"So you are not a great admirer of society's beauties?" Lewis said.
"I find that beauty is not a determinant of character," Brynnell replied.
"Character is in breeding and good rearing," Mrs. Bollingworth said, but no one seemed to wish to argue with her. Because some might argue that her belief in character was somewhat different from others.
The main course of roast beef was now being plated. It smelled lovely. Everyone was distracted from the gossip, or Brynnell's views of what makes a good wife. Vivienne would be lying if she said she wasn't interested, but so was Sophie, who would likely query him on the topic again later that evening.
The beef was wonderful, pink and soft in the middle, nicely flavored with salt and rosemary. A thick cream went with it and Vivienne tasted a hint of horseradish in it.
Jenkins was pouring claret to accompany it.
Archie started coughing, and cleared his throat repeatedly. Even when taking a sip of wine, it didn't subside.
"You alright, man?" Lewis asked, when Archie continued to struggle. He was turning red.
"He's choking," Sophie said, the alarm clear in her voice.
A scrape of the chair and more coughing.
"He is not choking," Brynnell said.
And then he threw up on the floor in front of him.
"Archie!" Sophie yelled. Everyone had risen, but no one knew how to help.
"He's foaming at the mouth," Lewis said.
Instead of red, Archie had gone completely white. And he twitched, convulsed.
"The beef must be bad," someone said.
Archie leaned forward and threw up again, repeatedly until nothing came out.
Both Brynnell and John were at his side.
"What is wrong?" Sophie demanded. "Archie." The distress in her voice reflected what they all felt.
In a way, Archie seemed to sink down on himself. And he twitched again.
"He's been poisoned," Brynnell said.
"The food," Sophie gasped, taking a step back from the table. "The food is poisoned."
Brynnell looked up. "We all ate at the same time."
"It's that woman," Mrs. Bollingworth said. "She's trying to kill all of us now. I told you. I said so, didn't I?"
Sophie's hand was clasped around her throat as if expecting it to grip her.
"But no one else is ill," Vivienne said. "As Brynnell said, we all ate at the same time, the same food. We would all be the same if it was in the food."
"The wine, then," Sophie said. Her angst was overwhelming her. And poor Archie was foaming more severely now.
"Charcoal," Horace said.
"Yes, charcoal," Brynnell repeated. "We must give him charcoal. It will absorb the poison."
Vivienne rushed to the fire, not quite sure what she was doing. John joined her, grabbing a half-burned log out of the fire and patting it with something to extinguish the fire.
"Careful," Vivienne said as he tried to strip off bits of charcoal. Jenkins stood with a glass of wine, gathering the charcoal dust coming off it. Before taking it to Brynnell.
"Here, Archie. Drink all of this. You must."
Archie tried, but he was barely conscious. Brynnell forced the liquid down his throat, even as most of it flowed down his cheeks. "More," Brynnell demanded and the repeated the whole process, again pouring charcoal laced wine down his throat.
And then it grew unearthly quiet. Archie was staring up at the ceiling with vacant, glassy eyes, his mouth and chin covered with red wine and black specs of charcoal.
How had they gone from what had proved a nice dinner to this scene of utter horror?
"Is he alright?" Mrs. Dartmoor finally asked.
"He's still breathing, but I'm not sure he's conscious."
"He's going to die," Sophie wailed.
"We need to take him upstairs," Brynnell stated and they gathered around to carry him. "And prepare more charcoal, Jenkins. We must keep feeding it to him."
It was a great scuffle as they carried him out of the dining room and up the stairs to his room. Vivienne waited for Jenkins to prepare another cup of wine. "Perhaps water is better," she suggested. "Or we will poison him further with alcohol."
Jenkins stared at her for a moment as if he didn't understand. The man looked terrified and confused.
"Water," Vivienne repeated. "A great jug of it. Now."
Her tone stirred him into action and he disappeared through the servants' entrance.
Hurry was all Vivienne could think. Time was of the essence. If they had a chance to save his life, she didn't know.
