Chapter 19 #2
She poured the first cup, the strong scent of a very dark tea wafting to her nostrils. As such, she only filled the cup by half, then added a liberal dose of the tonic. Crossing over to Charity, she handed her the brew.
“Thank you.” Charity smiled as she took the saucer.
“Oh, darling, your shawl. Let me adjust it.” Rising, Clara set aside Charity’s tea then fussed with the woman’s wrap.
Juliet returned to the tea table, and by the time she poured the next cup, Clara had resumed her seat near Henry.
“Thank you, Juliet.” Clara gracefully accepted her tea, her lips pursing ever so slightly as she blew away the steam.
When Juliet passed a cup to Henry, his fingers brushed like a whisper against hers, and a thrill charged up her arm. A knowing gleam lit in his eyes.
She turned away, determined to keep her composure. After pouring herself a cup, she returned to her chair, but one sip was all it took for her to set it aside for now. It was far too hot. She preferred her brew tepid—a trait that often earned her teasing from Aunt Margaret.
Charity sipped her tea diligently, while Clara rested her cup and saucer in her lap, leaning towards Henry. “So, how is the business for your father coming along?”
“Slower than I would like.” His shoulders slumped somewhat from the weight of his responsibilities; then he slugged back the rest of his drink and set it down. “I am sure my father is having fits over the delays—not to mention Charity’s illness—but neither could be helped.”
“But that is all in the past. Your sister is clearly on the mend, and I am certain you shall be victorious no matter the amount of heel dragging from shippers or warehouses or whatever else it is you are dealing with.” She fluttered her fingers in the air.
While Henry and Clara continued conversing, Juliet absently stirred her tea. Though she hated to admit it, Clara’s encouragement had seemed to lift some of Henry’s burden. Truly, she ought not feel jealous.
But she did.
Charity’s teacup clinked against the saucer, drawing her attention. Henry’s sister sat very still, and though her grip appeared loose on the cup, her knuckles paled. Egads! Her face seemed more drained as well.
“Charity?” Juliet set her spoon aside and leaned forwards. “Are you all right?”
A small smile ghosted her lips. “I am fine.”
Soothing words, but Juliet suspected them to be a lie. She studied the woman, Clara and Henry oblivious to what was only a gut feeling inside Juliet. Was Charity on the verge of a relapse or was she merely becoming fatigued?
Charity swayed aside, setting her saucer down overly harsh, the porcelain clattering on the small table.
That did it.
Rising, Juliet crossed to the sofa and sat beside her. “Now that you have finished your tea, how about I see you back to your room?”
“Not yet, I think.” Charity pressed a hand to her belly. “I should like to rest here a bit and digest my drink before going up.”
“Very well,” she acquiesced, though she determined to stay by Charity’s side.
The footman appeared, bowing politely. “Finished with your tea, miss?”
Charity nodded slightly, eyelids fluttering as if she could barely keep them open.
“Yes, she is, thank you,” Juliet answered for her, alarm a prickle down her spine. “Charity, I fear you have overdone it today. Let me ask Henry to help you upstairs, hmm?”
Charity’s head lolled. “Yes, I think that would be—”
She collapsed against the sofa, body going slack.
A strangled cry eked out of Clara. “Oh dear! She’s swooned.”
“Charity!” Henry shot from his chair as Juliet bent over the woman, pressing the back of her hand against her brow.
Henry dropped to his knees beside them, collecting one of Charity’s hands, her skin ashen against the life pulsing through his. “How is she?”
Juliet pulled back, frowning. “No fever, but she is clammy.”
“Call Dr. Branch at once!” Henry barked over his shoulder at the footman.
“Yes, sir, but I suggest I also fetch the constable.”
A stunned silence sucked the air from the room. They all turned to Woodley, Henry’s brow a dark line not to be crossed. “What did you say?”
Woodley hesitated only a heartbeat before lifting the amber bottle from the tea tray and presenting it in his gloved hand. “Just in case she may have been poisoned.”
Poisoned?
Poisoned!
What madness was this?
But there was no time to think on it. Charity’s fingers were impossibly cool against Henry’s skin. His sister needed help. Now.
“Go!” he bellowed to Woodley. “Dr. Branch cannot be far off as he left only recently. Send him at once, then … get the constable.”
He could hardly believe those words had passed his lips, but better to have the law nearby if needed.
Oh God, please do not let it be needed!
Juliet pressed her hand against his sleeve. “We should lay her down. Keep her head elevated. Then—”
“Then what, Juliet?” Clara’s voice cracked, fearful. “How much of that tonic did you give her? Furthermore, what was in that tonic?”
Juliet recoiled as if slapped. “I did nothing untoward!”
“I–I’m sorry,” Clara whispered, wringing her hands. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just—she was perfectly fine until then.”
Henry’s gut twisted as doubt rose like bile to the back of his throat. Clara was right. Juliet had served his sister. Could she have miscalculated the dosage?
Great heavens! What was he thinking? Surely Charity had simply overdone it today.
He pulled away from Juliet. “I shall tend my sister.”
“Henry, let me help. I need to assess her symptoms and send them to my aunt straightaway.”
“Surely that’s not wise.” Clara’s voice quivered. “We don’t yet know what happened.” She took a step forwards, reaching a trembling hand towards Juliet but not touching her. “You’ve done everything you can, Juliet. Let Henry and Dr. Branch see to her now.”
Juliet looked from Clara to him and back, disbelief bright in her eyes. “But you don’t actually think I gave her the wrong amount of tonic.”
