Silk And Steel Part 26

Reeves eyed the men with disdain, looking at the pair down his long, stately nose. "Very well, my lady." He disappeared around the corner, his steps long and urgent, while Kathryn led the men down the hall. Once inside the Gold Room, she rang for tea-anything to delay the conversation till Lucien arrived. He might still be angry, but he had always stood by her, and she trusted him to help her in this.

Kathryn instructed the footman on where to place the tea cart, then busied herself with the cups and saucers. She hoped she looked calm-on the inside she was shaking.

Sweet G.o.d, what on earth could the men possibly want? Were they here for her? Had word of her transgressions at the physician's college somehow reached them? Would it really matter all that much if it had? Or perhaps they had come for little Michael. Either way, from the grim expressions on their faces, it didn't look good.

Hoping her hands remained steady, Kathryn poured tea for each of the men. "My husband should be here any minute," she said, praying that it was true. If she ever needed Lucien's strength, she needed it today.

"Perhaps we should start without him," Constable Perkins suggested, ignoring the steaming cup she set in front of him and instead coming to his feet. Kathryn hated the fact she was forced to look up at him.

"I would rather wait," she said, "if you don't mind." As badly as she wanted to know why the men had come, she wasn't sure how long she could control her fear. It was growing stronger by the moment, making her hands shake and her pulse pound. Dear G.o.d, where was Lucien? Surely she had no reason to be afraid.

But she wasn't all that certain, and her growing fear made her insides tightened another notch. Kathryn moistened her dry lips and started to speak just as the double doors slid open. To her great relief, Lucien walked in.

"Gentlemen." Still dressed in his riding clothes, he instantly saw the terror she was trying so hard to hide and walked straight toward her. Kathryn knew a feeling of grat.i.tude so strong it made her dizzy. She and Constable Perkins rose to greet him. On legs that trembled beneath her skirt, she closed the distance to his side and he settled a hand at her waist. His strong, rea.s.suring hold gave her courage, and Kathryn thought, in that moment, she had never loved him more.

"All right," he said. "Now that I've arrived, why don't you tell us what this is about?"

Perkins arched a bushy eyebrow. "Put that way, I shan't mince words. Eight days ago, Douglas Roth was poisoned at his home in Milford Park."

"Poisoned... ?" The word squeaked out of Kathryn's throat, sounding strangled and choked. Eight days ago they had been visitors at Milford Park. "That... that is impossible."

"Completely impossible," Lucien agreed. "Eight days ago, Lord Dunstan was the picture of perfect health."

"That is quite correct, my lord." Constable Nivens plucked lint from the sleeve of his burgundy tailcoat. He was a gaunt man, sallow complected, with shrewd, accusing eyes. "At the time of your visit, his lordship was sound in both body and spirit. The night of your departure, however, he fell gravely ill. His physician, Dr. Harris, eventually put the cause of that illness to a deadly dose of poison."

Lucien's expression remained bland, but a muscle tightened along his jaw, "Are you telling us the Earl of Dunstan is dead?"

"Not yet," Perkins said. "Though Dr. Harris believes it is only a matter of days at most. A decanter of brandy in his study is believed to be the culprit. The doctor says it was heavily laced with an extract of nightshade." Icy blue eyes swung to Kathryn. "It is a well-known fact that your wife has an extensive knowledge of the herbs and plants useful in medicine. She had motive and opportunity, since her uncle was the man who had committed her to St. Bart's, and according to the butler she disappeared for some time during her visit."

Dark spots danced for a moment in front of Kathryn's eyes. She felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath her. She gripped Lucien's arm to keep from swaying on her feet.

"My wife did not poison her uncle. You have no way of knowing how long that brandy had been contaminated, and while you are looking for a motive, you might question some of the dozens of people Lord Dunstan has taken advantage of over the years."

"Advantage? In what manner?"

"In any manner he might find beneficial. Put simply, the man is ruthless in the extreme. There is no possible way to know what enemies he might have made over the course of his lifetime."

"If that is so, perhaps you can provide us with some of those names."

"With a little digging, I'm certain I can. I'm sure my wife will be able to contribute to the list herself."

Perkins stared at Kathryn. "Is there anyone at Milford Park who can vouch for your whereabouts during the time you were there?"

"I-I was with my cousin Muriel."

"We're aware of that. What about after Lady Muriel departed?"

"I wandered about the house. I hadn't been home for a while. It felt good to be there, to reacquaint myself with some of my family's possessions: portraits, embroidery my mother had done, a collection of thimbles I had admired as a child. I had missed seeing those things while I was away."