Sophie was utterly shocked, standing with her gloved fingers to her mouth. "I don't understand," she repeated.
With every passing moment, Vivienne felt the rush of her blood. She needed to get more charcoal to Archie, but Jenkins wasn't back yet. With her hands, she gathered up as much charcoal as she could onto a plate. The bits were very hot. John must have burned his fingers ripping it off the log. A minor concern in the scheme of things, but something she would check later.
Chapter 20
ONCE SHE HAD A decanter full of water, Vivienne ran up to Archie's room, where they already had him undressed and was placing him under the covers.
Brynnell took the decanter and the plate of charcoal and quickly created another charcoal concoction.
"Is he alright?" she asked, but no one answered her, which meant they didn't know.
With his knee on the bed beside Archie, Brynnell urged him to drink a glassful of black liquid. A sickly sheen covered all of Archie's skin and he actually looked green now.
"I have to go for the doctor," Brynnell said as he put the glass down.
"The storm still rages," John said. "Will he come?"
"I think in this case he will," Brynnell said and he moved closer. "Either you or your sister should stay with him at all times," he said quietly. "Someone did this and we don't know who."
It pleased her the certainty he seemed to feel that it wasn't either of them. But then it was worrying that he believed someone had tried to poison him.
Horace walked over, worry etched deeply on his face. "Hemlock would act this quickly. Wolfbane or Belladonna. A number of poisons could have been used. You cannot simply buy these things, though. They have to be distilled. Then again, a single leaf ingested could do this."
"Could it be accidental?" John asked.
"No one would grow these things in a kitchen garden. Although some would say they make terrific deterrents for rabbits. Cyanide would also act this quickly, depending on when he ingested it, but going from being fine to so very sick so quickly, it had to be ingested during supper."
"That is so very disturbing," Vivienne said, crossing her arms tightly. "Who would do this?"
"I cannot query it now. I must get to the doctor."
"Of course," Vivienne said and Brynnell left the room. She worried for him heading out in this weather. At least it wasn't as bad as before. "I do hope he's careful." Her attention turned back to Archie, who was lying utterly still in the bed. His breath was ragged, but it was still there. "We must feed him more charcoal."
"I think he needs to retch again," Lewis said, trying to help him up to sitting. They all rushed in and he threw up sheer blackness. It looked so very unnatural.
"I will make another glass of charcoal," Vivienne said. "We cannot poison him with too much charcoal, can we?"
"I think that is a lesser worry now," Horace replied.
Vivienne stirred in another spoonful of charcoal into a small cup of water before taking it to him. "Give him this when he can take it," she said, handing it to John.
Archie’s spasms seemed to calm again and John forced him to drink another glass of black water. He looked desperately sick and was clearly not conscious. There was a good chance he would die and it was something she couldn't bear thinking about.
Someone had done this to him. Brynnell's words echoed through her mind. Who would do something like this to Archie? Archie wouldn't hurt a fly.
"You g
o downstairs for a while. I'll stay," John said.
Grudgingly, she agreed. If things went badly for Archie, then perhaps she didn't want to see him getting worse. There was nothing she could do now anyway.
With deep sadness, she left the room, aware that it could be the last time she saw her friend. Archie was technically John's friend, but over time, he had become hers as well.
"Is he dead?" Sophie asked when Vivienne returned downstairs, standing in the same position as before.
"No," Vivienne said. Why was it so chilly in there? The fire did nothing to quell it. "He is still breathing, but he is not well." She didn't want to lie. The chances of Archie surviving were not something anyone could guarantee right now.
"Lord Routledge positively ran through the hall a moment ago. He's left."
"He's gone to retrieve the doctor."
"But will Archie be alive when he returns?"
Mrs. Dartmoor sat at the table, and both Mr. and Mrs. Bollingworth sat together further down the table.
"I think we'll all be more comfortable in the salon," Vivienne suggested.
