by Death
I said nothing, but silently agreed with him.
"And keep that lot away from me," he muttered.
We'd passed the music room and caught the combined stares of the others. I couldn't blame him for any shred of reluctance about talking to them. My heart lifted an inch or two. Father was sounding more like himself.
"God, I'm tired. I want to sit down."
I called Beldon, who came out and looked at Father's eyes again and listened to his heart. "Very well, but no brandy. Coffee only."
Father made a sound to indicate that he was sick of coffee, but he obediently drank more when it was offered.
"Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Barrett?" Beldon asked when Father was seated. Jericho had brought a chair out from the parlor.
"What d'you mean?"
"When did you start to feel sleepy?"
Father shook his head. "I'm not sure. I was at the gathering... talking... Mr. Rapelji and I came away to talk about his school... perhaps then."
"What did you eat and drink tonight?"
"Same as the others, I think. Ask them."
"No medicines?"
"No, I'm not ill, or at least I wasn't. What's this about, sir? Explain yourself."
Beldon looked to be in difficulties. He sucked in his lips.
"Yes, Doctor," I put in. "I know enough of medicine to understand about the 'flying gout.' What's really wrong with Father?"
He glanced around at us all. Elizabeth and Archimedes had both drifted closer; Jericho stood on one side of Father, I knelt on the other. The five of us looked back, each with the same intense need to know his mind.
"I really hope I am wrong," he began hesitantly. "If I am not, then we have a most unpleasant situation to deal with."
"Out with it, sir," said Elizabeth, her eyes fairly burning through him. "What is it?"
His expression was such as to make it clear he would have preferred to be very much elsewhere. "I've made a thorough examination of... things and-"
"What things?" I asked, sensing he was trying to be delicate.
"The-ah-contents of the basins and chamberpot."
I wrinkled my nose in reflex.
"I've also checked my medicine box and found... a notable discrepancy in the contents of the laudanum bottle."
No one spoke. The silence was that awful, brittle, waiting kind that happens when something terrible is about to crash into your life and it's impossible to leap out of the way.
Father was the first to break it. "You mean I've taken laudanum, Doctor?"
"Yes, sir. Quite a lot of it."
"Please clarify that," said Elizabeth.
"The dose was probably sufficient to have very serious consequences."
"How serious?"
Beldon's answer got stuck somewhere in his throat.
"That serious," stated Father in a very dry whisper. He rubbed his face and sighed heavily, unhappily. "How?"
"It would have to have been in your tea, the taste disguised by plenty of sugar."
At this, Father's weary eyes suddenly sharpened. His hand had been resting on my shoulder; its grip tightened.
"Tea? How might it have gotten into just one cup, then?"
"That is something that we shall have to ask Miss Fonteyn."
"You think that girl tired to-"
Beldon shrugged. "I don't know, sir. It hardly seems likely. People were milling about at one time or another during the party, especially when the first cups were being poured. Anyone could have made an opportunity for themselves. Questions must be asked... and answered, for there is a chance this could happen again."
"Again?"
"The amount of laudanum that was taken was more than enough to... well, not all of it may have been used tonight."
Elizabeth put a hand to her mouth and drew in a sharp breath. She looked as gray as Father, and for a moment I thought she might faint. I knew that because I felt the same way.
"Everyone must be questioned," Beldon insisted, pushing on, though he could see what it was doing to us, but the alternative was worse. The implications of what might happen should there be a yet unused portion of laudanum waiting in our future were frighteningly clear to us. "I said it would be unpleasant," he added forlornly.
Father made a soft, contemptuous snort at Beldon's understatement. "Yes... no... oh, how my head buzzes. I need rest. No questions tonight, Doctor. I'm not up to it."
"I can do that, sir."
"No."
"But, Mr. Barrett... ?"
Father gently waved him down. "No, sir. If any questions are to be asked, then I shall ask them. If someone in this house played a careless joke on me, then I shall face them myself. I'll not leave it to another to do my business for me."
His face went first pale, then red with outrage and fear; Beldon stared down at his patient. "Sir, you could have died tonight! This was not any kind of a joke, but a most serious and considered attempt on your life. I will not allow you to delude yourself into thinking otherwise."
"Nor have I. But I am asking you to be silent over it."
"But, whyV
"As you said, this promises to be a most unpleasant situation. Would you really care to question the entire household?"
"It's necessary in order to find out who's responsible."
"I believe I already know, sir."
That silenced Beldon. It silenced the whole room.
"Archimedes."
He straightened a little. "Sir?"