"And did you not go into your uncle's study?"

Kathryn faltered. Sweet G.o.d, she had only just gone in for a moment. The room was her father's favorite and she had liked to go there as a child, simply to feel his presence. She'd felt little of it there that day, now that Dunstan had taken over use of the room, and she had not tarried. "I-I don't remember. I walked about for quite a while before my husband summoned me to leave."

Perkins glanced at Nivens, who made a faint nod of his head. She wasn't sure but she thought that perhaps even Lucien had picked up on the lie.

"All right," Perkins said. "For the present that will be all. In the meanwhile, however, I suggest you both remain close to home. There will undoubtedly be more questions for Lady Litchfield. Should the earl expire, there is a distinct possibility that her ladyship will be charged with murder."

At the edges of her vision, Kathryn saw darkness and for an instant the room seemed to fade. She felt Lucien's arm go around her as he eased her down into a chair. "Stay here. I'll see the gentlemen out."

She simply nodded. Her mind was spinning, so full of fear she couldn't think. Her uncle had been poisoned. She couldn't deny she had every reason to wish him dead. In truth, she loathed the very sight of him. And she could easily have done it. She had often worked with poisonous herbs, even deadly nightshade, which in tiny doses could help ease pain and was good for indigestion.

And she had been alone in the house-in truth, even briefly gone into his study. Dear Lord, the constable must surely believe that she was the one who had poisoned him! Nausea rolled in her stomach. Even her husband must surely believe her guilty.

Kathryn thought of the troubled look she had seen in his eyes, and though at St. Bart's she had often wished her uncle dead, she found herself praying he would live.

Minutes dragged, past. Kathryn crept to the drawing room door and stood listening to the low hum of the men's conversation. What were Perkins and Nivens saying to her husband? Were they convincing him she was guilty? She wished she could be there to defend herself, but she was afraid her presence might somehow make matters worse.

Instead, she strained to hear, waited tensely for the men to leave and her husband to return. At last the hall fell silent, the heavy oaken door opened and closed, and Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief. Then she heard Lucien's footsteps striding down the hall and steeled herself to face him.

He had almost reached the Gold Room when the sound of running feet and shouting servants halted him just outside the door. Kathryn's heart leapt as she imagined what new crisis must have occurred and stepped into the corridor beside him.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"I don't know." Turning, he started walking toward the rear of the house, Kathryn running to keep up with his long-legged strides. It was Bennie Taylor, she saw, racing toward them like a madman.

"It's Mikey!" he shouted. "Ye gotta come quick!"

Kathryn's heart lurched. Lucien started running and so did Kathryn, a new kind of fear rushing through her. Lucien reached the child first, pushing between the two grooms kneeling beside him on the gra.s.s. One held Michael upright while the other pounded frantically on his back. It was obvious the child had swallowed something and that it was lodged in his throat. Lucien didn't wait, just jerked the boy up by the ankle, holding him upside down in the air as he slapped and pounded, trying futilely to dislodge whatever it was.

Michael's face was slowly turning purple, and a sickening little wheezing noise rasped in and out of his throat. All the while, his big terrified blue eyes clung to Lucien, pleading for his help.

"ForG.o.dsake, what did he swallow?" the marquess demanded, still trying to loosen whatever was wedged in the small boy's breathing pa.s.sage.

"T'weren't nothin' but a piece of candy." Bennie's eyes filled with tears as Lucien rested the child once more on the ground and opened his mouth, his long fingers delving inside in an effort to extract whatever he had swallowed.

" 'E were hungry. Cook give us a piece of hard candy. That's all it was... just a piece of candy."

Kathryn bit back a sob. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, and her own breathing grew labored. Sweet G.o.d, the marquess was doing everything Kathryn knew to do, everything she had read should be done, but nothing seemed to be working. The little boy's face was completely purple now, his small hands clawing frantically at his throat.

Kathryn's pulse roared in her ears and she was shaking all over. For the first time in her life, as she looked at little Michael, heard the thin wheeze of air that was all he could gasp into his lungs, she thought she might actually faint.

Then Michael's eyes slowly closed and his small body went limp.

"He's unconscious!" Lucien shouted. His eyes swung to Kathryn and they were so full of pain Kathryn felt it like a blow to the stomach. "He's going to die, Kathryn! We've got to do something to help him!"

"We was suckin' on the candy." Bennie started rambling. "Then Mikey started laughin' at somethin' Joey said-"

"Kathryn!" Lucien shouted. "Tell me what to do!"

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "Turn him upside down again. Maybe this time-"

"That's not enough and you know it! Michael is dying! You've spent years reading those d.a.m.nable books! Do something to save him!"

