who is responsible?”
“Let us first ascertain if I am correct,” Dr. Warner stated firmly. Turning to Lady Agatha, he explained patiently, “We will leave you to rest. Your maid will give you another reduced dosage of laudanum tonight so that we can begin weaning you off it. It will be difficult but I have no doubt that you will master this.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” she replied tearfully just as Crenshaw returned.
“Here are the bottles you asked for,” the maid said stiffly.
“Come with us,” Dr. Warner urged her. “I want you to examine each of these bottles and tell me if they have been tampered with since you received them. We’re counting on you to help us determine who is trying to harm her ladyship.”
Beatrice watched the maid puff up under such importance and wondered just how trustworthy the doctor actually was. He had been charming with her, now he was charming Crenshaw. But he did appear competent and that was more than a step above Dr. Shepherd who thought every ailment experienced by women was imagined simply because they were women.
The stepped out into the small sitting room that abutted Lady Agatha’s chamber and Graham immediately began hounding the doctor with questions as Crenshaw diligently inspected each bottle. “How will you be able to determine if foxglove is present?”
“The first step will be removing this lot from her. She’ll be ill from the reduced dosages of laudanum, but within a sennight, she should be significantly improved,” Dr. Warner answered. “And while I will be doing my best to analyze the contents of each bottle based on how they react with other chemicals or components, it will be time consuming and tedious work that may not provide definitive answers. Sadly, I do not have the necessary equipment to complete true experimentation on the compounds, but I will do my best.”
“And if she’s not better?” Graham asked, waving a hand toward the bottles. “What if these elixirs and tonics were actually beneficial to her?”
“I will treat any symptoms as they arise, Lord Blakemore, but these remedies are not medication!” Dr. Warner exclaimed heatedly as he began sorting through the various bottles. “Galvin’s Tonic for Ladies, Sweet Rosebud Elixir for Nervous Conditions! Even the names are utterly ridiculous! These have been purchased from snake oil salesmen, from traveling confidence men peddling heaven knows what and calling it medicine!”
Graham rose. “I must see to this investigator who is here. I will trust your judgement, but if her health fails further—”
“She will worsen before she recovers,” the doctor warned again, “but I promise you, recover she will!”
“Why such small doses of foxglove, Doctor?” Beatrice asked. “Surely that would only delay death if murder was their intent.”
The doctor nodded his agreement. “Precisely, Miss Marlowe. If a person who has been ill for some time passes away, there is no reason to question it. However, if a person descends from the peak of health to keeling over unexpectedly, it might spur curiosity… it’s a devious way to go about it, to be sure!”
“The maid will show you to your chamber… this stays between us, Crenshaw,” Graham stated emphatically. “If whoever intended to harm her learns that we now know the truth of it, they may speed up or alter their plans in a way we cannot predict! For her safety and all of ours, we must go on as if the truth remains undiscovered. Is that clear?”
The maid nodded and bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lord. I’ll do whatever is necessary to see that my mistress is cared for.”
The doctor left the room accompanied by Crenshaw who would take him to his quarters, leaving Beatrice and Graham alone once more.
Alone, Beatrice looked at him. He was tired, lines forming at the corners of his mouth and there was a tension in him that made her want to do whatever was necessary to ease it. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked.
She walked toward him, taking his hand in hers, holding it tightly. “No, it is not. Whoever is plotting against Lady Agatha has been doing so for months. Had you not returned home to us, had you not demanded, much to
the dismay of both Edmund and Christopher, that she be treated by a capable physician, we might never have known… murder would have been done, Graham, had you not returned to Castle Black!”
He met her gaze steadily. “I pray you are correct. But in the meantime, let us go and determine what it is Mr. Eaves knows… then we’ll discuss this further in private,” Graham suggested. “It is becoming more imperative by the minute that we get to the bottom of this.”
“You will have to see Mr. Eaves alone. The man makes me very uncomfortable… also, I believe the meeting will be more productive if he doesn’t feel the need to censor himself due to the presence of a lady,” Beatrice explained. It was not a task that she looked forward to, but there were still things that required her attention. “I need to have a talking to with all the female servants in the house lest they begin brawling over who gets to attend Dr. Warner. His presence has created quite a tizzy.”
“We are not finished, Beatrice. What happened last night and again this morning, we will discuss it.” He did not phrase it as a question and the heated look that he directed toward her relayed his meaning very clearly. Discussion was not what occupied his thoughts, at all.
Beatrice blushed, and mumbled her reply. “Very well.”
*
Graham watched her leave, enjoying the sway of her skirts with each step she took. She was a distraction at the moment and one he could ill afford, but he took that moment of pleasure in watching her, committing it to memory to savor at leisure. He needed to be focused while speaking to the investigator. If Beatrice was correct and Eaves was less than above board, he needed to be able to fully ascertain what the man’s motives might ultimately be. There was far more at stake than his claim to the title. Lives were hanging in the balance.
Heading toward the kitchen and the small sitting room that was the housekeeper’s domain, he wondered what might be waiting for him. As he reached the door, a footman rushed ahead of him to open it for him. Apparently, even in the servants’ quarters, protocol was to be maintained.
The Lost Lord of Black Castle (The Lost Lords Book 1) Page 15