"Comfortable? Who cares about comfortable? Archie is dying," Sophie wailed.
"Our distress does nothing for him," Mr. Bollingworth said. "Let's give the staff a chance to clear the table."
"You mean clear the poison away?" Sophie retorted harshly.
"Come," Vivienne said, urging her to come toward the doorway. "I think we could all use a drink."
"Who knows what's poisoned him? Perhaps it was something he drank before supper," Sophie said.
"Horace seems to be of the opinion it was something he ate during supper," Vivienne said.
"How could he possibly know that?" Mrs. Bollingworth challenged.
"By the way the poison acted. Being a botanist, he is quite familiar with poisons."
"Someone who knows poisons. Well, that is interesting," Mr. Bollingworth said tartly.
"You can't accuse Horace. No one in their right mind would even consider the thought," Sophie spat and Vivienne urged her to sit down.
"I think we will have to serve ourselves tonight. Jenkins is upstairs helping, I think," Vivienne said.
"I won't touch a thing," Mrs. Bollingworth said. "It's that woman. I told you. God knows what else she's slipped poison into."
"Sophie?" Vivienne asked, but Sophie shook her head.
"I think I could use a small shot of brandy," Mrs. Dartmoor said, a request that clearly displeased Mrs. Bollingworth.
"Speak of character. They clearly come out at times like these," the woman said. "Brandy. I never."
Vivienne poured herself a measure too, even as she didn't particularly like brandy or the way it burned. But something stronger tonight was perhaps a good idea. She gave a small glass over to Mrs. Dartmoor, and took a sip herself.
The door banged open and she just about spilled her glass. A gust of wind ripped through the salon and she put her glass down to see what had happened. Brynnell stood in the hall, completely drenched from the rain. "The road is impassable. There's been a slip."
"But we need a doctor," Sophie said.
"Archie will have to take his chances with our care," Brynnell added and took the stairs two at a time.
"We're trapped here," Mrs. Bollingworth deduced, her nerves getting the better of her. "We're all trapped here. There's a murderer here and we're all trapped."
They were all silent, looking from one to another.
"Well, that's just wonderful," Sophie said harshly. "It's you they're trying to kill. It was probably you they were trying to poison tonight, but got Archie by mistake. Everything went south the moment you arrived."
"Sophie!" Vivienne called.
"Now we're stuck with you," Sophie continued before walking back into the salon.
"The evening has been very stressful," Vivienne said, trying to excuse Sophie's harshness.
"If you care to recall, someone tried to murder me this morning."
"We have not forgotten," Mrs. Dartmoor said.
Was it true that Archie had been struck down by mistake as this person yet again tried to strike for Mrs. Bollingworth?
"Your answer is downstairs. I've told you that already."
Things did not look good for Mrs. Sims. It was her supper that had poisoned Archie. But then they didn't know for certain if it was the food. It could very well have been the wine, which was Mr. Jenkins domain. Mrs. Sims didn't deal with the accompaniments.
They returned to the salon and a sharp gust of wind buffeted the window, reminding them all of the storm outside, as if it refused to be forgotten.
"If I didn't hate this house before, I hate it even more now," Sophie said. "And now we're stuck here. Sitting ducks as this person does whatever they want to us."
On the surface, Vivienne wanted to say that it couldn't be like that, that this was all an accident, but first Mrs. Bollingworth and now Archie getting poisoned. It was hard to claim this wasn't purposeful and very malicious. Someone was trying to hurt them and would go to extreme lengths to achieve it.
"We can't trust anything we eat and drink in this house."
This wasn't over for Mrs. Sims. Mrs. Bollingworth was not going to stop with her accusations, and someone in this house had tried to poison Archie—and push Mrs. Bollingworth down the stairs. It was much harder to dismiss the woman's claims now. But why? Why would someone do this? It made no sense.
"We have to send that woman and her wretched son away," Mrs. Bollingworth continued.
"The road's impassable, remember," Sophie said tartly. "That means no one can leave. The general definition of impassable."