Kathryn swallowed, her chest aching with fear and frustration. Dear G.o.d, not Michael! She loved the boy as if he were her own and seeing him like this made it nearly impossible to think. She dragged in a breath, clamped down hard on her terror, shoved back the helplessness and pain. Frantically, her mind began searching, going over the knowledge she had gained. Lucien was right. There had to be something she could do-some way to save him!

"He has to breathe," she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, her voice faint and shaky, barely under control. "Nothing else matters but that. There is a sort of tube in the body that goes down the throat. That's how the air gets into his lungs. If I could open it... I don't know if it would work, but maybe-"

"Do it!" Lucien commanded. Reaching inside his riding boot, he drew out the thin silver blade he had been carrying since the attack he had suffered at the inn. "Do it, Kathryn! If there is the slightest chance it will save him, we have to take the risk!"

Kathryn wet her lips and took the knife he held out to her. Though inside she was shaking, her hands looked amazingly steady. "Get my medical supplies," she quietly instructed Bennie, who dashed off toward the empty tack room where the supplies from the cottage had been secreted away. Ignoring Lucien's sharp glance, she said a quick prayer for guidance and began to run her fingers along Michael's throat, searching for the breathing tube, trying to recall from her recent studies exactly where it was in relation to the big, blood-carrying tubes along the sides.

Kathryn steeled herself, found the spot she thought would be best, and inserted the blade, making the smallest incision she could manage that would let in a sufficient amount of air. Instantly, the boy's narrow chest began to lift and fall in a more regular rhythm and Kathryn said a silent prayer that at least so far she hadn't killed him.

"I need something to soak up the blood."

Another of the boys dashed away while Lucien jerked off his coat and pulled his full-sleeved shirt off over his head. He shredded the thin lawn fabric, folded it into thick pads, and handed them over with shaking hands.

"He's breathing," Lucien said, "but the candy is still stuck inside."

"We need something round and hollow that the air can flow through until we can pull out whatever is in there. A reed or a quill of some sort."

"I'll get it!" Joey dashed off this time, all of the boys returning at nearly the same instant with their a.s.sorted supplies. While Kathryn kept the blood at bay, Lucien stripped away the feathers then broke off both ends of the quill pen Joey had brought and inserted it into the cut Kathryn had made.

"His breathing sounds better," Lucien said. "If we could just get the obstruction out of his throat-"

"Let me do it." Kathryn dragged a small pair of tongs from the satchel Bennie had brought. "These come in handy for a lot of things." Wiping the blood on her hands on her skirt, she carefully slid the tongs down Michael's throat and groped for the chunk of candy he had swallowed. Twice it slipped away and sweat poured into her eyes. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of red near the corner.

"I've got it." She drew out the obstacle victoriously and tossed it away, then returned to work on the incision she had made. Threading the needle she carried in her satchel, she carefully st.i.tched the gash in the breathing tube together.

Through it all, Michael remained unconscious and for the moment Kathryn was grateful. Once he awakened-dear G.o.d, she prayed he would-the pain would be substantial.

"We need to get him into the house," Kathryn said. Lucien nodded and swept the boy gently up in his arms. They carried him into the room next to Kathryn's, and the marquess carefully rested him on the bed.

"As soon as he's awake, I'll give him something to ease the pain."

Lucien's gaze locked with hers. "Will he wake up, Kathryn?"

There was such despair in his eyes, Kathryn had to glance away. "I don't know."

"What about putrefaction?" he asked.

Kathryn swallowed. It was her worst fear and a very likely occurrence. "Once he's awake, that will be our biggest concern. I'll do everything I can to prevent it, but there is no guarantee."

Lucien said nothing. For long moments he just stood there, looking at her with an expression she could not read. Then he turned and walked out of the room. As she watched his tall figure retreat, Kathryn caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the dresser. At the sight, her face went even paler than it was already.

"Oh, dear G.o.d." Her lemon-yellow gown was soaked in blood. Her hands were blood-covered, specks of scarlet spattered her forehead and cheeks. In the eye of her mind, she could see Lucien's expression, so tight and carefully controlled, determined not to reveal his distaste.

"Oh, dear G.o.d," she whispered again and felt her stomach lurch. On trembling legs, she approached the dresser, poured water from the pitcher into the basin, washed and dried her hands.

"Kath... ryn..." The soft croak rolled up from the deep feather mattress.

"Michael!" She dashed toward him, sat down in the chair beside the bed, reached out and caught his hand. "It's all right, sweetheart. You had an accident, but you're going to be fine." Grabbing her satchel from the bedstand, she jerked it open and drew out several vials and a handful of ointments.

