He winced a bit as a twinge of pain caught him across the midsection, and he wondered when his pleasantly sleepy state had given way to a slight sense of nausea. With a frown, he opened his eyes and sat up straight in his chair, bending slightly as another spasm of pain shot through his stomach.
Hastily setting his drink on the side table at his elbow, he stood and paced for a moment, removing the cravat from where it hung loosely about his neck and eventually shedding his shirt altogether. It was warm in the room, too warm, and it wasn’t long before he lunged for the washbasin on his dressing table and lost his dinner completely.
Something wasn’t right. He’d had food poisoning before, and raging illnesses with fevers that had left him bedridden on the stormy seas for days. His current state was different, and he made his way back to the side table where he’d set his glass of port. Barely keeping his grip on it when another shooting pain had him nearly bent in half, he noted through squinted eyes the presence of a fine film that had settled along the bottom—granules of some sort that clung to the side of the glass when he tipped it slightly.
“Pug!” he called out and was relieved when the boy quickly made an appearance from the adjoining valet’s room.
“Sir?” Pug’s eyes widened as he crossed the room and made his way to Jack’s side.
“Have Mrs. Harster send for the doctor,” he managed and wondered if he was going to lose whatever might still be left of his dinner all over Pug’s shoes.
Pug ran for the door, but at Jack’s yell, he halted at the door frame. “Sir?”
“Get Lady Ivy.”
By the time Ivy arrived at the earl’s town house, she was tied in knots wondering what she might find. She had left Jack to return to her home only two hours before; Pug’s cryptic message that the earl had fallen ill and needed her right away had her baffled.
She arrived at Jack’s home to find Mrs. Harster wringing her hands and Watkins looking rather pale. “What has happened?” she asked as she doffed her pelisse and handed it, along with her bonnet and gloves, to Watkins.
“I do not understand it,” the woman said. “He was fine at dinner, you saw him, my lady . . .”
Ivy nodded. “Where is he? Have you sent for the doctor?” She moved toward the staircase and began climbing when Mrs. Harster nodded and gestured to the second floor.
“Dr. Featherstone should be here in a few minutes. He doesn’t live far away,” Mrs. Harster said, and Ivy wondered if the woman were going to dissolve into tears.
How bad could it be, really? Ivy climbed the stairs quickly and hurried down the hallway to the earl’s suite. The door to his dressing room was ajar, and she spotted Pug standing near the hearth, his eyes wide and face pale.
“Lady Ivy!” he said, rushing to her side. “He’s awful sick.”
Ivy put a hand on Pug’s shoulder, which was very nearly the same height as her own. “We will find the cause, Pug. Never fear.” She paused for a moment, wondering what course of action to take. She had certainly never entered a man’s bedchamber before, and to do so when he was ill was a concept utterly foreign.
She thought of what Nana would do in such circumstances, and she remembered her grandmother sitting by the old earl’s side as he died, for heaven’s sake. Squaring her shoulders, she walked across the dressing room and peeked inside the bedroom. The sight of the big man doubled over on the floor at the side of his bed was jarring, and she rushed to him.
“Jack,” she murmured and placed a hand on his back.
Sweat dripped from his brow, and he clenched his fists at his stomach. Without looking at her, he ground out, “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“You sent for me,” she said and rubbed her hand between his shoulder blades.
He nodded. “If something happens to me, I need you to care for my family. Percival will inherit and he . . .”
Ivy shook her head. “Do not even speak of it, Jack. The doctor is coming and you will be well straight away.”
Jack glanced at her as a spasm of pain crossed his features. “Someone has poisoned me, Ivy. I saw it in the glass of port. Retrieve it before someone clears it out of the dressing room.”
Ivy’s heart tripped as she stared for a moment at Jack, her eyes widening as comprehension dawned. “Oh, mercy,” she whispered.
“Go.” He motioned with his head to the doorway and Ivy shot to her feet, rushing into the other room and looking frantically until she saw the half-drained glass of port on the side table. With trembling fingers, she picked it up and carried it back into Jack’s bedroom, setting it carefully on the bedside table behind him.
Dropping down next to him again, she wrapped her hands around his arm. “Let’s get you up into bed,” she said. “The doctor will be able to help you soon.” Biting her lip, she shifted and slid her arm under his, lifting against his weight and realizing there was no possibility of hefting him into the bed without his assistance.
“Jack,” Ivy grunted as he shifted his weight and she strained for all she was worth, “did you, by chance, rid yourself of the contents of your stomach?”
He glanced at her then, and she caught a tiny glimpse of his subtle mockery to which she had become so accustomed. “You mean, did I throw up all over the dressing room?”
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered as he lifted one leg up onto the high mattress with a grunt. “Why must it be ‘all over the dressing room’? I certainly do not care one whit where you did it.”
“Yes,” he groaned as she gave him a shove and lifted his boot onto the bed, registering the fact that his leg probably weighed more than she did. “I did rid myself of the contents of my stomach, and hopefully most of the poison.”
“Who served you the drink?” Ivy asked, her mind spinning as she looked at the glass sitting so innocently on the bedside table.
