Dying For A Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  Ben declined dessert, reaching for his glass instead. Summer pudding was the one dessert he particularly disliked. The blackberry seeds always got stuck in your teeth.

  Lizzie looked up in surprise as Sylvester also refused. “No dessert?” she exclaimed as he too sat back with a glass of wine.

  “No,” he grumbled, smoothing one hand over his belly. “That beef was devilish good but I think I overindulged,” he said with a rueful smile.

  Lizzie laughed at him and Benedict saw her share a fond look with Keane over the table. She should have a care to be more subtle. He wondered just how Sylvester would take that news when it was finally revealed - and revealed it would be. No secret could be kept forever and somehow he doubted Keane was a man who would put up with this cloak and dagger way of life for too much longer. He had too much pride.

  Benedict saw Theodora cast Sylvester a look of disgust before taking a dainty bite of her own dessert. Miserable old ... He stopped himself from calling her names - even in his head, he wasn’t a child after all. To his amusement he saw a silent communication go on between Jessamy and Phoebe. Phoebe had taken to asking for a particularly large dessert which she would eat half of. She’d then quietly swap plates with Jessamy who insisted on sitting beside her at all mealtimes. It of course fooled no one but at least it was less obvious than him running around the table and swiping her bowl with glee.

  Once again he looked back to Theodora to see if she was giving them looks of disgust too but her eyes were focused on her own bowl.

  They talked for a little after dessert, polite nonsense that bored Benedict to tears and he looked to Phoebe, expecting to be given a sympathetic smile. Instead she looked flushed, her lovely blue eyes dark and the pupils dilated.

  “Phoebe?” he questioned her, noticing her breathing was fast and shallow. Before he could say another word, however, Jessamy had given a cry of pain and collapsed clutching at his stomach and falling from his chair.

  “Jessamy!” his mother cried, leaping to her feet and running to her son.

  “Oh, Ben,” Phoebe said, her eyes suddenly wide with panic. “I think ...”

  But she didn’t get to finish the sentence as her eyes rolled up in her head.

  “Phoebe!” Benedict cried, catching her as she tumbled from her chair. He patted her face in alarm, trying to revive her but she just moaned, her lovely skin damp with sweat. “I sent for a doctor earlier!” he shouted at the nearest footman. “See if he’s arrived yet.” The man ran from the room to do his bidding as Benedict gathered Phoebe up in his arms and turned to ask for help, only to discover that Theodora was clinging to her chair, clutching at her stomach with the same fevered look to her skin as Phoebe and Jessamy. Oliver was sitting with his hands at his throat, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with terror.

  “What’s happening?” Sylvester demanded, getting to his feet and looking around him in horror. “What is it?”

  “They’ve been poisoned,” Benedict said, seeing with relief that his mother hadn’t changed the habit of a lifetime and eaten any dessert. He tried not to panic with his little brother convulsing on the floor while his mother wept and screamed for help and Phoebe laboured to breathe in his arms. He issued instructions to the remaining staff to get everyone to their rooms and bring whatever medical supplies were at hand. He hoped to God someone had some knowledge of treating poisoning as basil hadn’t helped John in the least and he doubted there was enough on the estate to save them all in any case.

  He watched one of the footmen lift his little brother and felt his heart constrict with fear as two of the people he loved most in the world looked to be in mortal danger. God help them if Benedict ever found who was responsible for this. Death would not be good enough.

  Half an hour later and Benedict had never been more grateful for the calm good sense of a woman like Sarah Huckington. After an initial cry of distress, Phoebe’s maid had been all efficiency, thrusting Benedict out of the way while she applied cold compresses and stripped Phoebe of her stays to ease her breathing. To her annoyance the doctor bustled in just as she had Phoebe laid comfortably against the pillows.

  “We’ll need to bleed them all,” the doctor said, shaking his head and tutting over the rapidity of her heart beat.

