Chapter 19 #2
As she entered through the side door, a sound from the top of the stairs drew her gaze.
She looked up and saw the hem of a long robe flutter out behind someone before disappearing from sight.
Anne started. King Charles? Or at least, his ghost?
Anne shivered and blinked, wondering if she had imagined it. She must have.
Remembering she was supposed to summon the cook-housekeeper as well, Anne continued belowstairs to pass along Lady Celia’s request for Mrs. Pratt to come up to her room at four.
“Up to her room? Whatever for?”
“Don’t worry. You’re not in any trouble. She simply wants you to witness the signing of her will.”
“Oh, is that all? Very well, miss.” Mrs. Pratt sent her a relieved smile before disappearing into the storeroom.
The scullery maid, Kezia, approached, shyly twisting her hands in her apron. “Miss? Been wantin’ to tell ya somethin’. Remember when you asked Clara who brought that little vase of flowers down here? I saw who done it.”
“Did you? Who was it?”
“Colonel Paine.”
The name was a punch to Anne’s stomach. “The colonel? Are you certain?”
“Yes, miss. Said it were a little surprise for his aunt. I thought it were a secret, so I didn’t say anythin’. Then I thought maybe I should.”
The news troubled Anne, and she planned to ask Jasper about it.
“Thank you for telling me, Kezia.”
After Louie had a treat and drank from his water bowl, Anne led him back up to Lady Celia’s room. Reaching the top of the stairs, Anne noticed the goose feather on the floor again. Louie tugged on the lead, straining to sniff something else he’d found on the floor.
“Louie, no.” Afraid he might eat whatever it was, Anne bent down to pick it up before he could. Straightening, she lifted the thing to her face to better see it in the corridor’s dim light. A long spiral of dark, curled hair—human hair but glued at one end, as though fallen from a wig . . .
How strange.
Feeling uneasy, Anne set the hair on the small table beside the door and let herself into Lady Celia’s bedchamber.
Immediately she knew something was wrong.
A new stillness and a new smell permeated the room.
She hurried to the bed and found Lady Celia all but insensible.
The sweet, pungent smell of opium was heavy on her breath, and something spicy as well.
Nutmeg and cloves? Anne felt for a pulse.
It was quick and light. Her breathing was rapid, and her skin warm and perspiring.
No. Not again. Would the woman survive another overdose, let alone the unpleasant measures needed to ameliorate the drug’s effects?
“Lady Celia?” Anne said, then repeated more sharply, “Lady Celia!”
A slight groan was her only reply.
Anne shouted for Rosa, and when the young woman appeared, wide-eyed, Anne told her to run and fetch her uncle, and to send Toby to ask Dr. Marsland to come as quickly as possible. She hoped he had returned from Nailsworth by now.
When Rosa had gone, Anne grabbed the pitcher and splashed cold water onto Lady Celia’s face, neck, and chest. The woman barely flinched.
Anne rushed to her own room and grasped the laudanum bottle—it was at the same level as when she’d administered it last night. She had not given the woman any opium today. But someone had, and with a vengeance, based on the severity of her reaction.
Panicked, Anne dug into her medicine case and pulled out the bottle of emetic syrup and the throat feather.
She rushed back to the bed. Lady Celia’s mouth was already open, and Anne lifted the woman’s head, preparing to pour in the syrup.
The door burst open and Anne jumped. Mr. Dalby strode in. He stopped and gaped at her looming over Lady Celia, bottle still poised at her mouth.
“Miss Loveday! What are you doing?”
“She’s been drugged. I was about to give her an emetic.”
“Let me see that.” He swiped the bottle from her and sniffed. “Are you certain an emetic is all you’ve given her?”
“Yes! I have not given her the evening dose of laudanum yet, but someone appears to have done so.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Katherine came in, no doubt drawn by the commotion. “I heard shouting and Rosa sending Toby for Dr. Marsland. What’s happened?”
“If I’m right,” Anne said, “she’s been given an overdose of opium.”
Katherine’s eyes widened. “Given?”
“And not by me!” Again Anne splashed cold water on Lady Celia’s face and briskly rubbed her limbs. “We must rouse her.”
Katherine bent near and shouted in her ear, “Mamma? Mamma! Wake up.”
Startled by her daughter’s voice, Lady Celia mumbled, “Stop shouting.”
“You may have taken too much opium, Mamma.”
“Who did this to you?” Jude demanded. “It was your nurse, was it not?”
“No.” Lady Celia shook her head, eyes mere slits. “It was . . . Charles the First.”
They all shared stunned looks at that. Then Lady Celia fell back into insensibility before anyone could ask what she meant.
