Chapter 24
Cassandra was on her knees in the soil, planting seedlings that Lillian had helped her order from the village. Her knees were starting to ache as they sank into the hard ground, and her back was also beginning to hurt from being bent over, but otherwise, she was content.
She loved being out in her garden, which was starting to take shape, her hands dirty, the back of her neck sweaty, her body performing labor that was useful and productive. So much of her life had been spent being useless, standing idly in ballrooms trying to attract the attention of a man.
But this was different. She was putting food into the earth, food that would grow and nourish her, Annabelle, and Ewan.
Annabelle was currently kneeling beside her, also attempting to plant the seedlings, but mostly talking about the names of flowers in French and how she wished her father was helping them in the garden.
“But this past week he has been too sick,” Annabelle said, as her little fingers pushed into the dirt. “He says that he is too tired and that his head hurts too much. I am worried about him.”
Cassandra glanced over at her stepdaughter, a hard knot forming in her stomach. If even Annabelle was concerned about the headaches, then that meant Ewan must be in too much pain to conceal it from her.
“Has he ever had headaches like this before?” she asked.
Annabelle shook her head. “Papa always says he is as healthy as an ox.” She giggled, but then her expression sobered.
“The headaches only started after Uncle Christopher returned. I would think he would be happy! We did not have to have a funeral for Uncle Christopher in the end! But that is when he started feeling so tired and sad.”
Cassandra felt cold, despite the sun high overhead. Pulling her hands from the dirt, she wiped them on her apron before placing one on Annabelle’s shoulder.
“Your father will be well,” she murmured. “It is just a few headaches. The doctor will come, and he will get him sorted out.”
Annabelle’s lip trembled. “I do not want to be an orphan,” she whispered. “Bad things happen to orphans. Everyone knows that.”
“You are not going to become an orphan,” Cassandra said sharply. “And I will always be here to take care of you. Do you understand?”
Lip still quivering, Annabelle nodded. There were tears swimming behind her eyes, but she did not let them fall.
Then she leaned forward and threw her arms around Cassandra’s neck.
Cassandra hugged her back tightly, folding her against her chest, even as worry bloomed there.
She needed to consult with a physician right away.
She could not let anything bad happen to Ewan—for his sake, for her own sake, but most of all, for Annabelle.
***
When she and Annabelle returned to the house, it was to find Alaric waiting outside in the drive, a preoccupied look on his face. The moment he saw Cassandra, he stepped forward.
“Your Grace,” he murmured. “I wondered if I might have a private word.”
“But of course.” Cassandra let go of Annabelle’s hand and crouched down. “Run along and get ready for supper,” she said. “I shall be in shortly.”
Once Annabelle had disappeared inside, Cassandra took Alaric’s proffered arm, and the two of them began walking together toward the gardens. Alaric did not speak until they were safely inside the stone walls. Then he stopped and turned to face her, his expression grave.
“I need to speak to you about something of vital importance and deadly seriousness,” he said.
“Ewan’s illness,” Cassandra said at once, and Alaric nodded in surprise.
“So you are suspicious too?”
“I am concerned,” Cassandra said, frowning. “A headache or two would be one thing, but it has been days, and he is only growing worse. Coupled with the fatigue, his irritability, and his lethargy…”
“Yes,” Alaric said, “I am concerned as well. The headaches seem to be growing worse, and the period of time between them is shortening.”
“He needs to be seen to by a doctor,” Cassandra said at once, fear taking hold of her heart with its icy hand. “Or perhaps a surgeon in Edinburgh. We should get him there at once!”
“Yes, I agree. In fact, I’ve already organized for the Calder doctor to visit directly” Alaric said. “But there is also something else I wish to discuss with you. Something that is of a highly sensitive nature.”
Alaric reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial, stoppered with cork. It was empty, except for a layer of sediment at the bottom of it.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It is a tonic that Christopher gave His Grace this afternoon,” he said. “I watched him do it. He claimed that it was medicine he himself had taken from an apothecary in London.”
“I have known friends who believe in the power of apothecaries,” Cassandra said.
“It might be a useful concoction,” Alaric said, although from his tone, she sensed he did not really believe this. “It might also be useless but harmless. But my fear is that it will do more harm. That it may, in fact, be causing this illness.”
