Gage shook his head.
I sat up straighter. “Dr. Graham. I heard him mention them as being part of the new exhibit at the Royal Botanic Garden.” I stared blindly at the window. “But how that relates to any of this, I don’t know, except to say that the plant is indigenous to Scotland and obviously available nearby.”
“I’m guessing you wish to see if a jar of Hinkley’s cream is still among Lady Drummond’s things,” he said, leaning forward to catch my eye. “Then what do you propose to do?”
“Well, confront Lord Drummond with it, I suppose. And insist we have it tested. I’ll steal it if I must.”
“And if it’s not there?”
“Then someone removed it, and there would have been no reason to do so unless that person was trying to cover their tracks.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “And it would mean that person has access to Lady Drummond’s room. If the killer were someone from outside the house, I doubt they would have chanced sneaking back in to retrieve it, especially knowing that Lord Drummond has forbidden an investigation.”
“Yes, but, Kiera, how are you going to prove any of that?” He pointed out.
“I don’t know,” I snapped in annoyance. “But we need to at least try to secure that jar of cream.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “But let me do the talking once we get there. I have a feeling we’re going to have a hard enough time just gaining admittance to that house.”
• • •
In the end it was not as hard as he’d predicted. Apparently, butlers rarely expected respectable members of society to rush past them. I admit, even I was caught off guard when Gage greeted Jeffers with his normal cordiality and then grabbed my hand and pushed past him into the house.
We hurried across the hall toward the stairs, with Jeffers calling after us. The sounds of voices and the clinking of billiard balls in a room on the right made Gage skid to a halt.
“Go on,” he told me. “I’ll divert them.”
I watched as he turned to intercept Jeffers, and then I picked up my skirts and dashed up the stairs. At the top, I hesitated, uncertain which door led to Lady Drummond’s bedchamber. The layout of this town house was different from Philip and Alana’s. There were four doors on this floor instead of three. There was nothing to be done but to try them all.
The first door on the left led to a guest room, pristine and empty. I pushed open the door next to it, and startled the person lying on the bed inside. The light from the hall lamps fell across Imogen, Lady Drummond’s stepdaughter, who stared at me with wide eyes.
“My apologies,” I murmured, closing the door.
I ran to the door across the hall. Lady Drummond’s chamber had to be this room or the one next to it. I only hoped that the voices and clinking below had meant Lord Drummond was still awake, and that I wasn’t about to disturb his slumber.
Without even looking, I could tell as I opened the door that I’d found the right room. The scent of Lady Drummond’s perfume wafted out with the swing of the door, and I halted, half expecting to find her inside, waiting for me to join her for tea.
Forcing myself to ignore the grief swelling up inside me, I crossed the room toward her dressing table. The surface was littered with bottles and jars of numerous shapes and sizes—perfumes, salves, balms, ointments, and even creams, but I could not find the particular jar I was looking for. I frantically searched the contents of the table again, clinking the glass bottles together as I shuffled them and knocking her hairbrush to the floor.
“What are ye doin’?”
I glanced up in the mirror to see Lord Drummond standing in the doorway behind me. His face was cast in shadow by the light behind him, but I didn’t need to see it to know he was furious. I swiftly examined the last of the jars on top of the table, and then whirled around to face him as he advanced into the room.
“Get oot o’ my wife’s chamber!”
“Where is it?” I demanded, unleashing my own anger.
He glared down at me, his hands shaking in fists at his sides.
I suddenly remembered that this was a man who felt no qualms about hurting a woman, however he could, and here I stood challenging him as perhaps he’d never been challenged before. I caught a glimpse of Gage over Lord Drummond’s shoulder, moving into the room, and that steadied me.
“Where is your wife’s jar of Hinkley’s cream?” I asked again, pointing toward the dressing table.
“What?” He shook his head, his brow furrowing in what looked to be genuine confusion. “What are ye talkin’ aboot?”
“Where is the jar of Hinkley’s cream?” I reiterated. “It’s not here. Would your wife have kept it somewhere else?” I narrowed my eyes. “Or did you get rid of it?”
“The woman is talking nonsense,” another voice proclaimed, and I realized for the first time that Lord Gage was also present. He must have been with Lord Drummond in his billiard room when we arrived.
“No, she’s not,” Gage defended me, never removing his eyes from Lord Drummond as he turned so that he could see everyone. “Answer the question, my lord.”
“A jar o’ cream? I dinna care for such things,” he growled derisively. “And what does it matter?”
“It matters a great deal,” I bit out. “And well you know it.”
“We’ve received confirmation that Lady Drummond was poisoned by a substance mixed into her usual jar of skin cream,” Gage explained.
Lord Drummond’s pupils widened.
“A jar that has now gone suspiciously missing.”
He shook his head. “It’s a lie. She died o’ an apoplexy.”
“Then produce her jar of Hinkley’s cream.”
Lord Drummond looked at Lord Gage, who was watching the confrontation with a stony expression. “I dinna ken anything aboot creams. Ask her maid.” He stomped toward the door to bellow, “Jeffers!”