“No, no—of course not,” Clara whispered. “I only mean … there’s no sense making things worse if we don’t fully understand.”
“Enough.” Henry shot up his hand. “My sister is my first concern right now. Juliet, please move so I may make her more comfortable.”
“Very well.” She stepped back, lips pressed tight.
He could feel her wounded gaze upon him as he turned back to Charity. His sister’s skin was cold as marble. “Charity, can you hear me? It’s Henry.” He shook her gently. “Give me some sign.”
Only shallow breaths answered him. Her eyelids fluttered, but her head lolled lifeless again.
“Where is that blasted doctor?” he growled.
Behind him, Juliet’s voice softened. “Try to keep her as still as possible.”
Clara drew closer. “Henry …” Her voice was lower now, coaxing. “Think carefully. Juliet means well, I’m sure—but if something was given to your sister in error, even with the best intentions …” She trailed off, her words hesitant, as if she hated even to suggest it.
“I gave her the correct amount of tincture!” Juliet burst out. “Gentian root. Chamomile. Yarrow and peppermint. Nothing lethal. An overly large dose would make her stomach sick and create a mild disorientation, not … this. Oh, Henry, at least loosen her collar so she may breathe easier.”
With shaking fingers, Henry worked loose Charity’s lace. “Come back to me, Sister,” he whispered, his forehead resting lightly on hers.
Her lashes flickered.
Hope surged.
Then her head dropped limp again.
He staggered backwards, helpless.
The door opened. Mrs. Hamby swept in, skirts whispering. “Molly told me, sir. I’ve brought smelling salts.”
Juliet rose, but he stopped her with a small wave and accepted the vial from the housekeeper. “I will administer it.”
He cracked open the top and waved it gently beneath Charity’s nose.
Nothing.
“Please, Sister. Fight.” He hovered closer.
Still nothing.
Clara let out a breathy gasp. “Oh, Henry. She was fine until the tea.” She dabbed her eyes. “Juliet, perhaps something was mixed by mistake. That happens, doesn’t it?”
Juliet straightened, face pale but steady as she shook her head. “I did not make any mistake. The medicine was taken from the same bottle I used this morning.” She swept her hand towards the tea tray at the bottle in question.
The doctor finally arrived, followed closely by the constable. Rain still clung to their coats.
Henry exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “Thank God.”
The doctor’s examination was swift and thorough, going so far as to collect Charity’s cup and swirl his finger around the liquid remains.
After that, he collected the bottle and sniffed it, his tongue darting out for a wisp of taste before a great scowl darkened ominously on his brow.
He faced them all with a stern set to his lips.
“Laudanum and, if I don’t miss my mark, oil of ether. ”
The constable spoke before any of them could respond. “Who put that in Miss Russell’s tea?”
Henry’s gaze shot to Juliet, barely comprehending what was going on.
“I did,” Juliet said, her voice steady despite the trembling of her hands. “But I added only what I believed to be my aunt’s tonic, not laudanum or oil of ether.”
Henry turned on the doctor. “Are you certain?”
“As far as I can be without further analysis. And with a mixture this strong, your sister has a hard fight ahead of her.” He handed the bottle to the constable, who swiftly pocketed the evidence.
“Then by your own admission, miss,” the constable said, advancing on Juliet, “you’ll have to come with me.”
“Wait!” Henry darted between them. “Is that truly necessary? Can you not question her here? Miss Finch has done nothing but care for my sister … up until now.” He hated himself for those last words, yet they couldn’t be stopped.
“Mr. Russell.” The constable folded his arms, a bull not to be moved.
“I understand this is difficult, but with the doctor’s witness of the residue in your sister’s cup, Miss Russell’s apparent state of unconsciousness, and Miss Finch’s own confession of administering the substance found on the tray, it falls to me to act on what is presently before me.
The evidence warrants immediate custody.
I am afraid this is nonnegotiable, so please step aside. ”
“I did not poison Charity!” Juliet cried. “Anyone could have added those ingredients to my aunt’s tincture. I certainly didn’t!”
The constable cleared his throat. “The household staff will be questioned in due course, miss. But respectfully—you prepared the dose and delivered it to Miss Russell. That places the burden squarely at your feet until proven otherwise and constitutes sufficient cause for detention pending further enquiry.”
All the blood drained to Henry’s feet, leaving him cold as a winter wind.
Fury. Fear. Confusion. There were too many things to sort through to stop this.
He spun to Juliet, horrified, then sickened even further as he took in the trembling of her fingers as she pressed them to her mouth.
Tears shone in her eyes, yet did not spill, for she was ever the strong pillar …
lovely in her fierceness, heartbreaking in her vulnerability.
A slight moan came from the sofa, pulling his attention to Charity. His sister. His own flesh and blood. There was no denying she had been poisoned.
The constable stepped closer, his voice low but firm.
“Mr. Russell, God willing your sister will recover. But deliberate or accidental, the law requires that I secure the person most immediately connected to the act. The sooner I have Miss Finch in my custody, the sooner we may learn the truth—and ensure no further danger comes to your family.” He paused, then added with quiet finality, “And if you hinder me, sir, I will be obliged to consider such action as obstructing a constable in the course of his duty—a charge I would sorely regret bringing against you.”
Henry gritted his teeth until his jaw cracked. Though it killed him in every possible manner, he had no choice but to step aside—and he did so without a backwards glance at Juliet, for if he did, it would surely break him.
“Very well, sir.” The words barely made it past his closed throat. “Do as you must.”