A chill moved down Cassandra.
“What are you saying, Alaric?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder as she did to make sure that they were alone. “Are you saying that Christopher somehow caused these headaches?”
Alaric set his jaw, and something like anger flashed in his eyes.
“I am,” he said. “Think about it, Your Grace: The headaches, fatigue, and irritability all began shortly after Christopher returned. But not right away. Only after Christopher had secured a large sum of money from His Grace in order to pay off his debts, which, I have since learned, are not insignificant, and which he owes to a dangerous crime family in Edinburgh.”
“What?” Cassandra stared at him. “I did not know that.”
Alaric grimaced. “Christopher has been most unwise, Your Grace. And I fear that he has become desperate. This family, the Fergusons, are known to exact blood prices from those that owe them money.”
“But Ewan agreed to pay it!”
“For now,” Alaric observed. “But what happens when Christopher goes back to his old, gambling ways, and accrues a new debt? Your brother made him swear that he would quit gambling, but you and I both know that Christopher will never reform. He is too far gone. What he needs is not a lump sum of cash to cover his debts, but a steady source of reliable income so that he can continue in his degenerate ways.”
Cassandra’s heart was in her throat. She felt cold and clammy all over.
“The dukedom,” she whispered. “You think he is after the Dukedom of Calder.”
Alaric nodded slowly. “When Christopher lost you, he did not just lose a wife and a dowry,” he said.
“He lost the chance of a title. His Grace had sworn that he would never remarry, and I have every reason to believe he would have kept his word, had Christopher not disappeared and he been obliged to marry you. Which means that in lieu of a son, the dukedom would have passed to Christopher after his death. Now, he fears that he will lose it. At least, that is what I suspect. You have married his brother, and you very well could bear him an heir. You may already be carrying this child.”
Cassandra thought, with dismay, of the coldness of her marriage bed, but of course, she said nothing about this to Alaric.
“If you are, then I would also begin to fear for your safety,” Alaric continued. “I cannot be sure, but after watching Christopher give His Grace this tonic, and thinking back to the last few days, I am beginning to suspect —that Christopher may be poisoning His Grace.”
Cassandra gaped. She could barely even wrap her mind around it.
And yet…
Christopher had been serving Ewan glass after glass of wine.
He had always insisted on being the one to pour it, making a big show of thanking his brother for his hospitality.
And Ewan had been imbibing more than usual.
Not enough alcohol to cause these problems, but if the alcohol had trace amounts of poison in it…
She stared down at the vial still in Alaric’s hands. The sediment at the bottom looked innocent enough, but how would she know the difference between something that was safe and something that was poisonous?
And Alaric was right about Christopher. He had lost everything when she had married Ewan.
His attentions from the past few days suddenly came into a new light. He was not trying to steal her from Ewan. He was possibly trying to get close enough that he could poison her, too.
She shivered again. It could not be… It was too horrible to contemplate.
Shaking her head, she looked back up at Alaric. “It is possible we are being fanciful,” she murmured. “That we are letting our imaginations and prejudices run away with us. This could simply be a case of bad headaches.”
Alaric, however, shook his head. “There is more. When Christopher was out for a ride earlier today, I snuck into his chambers”
“You did what?”
“You will thank me when you learn what I found. There were letters, Your Grace. From an apothecary in Edinburgh. They used medical and herbal terminology I cannot pretend to understand, but there was one line that jumped out at me: Gradual administration ensures the desired effect.”
“But that could mean anything!” Cassandra said, her voice growing shriller as fear and disbelief warred inside of her. “It could be referring to the desired effect of recovery!”
“It could be,” Alaric admitted. “But there was something sinister about it all. For one thing, Christopher told us the tonic was sent from London. So why does he have instructions from an apothecary in Edinburgh? And I feel that if cure was the desired effect, it would have simply said so.”
“Where are these letters?” she demanded. “May I read them?”
“I had to leave them there,” Alaric said apologetically. “I could not risk Christopher discovering they were gone.”
For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other. Cassandra did not know what to think. She wanted to believe Alaric. But she also did not. Christopher being an irresponsible bride-groom was one thing. Even a gambler. But a murderer?