  “That you will not!” Sarah exploded, with such fury that even Benedict was startled. “The poor lamb’s been poisoned,” she raged. “Any damn fool can see that.” She stood in front of Phoebe just like a lioness guarding her young. “This woman is in my care and you’ll not touch her, you blasted quack! She needs charcoal to absorb the poison from her stomach and blood.”

  “Preposterous!” the doctor exploded, looking more than affronted. “I never heard such fustian. Old wives tales and superstition.” He turned to Benedict and held his hand out to the woman with disdain. “I suggest you remove this creature from the room forthwith if you’d like the young lady to survive the night, my Lord,” he said, his voice icy.

  Sarah glared at the doctor but then pushed past him to Benedict, grasping his hand with pleading in her eyes. “Trust me, my Lord. Please. I can save her. I saw this with the soldiers. There was a bad time in Spain, food ran short and the men ate wild berries as there was nought else. Belladonna the locals called it, that’s what makes their eyes go wide and black like that. The men from the city couldn’t tell a blackberry from nightshade and they looked just like this after they’d eaten it. There was a Spanish lady, a wise woman I guess, and I saw her make them drink water and ground charcoal and they all lived. Every one of them.”

  Benedict felt fear clench his stomach. There was sincerity and terror in Sarah’s eyes, determination too. The doctor merely looked furious. “Do it,” he said to Sarah. “Do whatever you think best but for the love of God hurry.”

  Sarah didn’t wait to reply but ran to prepare what she needed. The doctor stepped towards him with a look of disgust. “You have just condemned your family to die,” he said, his eyes cold with rage. “I hope you will be satisfied with the outcome.”

  “Get out!” Benedict raged, terror making his temper snap as he bodily forced the man from the room and slammed the door on him. Praying that the doctor was wrong and he hadn’t just made a horrific error in judgement, he ran to sit beside the bed. Taking Phoebe’s hand he was appalled and frightened by the ragged sound of her breathing. She had begun to murmur in her sleep, clutching at the bed covers and shouting at some unknown presence, angry incoherent words. Benedict took her hand, holding on tight as she began to thrash about in feverish rage.

  “Please, love, please,” he said over and over, and prayed for deliverance. “Be strong, Phoebe. I know you are, sweet girl and you must be, my love. Please fight this ... for me.”

  ***

  The night that followed was the longest of Benedict’s life. He spent most of it outside Phoebe’s door, only tearing himself away at times to check on Jessamy. Sarah had banned him point blank from remaining after she’d begun feeding Phoebe the disgusting charcoal mix. She said the effects were unpleasant and Phoebe would never forgive her if she allowed him to see her in such a state. She swore to him that it would work though and promised to call him in the moment there was any change.

  With nothing more that he could do he went to see Jessamy, holding his breath as the child fought for his life. Seeing his little brother’s slight form looking so very fragile, his slim chest struggling to breathe and sweating freely was more than he could bear. The charcoal mix was making him vomit profusely and he was hallucinating, screaming in terror at monsters looming over his bed. Benedict’s heart went out to him and his poor mother who wept ceaselessly at his bedside.

  The same treatment was given to everyone who had been taken ill. This comprised Phoebe, Jessamy, Oliver and to a lesser extent Theodora and Lizzie who had both eaten very little of the dessert, which had to have been the cause of the poisoning.

  Formby, whom Benedict had asked to visit earlier in the day had come up to offer such words of comfort as he had
and now just clasped Ben’s hand in a warm manner. With a troubled look in his eyes, the runner turned to walk away from him.

  “Formby,” Benedict said, making him pause. “Sarah Huckington, Phoebe’s maid. She said it looked like nightshade poisoning. There was summer pudding for dessert and everyone fell ill quickly after.” Formby nodded, his expression dark with understanding before turning and hurrying off to investigate.

  Benedict knew that the fact both he and Sylvester had refused dessert would be damning, for both of them. His mother was famous for watching her figure and not touching sweet things but he wondered if she too could now fall under suspicion, though what they could believe she would gain from it he couldn’t fathom, though poison was a woman’s weapon. He shuddered at the idea. Anyone who believed she would risk her precious youngest son’s life for any reason would be out of their damned minds.