No doubt a hallucination. Unless . . . Anne recalled seeing the flutter of a long robe as something or someone walked away from this room.
And she recalled the lock of curled hair she’d found on the floor outside. . . .
“I was about to give her an emetic when you charged in,” Anne said. “I will try now, but I fear it may be too late.”
Normally a patient’s swallowing reflex took over, but not this time. The syrup pooled in Lady Celia’s mouth and stayed there.
Anne tipped her head to the side to prevent choking, and the medicine dribbled back out.
Lady Celia’s breathing began to slow. Her pulse too. Anne pushed up one of her eyelids and found the pupil unnaturally small.
The woman expelled one last rattling breath, and her skin took on an ashen hue.
Dreading to do so, Anne put her free hand to Lady Celia’s chest and felt for a heartbeat. Even a faint one.
Nothing. Anne’s own heart fell in response. No! Not again!
“Well?” Jude asked.
“She is gone.”
Katherine began to cry.
A quarter of an hour later, Dr. Marsland hurried up the stairs and into the room, panting hard. “Forgive my muddy boots. I’d just ridden back when Toby summoned me. What’s happened?”
“She’s died,” Anne said, disbelieving and despondent.
“What? Let me see her.” The doctor stepped to the bed, gesturing the others away.
Anne retreated and watched as he listened for a heartbeat and felt for breathing and a pulse. His deepening frown confirmed the unavoidable truth. He slowly pulled the sheet over her face.
Lady Celia was dead. Her worst fear realized.
Anne’s newfound confidence came crashing down around her. In its place all the old feelings of defeat came rushing back. Another patient had died on her watch. She decided then and there she would never serve as nurse again. She was incompetent. A fraud. A failure.
And the way Dr. Marsland seemed to be avoiding her gaze, and Mr. Dalby’s scowl, confirmed every one of her self-doubts.
Mr. Dalby said, “When I came in, Miss Loveday was about to pour this down her throat.” He lifted the bottle.
“It’s an emetic,” Anne defended.
“Well, apparently that isn’t all you gave her. You said there were signs of an overdose.”
“I have given her no laudanum today.”
“Do you expect us to believe that?” Mr. Dalby demanded.
“Yes. And I can prove it.”
Anne retrieved the bottle with the tiny number markings and her notebook.
“After the incident with the digitalis, I started marking and recording amounts of each by date. And I’ve been having Rosa verify and initial the levels.
See? The level of this bottle was at eleven last night, and it’s still at eleven.
Look for yourself. And I distinctly smelled nutmeg and cloves on her breath, likely used to disguise the bitter taste of whatever she was given.
While this tincture contains opium and alcohol only. ”
Mr. Dalby said, “You might have used a different bottle.”
“You are free to search my case, my room, and all of my belongings.”
“You could have disposed of it before we arrived.”
“Why would I do so? Especially knowing I would be the first to be blamed?”
“Then who are you accusing?”
“I accuse no one. I don’t know who did it.”
Katherine spoke up. “Miss Loveday was trying to help Mamma when we came in. Surely if she had meant to harm her, she would not have done so.”
Mr. Dalby crossed his arms. “Except to try to make herself look innocent.”
“I am innocent!”
Dr. Marsland’s voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly gentle. “Miss Fitzjohn is right. Let’s all calm down. Lady Celia has been ill for some time. Her heart increasingly compromised and weak. She may have simply died of natural causes.”
Anne protested, “But—”
“Now, come,” Dr. Marsland said. “Let us show some respect for the dearly departed woman as well as her daughter.” He turned to Katherine. “Miss Fitzjohn, if you would like to take some time alone with your mother, we will await you downstairs and continue our discussion then.”
They went down to wait in the parlour. Katherine joined them several minutes later, wadded handkerchief in hand, eyes red and damp. Rosa returned with Dr. Finch in tow. When the two entered the parlour, their gazes went directly to Anne.
Anne shook her head, unable to say the words over the burning lump in her throat.
“Oh no,” Rosa breathed, hands covering her mouth.
Dr. Finch winced. “I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner.”
No accusation in his tone, Dr. Marsland asked, “Where were you?”
“Miss Cox summoned me to Damsell’s again to see her mother. I came as soon as I could, but apparently I’m too late to be of any help?”
“Yes. Most unfortunate,” Dr. Marsland replied. “Though I don’t know if there was anything either of us could have done.”
Now that all had gathered, Dr. Marsland looked around the room. “Where is Colonel Paine?”
“I don’t know,” Katherine replied. “Jude?”
Mr. Dalby shrugged. “Haven’t seen him all day. Yesterday either, come to think of it.”
“Nor I. That’s odd.”