Chapter 24 #2
A murderer that she had almost married?
“We need proof,” she murmured at last. “Not just suspicion.”
“Yes,” Alaric agreed. “And we will get it. You must take this vial to the local doctor, Your Grace. Get it examined. We cannot risk asking him about it during his visit, lest Christopher overhear. He cannot know we suspect him, but we must have the truth of this.”
“Yes,” Cassandra agreed, as she tucked the vial into her reticule. “We must have the truth of this.”
Cassandra visited the doctor that very afternoon. She still carried some skepticism as to Christopher’s ability to kill his own brother, but that wasn’t going to stop her from getting to the bottom of things.
She had promised Annabelle that she would not let her become an orphan, and she planned to keep that promise.
***
The doctor took his time examining the vial, holding it up to the light for a long time before carefully shaking out a few of the particles at the bottom of the glass. He then examined these under a looking glass, even taking a few cautious sniffs.
Cassandra had not smelled anything when she had attempted the same thing, and she leaned forward, curious.
“Can you smell anything?” she asked. “The odor could tell us what it is.”
“It could,” the doctor agreed, “if it had an odor. But this does not. Fear not, Your Grace, that also tells us something.”
“It does?”
He smiled at her kindly. “Of course. It helps us eliminate certain powders and herbs.”
He leaned over the sediment once more, his brow furrowing.
“Where did you say His Grace got this, again?” he asked, and Cassandra’s stomach fluttered. She did not want to make accusations, especially in a small village like this, where word got around.
“Another doctor in Edinburgh,” she lied. “But he could have put the wrong ingredients in. I am sure that if whatever is in this vial is making the duke more sick, it is an accident.”
The doctor looked up at her, the wrinkles on his forehead very deep.
“That is possible,” he said. “There are any number of things that can be toxic when mixed with the wrong foods. But I shall be looking into the matter very seriously, and I should have an answer for you within a day or two.” He tapped the notepad next to him, where he had been taking notes.
“And you said the main symptoms are a headache and fatigue?”
“And irritability,” Cassandra said, nodding. “Although that may come from the fatigue, rather than being a symptom itself.”
“And these started without warning just a few days ago?”
“Yes,” she said, and she hesitated. She wanted to tell him it had begun when his brother had begun serving him wine, but she dare not say that. Instead, she said, “Thank you for your time, Doctor. I hope to hear from you very soon.”
All the way back to Calder Castle, she fretted and worried. There was nothing to do but wait for the doctor’s assessment. To confirm or deny that Christoper was, in fact, poisoning his brother.
The consequences of which would be disastrous. Life-alteringly disastrous.
Back at the castle, she made her way straight to Ewan’s study, where she knew he would be. She wanted to check on him, and when she pushed open the door, her heart nearly stopped.
Ewan was standing, bent over his desk, his hands braced on either side of it. His head was bowed, and he was perspiring so heavily that droplets of sweat were dripping onto the desk.
“Ewan!” she gasped. She ran forward, and he looked up, his face flushed.
“Cassandra…” His eyes were glassy as she helped him sit back down in his chair. “I am… so hot…”
“You are sweating profusely,” she said, and she pulled her fan from her reticule and began to fan him vigorously. “When did this start?”
“Just… just a few minutes… ago.”
His voice came out as a wheeze. With her free hand, she seized his cravat and began to loosen it. “This will help cool you,” she whispered, as she untied it and pulled it out from around his neck. “You should remove your jacket as well. And I will have your valet run a cool bath.”
Ewan complied with her suggestion, and she helped him to remove the jacket, laying it carefully on the chair across from him. Only then was he able to lean back and close his eyes, his breathing stabilizing somewhat as the flush began to creep from his face.
“Is that better?”
“Yes.” His eyes flickered open, finding hers. “Thank you, Cassandra. You take… such good… care of me.”
His eyes fluttered closed again, and she continued to fan him until his color had returned to normal. Only then did she help him from the room and order his valet to draw a bath.
When she was satisfied that he was being taken care of, she returned to her room, where she pulled parchment paper, a quill, and ink from the drawer of the escritoire. She then sat down at the desk and began to pen a letter to her mother.
Lady Pembury might have her flaws, but if there was one thing the woman could be counted on, it was her ability to get what she wanted.
And right now, Cassandra needed her help to get what she wanted: answers. And an end to Ewan’s suffering.