"My throat... hurts... so bad." Michael reached toward the place she had cut, but Kathryn gently caught his hand.

"I know it hurts, sweetheart. It was the only way we could help you to breathe." She drew out a small bottle of liquid that held a tincture of opium. Remembering how the drug had once affected her, she worried for an instant about what effect it might have on Michael, but she knew it would help him handle the pain and for now that was the most important. She took a rag, soaked it in the liquid and dribbled it down his injured throat. She knew how badly it must hurt to swallow, but he didn't complain.

"I'm going to put some medicine on your throat and then bandage you up," she told him, placing a clean square of cotton she had doused with a mixture of barberry and milkweed over the wound and using a long strip of fabric to tie it around his neck. "You'll feel better in the morning."

At least she hoped he would. But if putrefaction set in-Kathryn's stomach clenched, but she shook her head, refusing to imagine the worst. By the time she had finished, Michael had fallen asleep. She glanced up to see Lucien standing in the doorway, the same unreadable mask on his face as before.

"He's sleeping now," she said. "He awakened for a moment, so we don't have to worry about that."

"Thank G.o.d." He crossed the room, his eyes on Michael. "I'll sit with him a while."

Kathryn simply nodded. Looking down at her b.l.o.o.d.y clothes, she gripped the folds of her skirt. She remembered the way he had looked at her that day in the bas.e.m.e.nt and thought how repulsed he must be now. No gentleman-and especially not Lucien-wanted to see his wife looking as if she had just come from butchering a sheep. And to think she was covered in the blood of a child! She hurried away from him and down the hall to change.

For the next two days, she and Lucien took turns sitting by the little boy's bedside. Michael awakened with a fever at the end of the second day, and Kathryn prepared herself for the worst. Staying up round the clock, they alternated shifts, but otherwise rarely saw each other.

No word had come of Dunstan, but for now that didn't matter. Their concern, their prayers, were for Michael.

At the end of the third day, Michael's fever broke. Whatever small amount of putrefaction there had been seemed under control. Oddly, as soon as it was certain the child would live, Lucien had left the house and Kathryn hadn't seen him since.

That was two days ago. Two long, heartbreaking days for Kathryn. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the tight, guarded expression on her husband's face. She could see the blood on her hands, and she knew what he was thinking. Disgust made his eyes go dark. Repulsion for a woman who could slice open a child as if he were no more than a b.l.o.o.d.y piece of meat.

She had heard it all before, during the days when she had been sent to St. Bart's. And Lucien felt the same-he had made that perfectly clear. Dear G.o.d, how could she ever face him?

Late in the afternoon of the second day, a messenger arrived from Constables Perkins and Nivens. The men would be arriving on the morrow for an audience with Lady Litchfield.

Kathryn's heart beat like a battering ram. Dunstan must surely be dead. The men were coming to arrest her. They would return her to the madhouse-or hang her. Her mouth tasted like ashes and her hands began to tremble. The men were coming and even Lucien believed her guilty. Terror rolled over her in harsh, unrelenting waves. Staring into a future too bleak even to imagine, Kathryn sank down on a chair in her bedchamber and started to weep.

TWENTY-THREE.

She had to leave. She couldn't face the possibility-no, probability-that she would be arrested for murder. Kathryn was the most likely suspect and everyone knew it. Even Lucien believed her guilty.

Lucien. In truth, he was the real reason she was running. She would never forget the look on his face as he had watched her with Michael. Or the mask he had a.s.sumed once she had finished her grisly task.

As bad as it had been when he had seen her working in the bas.e.m.e.nt, this was far worse. He would never look at her again without seeing her blood-soaked gown, without wondering what sort of woman she really was. Certainly Allison Hartman wasn't that sort. Lady Allison was the epitome of feminine womanhood. Lady Allison was the woman Lucien had wanted.

Kathryn's hands shook as she stuffed a third simple gown into her satchel, tossed in the silver-backed hairbrush on the dresser, two clean white night rails, and another pair of shoes, the second a bit more comfortable than the st.u.r.dy leather pair she wore for her upcoming journey.

She glanced toward the window. The hour was late, the servants sleeping. Darkness enveloped the castle but a sliver of moon emerged from between the clouds. Kathryn dragged in a shaky breath and took a last glance around the room she had become so fond of and knew how badly she would miss it: the lovely velvet draperies, so elegant yet they kept the room cozy and warm, the bed she had so often shared with Lucien, the hours of pleasure they had found in each other's arms.