"So we just leave them here to poison us all?"
"We cannot make unjust accusations," Vivienne said, trying to calm the situation.
"Unjust?" Mrs. Bollingworth replied. "A man is dying upstairs. And she is the one who prepared the meal."
"But it was all served from the same dishes."
"But Archie was served first. Even those imbeciles downstairs know that. It wouldn't be hard to poison the first cut of meat. It's obviously where it would start being served from."
"But that suggests you weren’t the target at all," Mrs. Dartmoor said. "As you were not going to be served first. It is very random to first attempt on your life and then on Archie's."
"As I said, you cannot account for how a madman's mind works. Or a woman."
Having spoken to Mrs. Sims, Vivienne knew the woman wasn't mad. Hopefully they would get to the bottom of this. Whoever was responsible for this would hang. And it wouldn't do for baseless accusation being directed at Mrs. Sims.
Chapter 21
EXHAUSTION WAS NIPPING at her. It had been the most trying day Vivienne had ever experienced. Not just a storm, but two murder attempts, her friend was close to death and now they were unable to seek help—or leave. The feeling of being trapped made everything feel worse. And poor Archie, who was so sick and a doctor could not be retrieved for him.
Moving upstairs again, she returned to Archie's room. The activity in there wasn't frantic anymore. Everyone sat or stood quietly and for a moment, fear clenched her heart—until she heard him breathing. He was still alive, his breath ragged.
On the bed, he looked very sickly, an unnatural pallor to his face. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were half open, but unseeing.
"How is he?" she asked.
"He is still alive," John said. "There is nothing much we can do now. Just wait and see."
"It's hard to tell because we don't know what poison he was given or in what quantity, you see," Horace said.
Brynnell was sitting in a chair, still wet by the look of it. It was the second time that day, but he didn't want to leave his friend.
"If he makes it through the night, things will look much better," John continued quietly, but it sounded loud in the room as no one else was talking.
"You should go to bed, Miss Harcourt," Brynnell said. "Everyone should."
"I'm going to stay here with him," J
ohn said with a fleeting smile.
"Good. Do you need me to get something for you?"
"No, I should be alright."
"Alright, good night," she said to the gathered party and received weak smiles or mumbled replies in return. But before she left, she moved closer to John. "Perhaps you should, you know, lock me in," she whispered as quietly as she could.
"Ah right," he said. "Yes, of course, I'll be right there."
With a nod, she left. The last thing she wanted now was to be caught wandering around the house again. At a time like this, people were unnerved enough as it was without an unconscious person aimlessly wandering the halls.
The hallway to her room was dark. In the commotion, the candles had not been lit, and there was barely any light to see by. Only what spilled from the main hall. As hurriedly as she could, she felt her way to her door and then was met with darkness and no fire in the grate.
With searching fingers, she walked toward her bedside table where she knew a candle was, and a box of matches.
A gust rattled the window and a figure moved in her room. Her heart stopped and her blood froze in her veins. Someone was in her room, but as she listened, she heard no footsteps. Just the wind, hammering on the window. Blood rushed in her ears, but nothing else happened. No running footsteps, no one spoke. She couldn't even hear the breath of someone, but would she if someone was in her room?
Then movement again and sheer panic flared through her.
"Who's there?" she demanded as she finally found her voice. Nothing.
With icy fear in her blood, she kept moving to the bedside table and fumbled along the surface for the matches, finally finding the box. Stiff fingers sought a match and she stroked it along the side. Light flared into the room and she feared seeing a face staring back at her, but there wasn't anyone there. Shadows cast along the wall, but no person.
Then the curtains flared with the draft and she groaned. That was what she'd seen, the curtains flaring, and she'd managed to scare herself silly.
With a groan, she shifted the match to the candle and brighter light spilled out. Her heart was still beating fast and clammy nerves tingled along her whole body as she swore at herself for being a complete ninny.
The North Sea House: a gothic romance Page 11