Chapter Thirty
Maggie had been imagining crimes most of her life. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. She’d read them in other people’s
books and written them in her own. She’d listened to podcasts and watched movies and she knew what people always said.
It happened so fast...
It was all just a blur...
But right then, in that moment, for the first time in her life, she believed them.
Cece had stopped screaming and was standing, frozen, in the hall, but James and Dr. Charles were rushing up the stairs. Kitty
came out of the bedroom—a crying baby on her shoulder, Rupert and Nanny Davis right behind her—as everything blended into
a blur of shouts and cries and chaos.
“What is all this racket—”
“What’s going on up—”
“Will you stop that screeching—”
“What is the meaning of—”
“Good god, is he dead?”
Suddenly, the hall went silent as all eyes turned to Ethan, who was already crouched over Sir Jasper and feeling for a pulse.
It seemed to take an hour for him to look up. “ He’s alive. ”
And then the world turned into a totally different kind of chaos.
“Rupert, take her.” Kitty thrust the baby at her husband (who simply passed the child to the nanny) and tried to push through
the crowd. “Let me through!” Kitty’s a nurse , Maggie’s frozen brain remembered.
“Get out of the way!” Dr. Charles cried before kneeling on the rug beside Sir Jasper and starting CPR.
They had a doctor there. And a nurse. And...
Maggie looked down at Sir Jasper, the way he was sprawled on the floor, lying half on top of the overturned tea tray, cookies
and crumbs and pieces of shattered porcelain all around him.
“Oh, what have I— Crikey! Is that man dead?” Freddy Banes skidded to a stop in the doorway.
Maggie was turning to Ethan. “Ambulance,” they said at the same time.
“Sir”—James was shaking his head—“I’m afraid the phones are—”
“I was able to make a call this morning. Just for a minute.” Maggie felt guilty as she cut her eyes at Ethan, but he didn’t
react at all, no I told you so . No sarcastic reply or cocky grin. “In the east wing. The top floor of the tower...”
“I’ll go.” Freddy took off at a run.
“Now what are all of you doing standing out...” The duke was striding down the hall like a man who didn’t have a care in
the world, but he trailed off as soon as he saw Sir Jasper. “Good Lord. Is he—”
“He’s not dead, but he will be if we can’t get him to a hospital.” Ethan ran a hand through his hair, dislodging tiny pieces
of ice that hadn’t had time to melt yet. Which seemed impossible. The maze had been an hour ago—a year. Everything was happening
in slow motion and Maggie felt herself go numb. Like she was still out there, wet and disoriented and too cold to feel a thing,
which was better than feeling everything. It was the only way she could think, and thinking trumped feeling any day.
She looked around Eleanor’s office—at the notebooks on the shelves and the computer and the old record player that had seemed
like such a clue a few hours before, but now Sir Jasper was unconscious and Eleanor was...
Eleanor was missing. Eleanor might be dead.
“Is he having a heart attack?” someone said.
“Well, it looks like a stroke—”
“Ew.” Cece cringed. “Looks like he was kind of barf-y.”
“It’s poison.” Maggie knew it. She just did. “Is his heart too slow or too fast?” she asked but no one answered. “Kitty? His
heart rate! Is it—”
“Too... too slow,” Kitty said.
“It could be foxglove?” Maggie tried to think. She was desperate to remember. “Maybe monkshood?”
“What’s that?” the duchess asked.
“Wolfsbane. Some people call it...” Maggie was too busy racking her mind for anything she’d ever learned about poisons
and antidotes and— Charcoal. “James, is there any activated charcoal in the mansion?”
“I’m not sure, but if it pertains to poisons, there is a good chance that Ms. Ashley has it. In fact...” There was a light
in his eye, as if he’d just remembered something, and then he bolted for the stairs.
“Now see here,” Rupert was saying. “I don’t see any reason to jump to any conclusions. That man doesn’t look poisoned to me.
If you ask me—”
Maggie’s gaze flew to Ethan’s. She didn’t know why. She didn’t even want to think about why! But—
He was the guy who takes the bullet. And he was looking right at her.
“Everybody out. Now.”
“See here, Wyatt.” Rupert puffed his chest out. “I don’t know what makes you think you’re in charge, but I demand—”
“You want to make demands?” Ethan spun on him. “Go right ahead. But make them downstairs. Now out.”
Maggie was aware, faintly, of people moving. Leaving. Heading downstairs or, in Nanny Davis’s case, back to the children in
their playroom. But Maggie was still glued to her spot by the door. She couldn’t look at Sir Jasper. In fact, she was very
pointedly looking anywhere but at Sir Jasper, but Maggie couldn’t just walk away. Eleanor had last been seen in that room. Sir Jasper might still die there.
And Maggie—
“That goes for you too.” Ethan’s hand was a sure, steady pressure on her waist. “We need to figure out how we’re going to
get him to a hospital if we can’t call out.”
“I know.” But Maggie didn’t move.
“Maggie?” He was so much bigger than she was, but it didn’t make her feel small. It made her feel safe. “Maggie?”
“I know, all right? I know! It’s just...” In the next second, she was airborne and the scene was upside down and the office
was growing small behind her.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
She banged her hands against the small of his back. “Put me down.”
And then he did, tossing her off his shoulder and pressing her against the wall before glancing toward the stairs as if to
make sure no one else could hear. “Listen to me.” Hands were in her hair then, as gentle and as soft as his voice as he said,
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Sir Jasper was poisoned and someone shot at me and Eleanor is missing. Eleanor is missing and she’s out there and...”
Something about the sure, steady weight of his presence gave her the strength to say, “It’s not a test.”
Maybe it was the trauma or the jet lag or the cool, dim shadows of the hall, but Ethan’s eyes turned the color of midnight.
“It’s not a test.”