He shrugged and lay down on his side, facing her and pulling his knees up as he hugged his midsection. “One of the maids, I suppose. I told Mrs. Harster I would take my port up here, and I was in the dressing room when it was delivered.”
Ivy frowned and placed her hands on her hips, thinking. “I cannot imagine who in the household would benefit from your . . .” she glanced at Jack, not wanting to finish her thought.
“Percival benefits. He must have paid someone,” Jack said, his eyes closed.
Ivy looked at the door, feeling helpless. She needed Nana. “Where is that doctor?” she fretted, knitting her brows together.
“Don’t let him bleed me,” Jack groaned.
“Pardon me?” Ivy looked at him in alarm.
“Do not let him anywhere near me if he has leeches.”
Ivy felt her own stomach twist. Perhaps she would lose the contents of her stomach along with the earl. Feeling slightly dizzy, she leaned her hip against the bed and stared down at the big sailor who lay like a child in the bed.
“Shall I send for your mother and Sophia?” she asked him quietly.
“No.” The response was quick and definitive. “I’ll not have them see me like this.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes slightly, not certain if she should be flattered or offended that he didn’t care if she saw him in that state.
“Jack,” she finally said, moving closer to him, “I am so far out of my element. I don’t know what to do for you.”
He grabbed one of her hands in response and gripped it firmly, saying nothing. And with that, she waited by his side for several more long minutes until the doctor finally entered the room, followed by a flustered Mrs. Harster.
Chapter 18
To discover the goodness done by a friend
for others is a treasure to be cherished.
Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette
Ivy went downstairs to the parlor after the doctor proclaimed Jack ill but not in imminent danger of death. It was fortunate he had thrown up before the poison had worked its way into his system completely. He would be weak for a few days, but he would recover. The doctor examined the glass of por
t, touching the tip of his finger to the residue in the glass and tasting it, and suggested it was likely strychnine.
The hour was long past midnight, and yet the shadowy corners and spaces below stairs echoed with occasional whispers. A good portion of the household knew what had happened, of course, and Ivy had no doubt that the rest of London would by noon as well.
Mrs. Harster was a nervous wreck, her face pale and her fingers tied in knots. “I can’t imagine who’d a done such a thing, my lady,” the woman said, her voice shaking. “The earl’ll turn us all out by this time tomorrow, fer sure.”
“Nonsense.” Ivy felt the fatigue settle in behind her eyes now that the worst of the emergency had passed. “I am certain we will get to the bottom of the matter. We’ll find the one responsible and that will be that.”
The older woman’s eyes widened. “Who would do this?”
Ivy regarded her for a moment, wondering at the best course of action. A name flashed into her mind, and she seized on it. “Perhaps Lord Anthony Blake can be of some help to us,” she suggested. “He is one of his Lordship’s closer acquaintances. We will discuss it tomorrow. I shall want to speak with all the servants then.”
Mrs. Harster’s face whitened even more dramatically, and she put a hand to her heart. She nodded and backed out of the room.
Ivy sat pensively near the cold fire at the hearth. A few things were becoming clear to her, not the least of which was the fact that Jack needed to immediately reassign his heir. It wouldn’t surprise Ivy in the least to find Percival and Clista behind the poisoning stunt, and if they were out of the line of inheritance entirely, it might remove the temptation to kill the current earl. People would talk, of course, and it might be considered mildly scandalous, but the thought of Percival having any sort of control over Mary and Sophia if Jack were dead was alarming.
She laughed aloud at the thought of Jack assigning Pug as his heir, but sobered when she considered how quickly the boy would be dispatched if such were the case. No, the heir would need to be someone robust and with a certain amount of political and social clout. She would speak with Jack in a few hours, after he had had some rest.
Deciding to check on Jack, she climbed the stairs to the second floor, deep in thought. The doctor entered the dressing room from Jack’s bedroom just as Ivy entered from the hallway. The little man’s bald pate shone in the lamplight, and he wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief.
“How is the earl, then?” Ivy asked him as he pocketed the fabric and snapped the buckle on his medical bag.
“He is resting,” the doctor told her. “I did not administer laudanum, as it might interact with any lingering poison still in his system, so his sleep may be fitful. It’s unfortunate but necessary.”
Ivy eyed the medical bag with a raised brow.
“Is there a problem, my lady?”
“Did you . . . that is . . . do you carry leeches with you, doctor?” She felt nearly faint merely asking the question.
He drew his brows together behind his spectacles and shook his head as he made his way toward the door. “As it happens, I do not have a fresh batch at my home. A pity—it would have undoubtedly drawn the poison out more quickly. As it is now, he will have to sweat it out.”
Ivy felt a sense of relief at his statement and nodded, trying to maintain what she hoped was a regretful expression. “Thank you, then,” she said as he left the room.
Uncertain, she looked for a moment at the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar. There was a soft glow coming from within, and she crept to the doorway, peeking inside at the bed.
“Pug?” Jack’s voice was thready, and it alarmed her.
“No, it’s Ivy.” She moved tentatively into the room and approached the bed. The doctor had apparently helped Jack into a nightshirt and settled him under the covers. He was sweating profusely, and Ivy frowned, remembering the doctor’s words. His body was expelling the poison, which was what it needed to do. As she observed him, however, she couldn’t help but draw back the heavy coverlet. She shifted the thin sheet about his shoulders, and he sighed softly.
