Chapter Two #2
No one answered the door. Frowning, he glanced back at Emmaline, then banged harder. “This is Constable Gordon. I urgently need to speak with Lord Edgar Slater.”
Nothing.
He waved to the nearby men who unsheathed their swords. Their stances and how they held their weapons indicated experience and training. From their graying hair, Emmaline guessed they were retired soldiers.
Constable Gordon adjusted his stance, ready to ram the door in. Before he moved, the door opened, and the servant from yesterday leaned against the doorframe.
Even from a distance, Emmaline saw the exhaustion and pain clinging to Reginald. He could barely hold himself up, his head drooping, and there was a pallid cast to his skin.
Did Niall poison the staff? That might explain why no one interfered in the fight. It happened during the early hours of the morning, but it was loud enough that they should have disturbed anyone sleeping in the estate.
“Lord Edgar,” Reginald began, then paused, sealing his lips shut as his cheeks expanded. He visibly swallowed and started again. “Lord Edgar is indisposed at the moment.”
“Are you all right, sir?” the constable asked. He glanced back at Emmaline before offering, “I have a medic with me if you or someone in the household is ill.”
“Perfectly all right,” Reginald replied. “Just a bit—” Black vomit spewed from his mouth mid-sentence, splattering onto the doorstep. Constable Gordon and the other men danced away from the puddle of bile, grimacing down at their stained shoes.
Reginald swayed for a moment, then straightened and wiped his mouth. “My deepest apologies, sir. To be honest, the household is dealing with a bit of trouble from last night’s supper.”
Emmaline remembered her own experience with this illness after Niall poisoned one of the dinners at Veritim Palace. It hadn’t been enough to kill anyone, but she’d been weak and sick for hours, even after taking medicine.
Forgetting her agreement with the constable, she dismounted Sugar and ran up to the door. “They’ve been poisoned.”
Reginald shook his head, then frowned at her. “You.”
“Do you recognize this young woman?” Constable Gordon asked.
“Yes, she came here yesterday with … with …” he trailed off, his gaze growing fogged. When his eyes focused again, he shoved an accusing finger at Emmaline. “You are the one who did this!”
“I didn’t,” Emmaline insisted. “But I can help. All I need is my bag—”
“Constable, I demand you arrest her!”
The constable looked between Emmaline and Reginald, then tried to defuse the situation. “I need to speak with Lord Edgar first.”
Reginald scowled, but in the end agreed. “Very well. I will get him now.” He turned around sharply, almost tripping over his feet.
In the hallway, a maid leaned her forehead against the wall, clutching her stomach.
“Ooh, I should have taken the day off,” she muttered.
“Why am I even working?” She raised her head and glanced at the doorway, realizing for the first time that they had visitors.
Straightening, she picked up a feather duster and began dusting a few inches above an empty side-table.
Frowning, she glanced down at it. “Where’d the vase go? It was just here.”
Crazed laughter preceded another servant stumbling out of a side room. He fell to his knees, holding his stomach, and smiled widely at Emmaline. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the floor, the smile still trapped on his face.
Emmaline rushed forward to check his pulse. His heart raced faster than a hare running from a dog. If he wasn’t treated soon, it might fail him.
“These people need medical attention,” she said. “I’m getting my supplies.”
“Wait!” Constable Gordon shouted. “We still need to speak with the lord!”
Emmaline ignored him, racing down the hall and up the stairs.
In the hallways, she passed a few other servants in various states of distress.
One sat slumped against a wall, legs spread wide enough for her uniform skirt to crawl up her knees.
She sang softly to herself about a lamp and a girl and springtime.
Once Emmaline found the guest room she’d spent the night in, her heart dropped.
Her bag was where she’d left it, but so was her mother’s.
Maybe Mama escaped but couldn’t risk coming back for it.
She picked it up and clutched it to her chest as tears stung her eyes.
At least she would have more supplies to treat the poisoned residents of the estate.
On her walk back to the foyer, she paused every time she saw an afflicted servant and fed them a few drops of one of her mother’s antidotes, hoping to neutralize the poison.
Some of them fell asleep immediately after, while others recovered their senses enough to carry themselves off to their own beds.
Emmaline stopped one and asked, “Do you know what happened here?”
The maid clutched her head. “I remember Cook offering us a bottle of wine. Said she opened it for dinner, but the lord didn’t like the taste. Must’ve gone bad and that’s why he didn’t like it.”
“Anything else after that?”
The maid blinked a few times, each time her eyes staying closed longer. “I was … so happy. Drunk, more like. It would have been so lovely if it weren’t for the god’s awful hangover.” Grimacing, she said, “Please don’t tell the lord. We’ll all be fired.”