  He spent the rest of the night either pacing and raging against the world or sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, praying and begging God to help the woman in the next room. Without her nothing else in his life would ever matter again. And Jessamy, poor, dear Jessamy who he had allowed to become so distant from him. If he never got the chance to make up for becoming the cold, disciplinarian that Phoebe had discovered him to be, he would never forgive himself.

  ***

  It was late the following morning before Sarah came out of the room and leaned against the wall, her usually plump face drawn and taut with the stresses of the night. Benedict shot to his feet, watching her exhausted eyes lift to his and certain that his heart had stopped beating as he waited for her to speak. He had heard several hours ago that Jessamy had pulled through and Oliver, Theodora and Lizzie would all be fine, but Phoebe had been taken the worst of all of them.

  “She’s going to be alright,” she said, and then put her hand to her mouth and began to sob. Big, heart-wrenching sobs that the woman had clearly been holding back all night whilst she tended to the young lady who she so obviously loved like her own daughter.

  “Thank God,” Benedict cried before damning propriety and hauling the woman into his arms. “Thank God for you, Sarah Huckington,” he said, weeping and laughing too as the woman looked up at him in shock. “I swear nothing will ever be too good for you. You’re a damned miracle worker.” To her obvious astonishment he put his hands to her face and kissed her.

  Sarah sniffed and wiped her eyes, apparently not knowing whether to laugh or cry herself. “You just make sure you marry her!” she scolded, wagging her finger at him. “I don’t need aught else but to know she’s happy, and she won’t never be happy without you, as you well know,” she said with a huff.

  Benedict took her hand and stared at her, perfectly solemn now. “You have my word, Sarah, if it is the last thing I do. Phoebe will be my wife.”

  She nodded at that and gave a final sniff. “Well then. If you’ll excuse me, my little Bee will be wanting to tidy herself up before she sees you.”

  “Oh damn that!” he exploded, frustrated beyond sanity. “I want to see her now!”

  Sarah gave him a remarkably fierce look. “If you know what’s good for you,” she said with a dangerous note in her voice. “You’ll stay right there until I bid you enter.” And with that she shut the door in his face.

  ***

  Phoebe lay in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows as Sarah put a glass of water to her parched lips.

  “I’m so thirsty,” Phoebe complained once she had drained the glass.

  “Aye, love, that’s the nightshade,” she replied nodding and then muttering for the tenth time in as many minutes. “By everything that’s holy, if I ever get my hands on the wicked creature as did this,” she raged. “And that poor little lad too. My Lord, if I hadn’t been here!” She smothered her face with a large handkerchief for a moment before taking a breath and righting herself again.

  Phoebe held out her hand to her. “Dearest, darling, Sarah,” she said, looking at the woman who had been the closest thing to a mother she had ever had. “You must never ever leave me!” she said laughing, though there were tears in her eyes. “You saved my life and I won’t ever have a doctor near me again,” she added, after hearing how the fool man who’d come to see her had acted and been treated in return. “So you’d better brush up on your midwifery skills,” she added with a saucy wink. “For I hated being an only child and I intend to have a huge family.”

  “Phoebe!” Sarah replied, quite obviously torn between looking scandalised and enraptured at the idea of having babies to look after.

  Phoebe laughed unrepentantly and then regretted it as exhaustion rolled over her.

  “Now, do send poor Ben in, Sarah,” she whispered. “I must see him before I fall asleep again.”

  Sarah nodded and patted her hand and she closed her eyes for a moment as exhaustion pulled at her eyelids. She opened them a moment later as a large, warm palm covered her hand and she blinked sleepily.

  “Ben!” she sighed happily, feeling her heart clench with sorrow at the fear she could see in his eyes. “I’m quite alright now,” she said, trying and failing to force some energy into her voice. “Be right as ninepence tomorrow, you’ll see.”

  She looked up to find Ben holding her hand to his mouth, his face ashen. “By God, love,” he said, his voice rough and somewhat unsteady. “You frightened me so.”

  “Frightened myself,” she whispered with a weary smile.