“That is much better.” He cracked his eyes open. “I am so thirsty.”
Ivy found a fresh pitcher of water on the washstand and poured him a glass. Holding it to him, she moved closer when she realized he didn’t have the strength to grasp it himself. He raised himself up enough to take a sip as she positioned the glass at his lips, then lowered his head to the pillow.
“I thought perhaps I might contact Lord Anthony Blake,” Ivy told him softly. “We will discover who has done this to you.”
“You will care for my mother and Sophia?” he murmured.
“Of course. They will be fine. And when you are well, we will discuss . . . things.”
“What sort of things?” He cracked open his eyes again and winced at the light. Ivy reached over to the bedside lamp and turned the flame down until it was barely glowing.
“Business matters,” she said.
“Ivy, I am . . . I cannot defend myself tonight. Send Pug in here, will you?”
Her heart melted a bit at the thought of the big sailor defended by a wiry twelve-year-old boy. “Certainly I will. Is there anyone else you trust to be with you, perhaps someone a bit . . . bigger?”
“Pug is fierce enough when provoked,” Jack said. “But I suppose Fuddleston would be my second choice.”
Ivy raised her brows sky-high and choked back a laugh. Fuddleston? The man was scarcely larger than Pug and likely much less fierce. She drew in a breath to compose herself and let it back out again. “Of course. I shall summon Pug and Fuddleston.”
“Fuddleston is here in the house . . .” he said, his words fading.
“I’m sorry?”
“I gave him a room. He was boarding with another man who . . . bathe . . .”
“What? Who bathed?” Ivy leaned closer to hear him.
“Didn’t like to bathe. Made Fuddleston nauseous.”
Ivy looked at the lamp for a moment, wondering if Jack were delirious. “You gave your solicitor a room in your house because he boarded with a man who didn’t bathe and made him nauseous?”
“ . . . tired, Lady Ivy, and feeling the urge . . . be sick again.”
“How on earth has he slept through the ruckus?” Ivy wondered aloud.
“ . . . sound sleeper . . . bang on the door to rouse him.”
Stunned, Ivy slowly turned from the bed and made her way out of the room. What sort of man found comfort in protection from a cabin boy and sought to ease his solicitor’s discomfort by giving him accommodations in his own home? She crossed the dressing room to the other side, where she knew Pug occupied the valet’s smaller quarters. The sort of man, she answered her own question, who was not raised in privilege and judged all of humanity equally. Knocking on the door, she waited until she heard a rustle on the other side and Pug cracked it open.
“My lady?” he murmured, rubbing his eyes.
“Your master needs the comfort of your protection tonight, Pug. Gather a few blankets to make a pallet on the floor by his bedside.”
The boy stood up straighter. “He asked for me?”
She nodded. “He trusts you.”
In a matter of moments, Pug had gathered blankets and made his way across the dressing room to Jack’s bedroom. When Ivy sleepily exited into the hallway, she heard the snap of blankets as Pug made his bed. Deciding she would feel no stranger about the evening as a whole than if she awoke one morning in the wilds of Africa, she descended the stairs to look for Mrs. Harster, who could then send a servant to awaken Mr. Fuddleston. The rattled housekeeper managed to mask her surprise when Ivy told her the solicitor was to sleep on the sofa in the earl’s dressing room—or perhaps she had no surprise left to feel in the wee hours of a very odd night.
By the time Ivy’s carriage pulled up in front of her family home, she had decided she would sleep as late into the morning as she could manage and cancel the earl’s scheduled lessons on Advanced Br
eakfast Etiquette.
Chapter 19
If an action is perceived as an offense, the best response
is to act as though nothing untoward has occurred.
Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette
Jack stood in the doorway of his home’s music room and glared at Ivy. She had allowed him four full days in his sickbed before demanding he resume his lessons in Upper-Crust Stupidity. “I do not need to dance,” he barked and cast a warning glance at Pug, who snorted behind his sleeve and coughed to cover it.
Ivy turned away from the window that overlooked the back gardens. “Your mother and Sophia are on their way,” Ivy told him with a smile, “and they were ever so glad to hear you’re well enough to resume your studies. We are borrowing Pug and Mr. Fuddleston, who has assured me he will arrive as soon as he finishes this morning’s correspondence.”
“I am not feeling well enough for such rigorous activity,” Jack said, although it was stretching the truth. He didn’t feel just the thing yet, but truthfully he could have been up and about the day before.
“It will not be rigorous.” Ivy approached him with that expression she often wore—the one she used to argue with him and more often than not emerge victorious. She laid a hand on his arm as he shot her a look through half-lidded eyes.
“It will be more rigorous than my current state will support.”
“I have it on good authority that you took a lengthy stroll last night.” She looked up at him with an innocent blink. Her eyes were a distinct shade of green today, and he realized the color varied in intensity depending on what she wore. He wondered why he’d never noticed it before. Her hair, the color of dark honey, was curled to perfection as always, and he imagined it would feel soft between his fingers.
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