Father swallowed. With difficulty, as though ready to vomit again. "I want... want you to discreetly go through Mrs. Barrett's room. You'll be looking for... what? A twist of paper or a small bottle?"
Beldon murmured agreement.
"The doctor will show you what the stuff looks like. If you find nothing, then you'll look again tomorrow. Pay special attention to the pockets of the garments she's worn tonight. Jericho, I want you to check the parlor right now for the same thing, and the music room later after they're all out of there. Go through the drawers, check under the furniture, the whole room, every corner."
"Sir."
"And both of you... don't let yourselves be seen by anybody. What you've heard here, stays here."
Both nodded with grim faces and waited impatiently as Beldon went to the library for the bottle of laudanum to show them what they'd be hunting.
"What happens should they find it?" I asked.
Father let his head fall against the back of the chair and shut his ey?s. "They give it to Beldon, who will lock it in his medicine box, once he has a lock put on the thing."
"What about Mother, though?"
"Nothing."
Elizabeth shot me an anguished look over him. "We can't do nothing."
Father was quiet. Thinking, or tired beyond thought.
"She tried to poison you!"
"It failed, by the grace of God. I have my warning and I shall be more alert now."
"No, Father! You can't live in a house with that woman, day after day knowing that the next bite of food you take could be your death. I won't have it!" Her voice had dropped to a shaken whisper, but was as forceful as a shriek.
Father made no response, but the lines on his forehead deepened as his brows came together.
"This has gone too far. You must do something about her."
"I will, but in my own way."
"But-"
He raised one hand slightly from the chair arm. "In my own way."
This did not sit well with Elizabeth, not at all well. Her eyes were burning red from tears shed and tears yet to come. "What is that, then?" she asked, her voice thin as she tried to maintain control.
"We'll take steps to see that, the opportunity Dr. Beldon referred to has no chance to repeat itself."
"That hardly seems enough," she objected.
Father was still ill and greatly weakened or he might have chided her for that. All he could do was shake his head, reminding me that now was not the time for such discussions. Later, when he was well again, n
ot now.
"We're worried for you, Father," I said unnecessarily, using it to cover a warning look thrown at Elizabeth. It got through and she shut her mouth, though her jaw worked dangerously.
"I'm worried for all of us. This was unexpected, but it can be dealt with. Actually, I'm not too terribly surprised that something's happened, I just didn't anticipate it would happen in quite this manner."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been careless, laddie. About... Mrs. Montagu. Your mother's finally found out and this"-he indicated himself- "is her reaction. I'd thought that should the day come, she'd fall into one of her fits, but she's changed lately. She's gotten more subtle."
"Suppose it wasn't Mother?" I asked uneasily.
His eyes opened. "Who else would want to?"
The names of all those people living with us tumbled through my mind. Long-time servants, guests old and new.
None of them could possibly have any quarrel with Father. None. He was a well-loved, well-respected man. The only person in the house who did not love or respect him was Mother. She had had access to Beldon's medicines and was certainly familiar enough with the use of laudanum by now. The more I thought about it, the likelier it seemed.
She was a strong woman, but not stronger than Father, so a physical attack against him would ultimately be futile. But poison... now that would equalize things nicely. There was a horrid, repulsive coldness to poisoning, but also an ugly fascination in the process. To stand by and pretend concern while watching with secret interest as the stuff gradually carries away a life-that was of a kind of wickedness so alien that I could hardly credit its existence. But here it was, right in my own house.
"What will you do?" My voice was thin, ghostly.
"Take more care," came his simple reply.
You'll need more than that, I thought, my heart filled with leaden sickness.
Elizabeth made a choking sound and turned away to hide her tears.
Much more than that.
Archimedes and Jericho found no laudanum that night or in the days to follow. They had been uncommonly diligent in their searches, but we were left with the uncomfortable conclusion that either nothing was there to be found, or that Mother had been more clever at hiding it. Beldon offered the slim hope that the amount taken from his box had all been used that same night. No one was too eager to trust in that, though.
Beldon saw to it that a stout lock was attached to his medicine case and began to lock his room whenever he left it. He kept both keys on his person and soon developed a habit of now and then tapping the pocket they occupied to make sure they were there. Their soft clink was a source of great reassurance to him, it seemed.
He also continued-at Father's firm request-to perpetuate the fiction about the attack of flying gout. It was bad enough for us to know the truth behind his illness, but it would have been much worse for the others to know as well. For all to suffer with such knowledge... well, the strain and worry would have made the place impossible to live in.