  She could see now, the weight of emotion in his eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders and squeezed his hand, too exhausted to speak any further. His eyes glittered, over bright before he closed them, pressing her hand to his face with a stifled sob. Phoebe sighed, happy and secure now with him near, before closing her eyes and hearing I love you murmur through her mind, before allowing sleep to take her away.

  Chapter 26

  I was angry with my friend:

  I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

  I was angry with my foe:

  I told it not, my wrath did grow. - William Blake

  It was two more days before Phoebe was strong enough to get out of bed. A fact which she resented profoundly, and she didn’t hesitate to make her feelings known. Benedict bore it all with delight, too amused by her bad temper and too damn relieved that she was with him to be the slightest bit impatient with her. The fact that he couldn’t be riled merely seemed to infuriate her all the more though. Neither did he give a damn if the whole household was scandalised by the time he spent in her room. Everyone was by now well aware of his feelings for her. That bridge had long since been crossed as far as he was concerned.

  So it was with great relief on all sides that he went to her room the next morning to find her dressed and waiting for him when he called after breakfast.

  “Darling,” he said, with a smile. Noting that the colour was returning to her cheeks and a little of the sparkle was back in her eyes he felt the last claws of anxiety retract and release their grip on his heart. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  She beamed at him and did a little twirl, showing off a pretty yellow muslin dress. “Do you like it?” she asked with a coquettish grin. “It’s one of my favourites and I needed cheering up.”

  “You look exquisite as always, love,” he said, beaming at her with appreciation. “Are you up to a stroll around the garden then?”

  “Try and stop me!”

  A little later, once Sarah had forced Phoebe to wrap a pretty shawl around her shoulders, they sat on a bench in the sun with Phoebe leaning her head against him. She seemed rather abstracted and he realised she was thinking hard about something. Looking down he found her smooth brow furrowed with consternation.

  “What does Formby say?” she asked him, looking up. For a moment he didn’t answer, too caught by those wide blue eyes to think of anything but the fact she had nearly been taken from him. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, not giving a damn if there was anyone nearby to see it. He knew what was important now.


  “They found nightshade berries in the dessert,” he said, putting his arm around her waist. “The gardeners swear they only brought black and red currents, blackberries and the usual soft fruits which the cook confirmed. But the nightshade berries could easily have been slipped in with the black currants and no one any the wiser. Both Sylvester and I are now chief suspects,” he added with a grimace. “Formby ...” he hesitated, knowing that this would upset her and not wanting to spoil the day, but the coming trial was going to be inescapable. “Formby says that more men are being sent down to investigate, including his superior. He won’t be able to protect me any longer. Unless he can convince the man that I’m not working in collusion with Sylvester ...” He paused and looked away, not wanting to say it out loud.

  “You’ll both be arrested,” she finished for him.

  He nodded, unable to look in her eyes and see the fear he knew was there. He could feel it quite strongly enough himself.

  “No!” she said, her voice full of fury. “No. I won’t let them.”

  To his alarm she leapt to her feet and stormed back towards the house. “Phoebe!” he exclaimed, striding to catch up with her. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to speak with your blasted fiancée!” she shouted, her rage only too apparent.

  “Phoebe, don’t be foolish!” he said, fearing that she would over exert herself and become ill again. “You’ll only have a dreadful row, and what good will that serve?”

  “It will make me feel a great deal better for one!” she returned with asperity as she swept through the doors of the great house and up the stairs. “And that woman knows something,” she added, pausing on the steps with such fury glinting in her eyes that he was quite taken aback. “She’s a part of this, Ben, I’d swear to it.”

  Before he could get her to see that confronting Theodora in this manner was a bad idea, she was pounding on the woman’s bedroom door.

  “Come out, Miss Pinchbeck,” she shouted through the door, her slim frame practically quivering with anger. “I know you’ve had a hand in this!” she yelled, as no answer was forthcoming. She raised her hand to bang on the door again and then paused as a moan of pain was heard. “Ben!” she said in alarm. “Did you hear that?”