The butler appeared almost immediately, making me suspect he’d been standing in the hall listening. “Yes, my lord.”
“Find my wife’s maid.”
Jeffers moved off and Lord Drummond’s gaze swung across the hall. Imogen stood in the doorway to her room, her pale blond hair hanging over her shoulder in a long plait. It almost appeared white in the light from the hall sconces. Her eyes were wide and fathomless, and I couldn’t tell if this was because she’d already known her stepmother had been poisoned, or because sleeping in the room across the hall she’d already seen and heard too much ever to be surprised.
“Go back to bed,” her father roared and she jumped.
She scurried backward and closed the door.
“Where did you get this confirmation?” Lord Gage questioned his son. “From a reputable source?”
Gage’s jaw clenched. “Do you think I would have barged in like this had it not been?”
His father shrugged and turned his glare on me. “She might have convinced you to do anything.”
“She convinced me of nothing. I do have my own mind, sir. Much as you’d like to forget.” He muttered the last under his breath.
“Well, it’s a damn foolish one,” Lord Gage snapped.
Gage advanced on his father. “Watch your language in front of the lady.”
Lord Gage’s mouth clamped shut and he scowled at his son. He didn’t apologize to me, but he also didn’t argue, and I counted that as a victory. I’d anticipated some scornful comment about my lack of gentility, but apparently a title was still a title. Otherwise, where did that leave him?
“My lord.”
We all turned as one to look at Jeffers. His face was paler than it had been just a minute before, and he seemed to be having difficulty speaking.
“What is it?” Lord Drummond snapped.
“The maid. Aileen. She’s . . . gravely ill, my lord.”
CHAPTER 17
I sprang forwar
d, having a horrible premonition. “Take me to her,” I commanded. “And if you haven’t already, send for a physician. Not Dr. Davis.” I glanced over my shoulder to glare at Lord Drummond. “Send for Dr. Robert Graham.”
Jeffers turned right toward the back of the house and then, as if recalling who was following, began to make an about-face.
“It doesn’t matter. Whichever way is quicker,” I told him.
He turned about again and opened the door hidden in the paneling to reveal the stark servants’ staircase. We climbed quickly past the floor where the younger children rested in the nursery to the servants’ quarters in the attic. Aileen had her own tiny room, barely bigger than a closet, at the front of the house. One of the other maids kneeled next to her, but had not touched her.
I shooed the girl out of the way. She reached for the chamber pot next to Aileen’s head as she rose, but I ordered her to leave it. It smelled acrid and foul as all vomit did, but it might contain clues that Dr. Graham would need should monkshood prove not to be the culprit. A trickle of additional vomit pooled next to Aileen’s mouth as if she had been unable to raise herself to reach the bowl that one last time.
“Bring washcloths, soap, and a basin of water,” I told the other maid. “It doesn’t need to be warm.”
Speed was of the essence. Aileen’s face had yet to fix itself rigidly, for she grimaced in pain, clutching her abdomen.
I glanced up at the small table next to the girl’s bed. Two bottles and two jars decorated the surface, one of them being the container of Hinkley’s cream.
“Aileen,” I said. “Aileen, can you hear me?”
She groaned.
“Did you take that jar of cream from Lady Drummond’s chamber?”
She groaned again and then panted.
“You’re not in trouble, but I need you to tell me now,” I demanded in a firm voice. “Did you take that jar from Lady Drummond’s chamber?”
She nodded.
I exhaled, wishing I knew what to do. Dr. Graham likely would not arrive for at least half an hour, maybe longer.
“I know it burns,” I told her. “But try to stay awake. Help is on the way.”
The maid returned carrying the items I had requested, having to push past the men, who huddled in the doorway watching us.
“Help me bathe her. All of her.” There was no way of knowing where exactly she had applied it or if it had been transferred by her hands and clothing to other parts of her body. “The poison was rubbed into her skin.”
The maid stared at me with wide eyes, but did as I ordered. I took up a washcloth and began on Aileen’s right arm and hand, while she started on the left.
When I reached up to begin unbuttoning her dress, I glanced back at the door expectantly. “Gentlemen. Some privacy, please.”
They cleared their throats and shuffled backward.
“Gage, take the jar.” I flicked a look at Lord Drummond. “We don’t want it disappearing again.”
I didn’t wait to see how the baron would react. I handed Gage the jar of cream and then resumed my ministrations, scrubbing Aileen’s skin pink.
By the time Dr. Graham finally arrived, we had cleaned every last inch of her and lifted her up onto the bed. Her pulse was thready, and I had no idea if our efforts had done her any good. I hastily explained our suspicions to the doctor, who listened in shocked silence, and then I stood back as he examined her.
I thanked the maid who helped and sent her off to find herself a cup of tea, promising I would remain until she returned. If Aileen survived, someone would need to sit with her all night, and the maid was going to need some kind of fortification to do so.
I paced in a tiny circle in front of the door, feeling my anger build. Now that the rush to do something was over, I could focus on the fury I felt that this should have happened. If Lord Drummond had allowed us to investigate earlier, then we might have discovered that the cream was the culprit, and this innocent maid might not be lying here near death. He obviously hadn’t wanted us to find it and be able to prove his guilt.