The story also served well enough to cover the reason why Beldon demanded Mrs. Nooth's close supervision of Father's meals. As for drink, the cabinet in the library holding a small stock of wines and spirits also quietly acquired a lock. Father hinted to the locksmith about petty thievery of his stock and rather than confront the tippler, he preferred to confound him. The tale was so common that it would hardly be worth repeating, which was what Father hoped for and likely got.
Father was shaky the next day, his body still busy trying to recover from the aftereffects of too much laudanum and coffee, but he was more himself on the next, and out doing his usual business after that. He made one very brief visit to Mrs. Montagu, mentioning it to me later.
"I told her that things were becoming difficult here, requiring my presence, so she mightn't see me as often. I did not tell her what happened, nor do I wish her to know." "Hasn't she the right?" I asked.
"Yes, but she's burdens of her own to bear at this time. Later, when I'm ready, she'll hear it all, but not just yet. In the meanwhile, I'd appreciate it if you'd look in on her now and then when you're... out and about. See that things are quiet. You know."
"I'll be happy to do so." He knew all about my flying adventures, such as they were. The winter nights were perfect for this activity, at least when the winds were not too fierce. The cold weather drove people indoors and kept them there, allowing me considerable freedom to enjoy the open sky without fear of being seen. More than once I'd let myself drift all the way into Glenbriar to socialize at The Oak or visit Molly Audy or both. Molly's fortune improved for all my extra business, and at the inn I was able to expand my knowledge of the German language by talking some of the night away with the Hessians there. Would that things were as amicable at home.
The evening following the tea party was a quiet one, though. Father was up in his room, the rest were downstairs pursuing cards or music. Beldon had gone so far as to tune up his fiddle and was attempting a duet with Lady Caroline. Norwood and Elizabeth managed to place themselves on the same settee, ostensibly to listen. Mother, Mrs. Hardinbrook, and Anne were attempting some sort of three-handed card game I couldn't readily identify. All appeared peaceful and normal. Perhaps it was, but my perceptions had been so altered that I was seeing things in a skewed manner.
Studying Mother's every movement and expression, I tried to read the truth within, if any could be discerned. I saw a middle-aged woman, her once beautiful face marred by years of unhappy passions and futile and frustrated goals. This was not a contented soul. Any peace in her life came from moments like this, where distraction from her own inner demons might be found in the company of her friends.
That was interesting. I'd always known it, but only now did the realization come to me: Mother was rarely ever alone. Mrs. Hardinbrook was with her most of the time, Beldon as well, then there were all those tea parties and making calls on others. For all the acid of her personality, she always managed to have some company around her. I wondered why. Was she so afraid of those demons she could not face them?
Having faced down a few myself, I couldn't blame her for that.
Elizabeth rose and excused herself during a break in the playing and walked unhurriedly out to the hall. As she passed me she raised her brows and gave a very small movement of her head to indicate she wanted to talk. Anything more open might draw unwelcome attention from Mother. After a moment or two, I unobtrusively followed.
She was not waiting in the hall as I'd expected, but there was a faint glow of candlelight coming from the open door of the library.
"This is hard, Jonathan," she said just as I came in.
"Tell me what it is first and I might agree with you."
She was blank for a moment, then waved her hand in a gesture of irritation. "This. Not being able to talk about last night or at least about the real truth of it. To pretend that nothing happened when all I want to do is scream about it to the heavens."
"I know you do."
"To sit in the same room as that woman... full of acting and pretense over something this serious. If we do much more of it I'll burst."
"You won't."
She snorted. "I shouldn't like to wager on that."
"Father will take care of everything."
"We can hope so, but... I don't trust that blind spot he has for her. Yes, he feels honor bound by an oath to care for her, but cannot that oath be broken or at least bent by this change of circumstances?"
"He'll think of something, I'm sure." My responses were easy and without much thought behind them. She mostly wanted someone to talk to, a chance to air her complaints and fears. As she was unable to speak to Father about it, I was now her only confidant, aside from Jericho and Archimedes. But they were servants and I was her brother, I accepted her fears and kept my own in check for the moment.
"You're wanting to tell Lord James?" I asked, prompted by an unexpected insight.
Her teeth were showing, but in a grimace, not a smile. "1 don't know
what I want. Yes, I do... oh, damnation!"
I couldn't help but laugh at her, but quietly. "You are in love, aren't you?"
Now she flushed red and paced up and down, wringing her hands together. "I think so. I don't know. I've never felt like this before. I can't see straight or think about anything but him or do anything for myself. Am I ill?"
"Definitely, and I hope you'll treasure that illness."