But then why hadn’t he removed the cream from his wife’s room after the deed was done? Or had he worried it would have been noticed missing?
I scowled and rubbed my temples with my fingers. I could feel a headache building behind my eyes, and it was not helping me to think clearly.
I looked up as Dr. Graham sighed and closed his medical bag. “Will she live?”
He glanced back at his patient one more time. “Only time will tell. But the fact that she’s still breathing is a good sign. The effects of the poison should wear off further with each passing hour.”
“So it appears that it is monkshood poisoning?”
“Its symptoms mimic other things, but if you believe there was monkshood in that cream she put on, then it’s likely the culprit.” He tilted his head. “Did I hear you correctly? You believe Lady Drummond was murdered by using the same jar of cream?”
“Yes.” I explained the symptoms Lady Drummond had exhibited that I had witnessed and those that had been relayed to me by the servants.
The furrow between his eyes grew deeper and deeper with each second. “That certainly sounds like monkshood. Though it’s quite rare for a person to absorb enough of the poison through their skin to kill them. But not impossible, I suppose.” He tipped his head to the other side. “It’s much more likely she ingested water that the flowers or stems had been crushed or soaked in. It could have been poured into her tea or drizzled over her food.”
The book we had read at the Royal College had not explained this. “So she might have been poisoned by more than one method?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Perhaps the cream wasn’t working fast enough or she wasn’t using a large enough amount. If her exposure was minimal, she may have only felt mild skin irritation, slight nausea, or a headache.” His eyes moved to where I was rubbing my temples again. “Speaking of which, did you wash your hands thoroughly after assisting the maid?”
“Yes,” I insisted. “My head is just pounding from all of these new discoveries.”
“Understandable.”
“The devil’s cap you mentioned at Inverleith House. Those are a type of monkshood, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “Aconitum napellus. Native to Scotland.” He frowned. “And now that you mention it, we had a handful of our clippings at the Royal Botanic Garden go missing. I wonder if it could be related.”
I had a hard time believing it wasn’t. But who had taken them? The mad Chemist or Lady Drummond’s killer?
The maid returned, and I excused myself as Dr. Graham explained how best to care for Aileen, and what to do if she grew worse.
I followed the light shining through the open drawing room door and paused at the threshold. Lord Drummond paced back and forth behind one of the settees while Lord Gage perched on the window seat on the opposite side of the room. Gage leaned against the wall by the fireplace with his arms folded over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other—a stance I was not the least bit surprised to find him in as he seemed to favor it whenever he was observing a suspect. To the less perceptive he appeared carefree and relaxed, but if you looked closely, you could see the watchful intensity in his eyes and the restrained vigor in his muscles.
I flicked a glance at Lord Gage again, noticing he displayed the same vigilant readiness. I wondered if Gage had learned this particular trick from his father.
They all looked up at me as I advanced into the room. “Dr. Graham thinks she shall live. She didn’t absorb enough of the poison to kill her.”
Lord Drummond’s body went rigid. “But it was poison?”
I turned to look him in the eye, daring him to flinch from my angry gaze. “Yes.”
He remained upright, his posture as stiff as a pole, but I got the impression that were I to approach him and push him with my
finger, he would topple over.
“And it might behoove you to know,” I continued in a hard voice, “that Dr. Graham believes that because of the manner in which Lady Drummond died, she likely also ingested the poison in some fashion, in her food or drink. All of which you conveniently ordered be tossed out during the hours following her death.”
“That is enough,” Lord Gage proclaimed, rising to his feet. “We shall take it from here.”
My eyes widened in shock. Of all the nerve! Less than a week ago the man had derided me as a fool and ordered me to stop investigating, but now that I had proved I was right, that Lady Drummond had in fact been murdered, and just as I said, by poison, he wanted to step in and take over. I began to advance toward him to tell him exactly what I thought of his insufferable demeanor, but Gage spoke first.
“It’s only fair that she remain. After all, she’s the one who suspected murder.”
“It would be highly inappropriate,” Lord Gage argued. “Lord Drummond may be implicated, out of form, but he is also a peer of the realm and a man who served the Crown with distinction. I’m not going to make him suffer the indignity of being questioned by a female.”
“Perhaps it isn’t your friend’s feelings you should be considering at the moment,” Gage bit out.
Lord Gage reached up to straighten his already flawless cravat. “Be reasonable, Sebastian. Lord Drummond is far more likely to be forthcoming with the two of us than with Lady Darby. It’s also clear that Lady Darby was far too attached to the victim to be objective. Send her home.” His eyes lifted to stare at his son. “Or I’ll insist that you both leave.”
Gage jolted as if he’d been physically struck.
“I would suggest I’m the only one being objective,” I disputed loudly, having difficulty restraining my temper. “Lord Drummond is your friend, and you’ve been protecting him since the moment you arrived in Edinburgh. I would hardly call your behavior impartial.”
A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) Page 17