Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(39)

The doctor looked away, put up a hand, then walked to the door and closed it. “Your Grace, if I may speak plainly?”

“Please do so.”

“How much do you know of the late earl and his wife?”

Stefan shifted uncomfortably in his seat before taking another sip of brandy. “I know that the late earl died of heart failure and that the entire family, as well as mine, believe some sort of curse is killing off our family tree one by one until I marry the eldest daughter.”

“I cannot speak for the curse.” The doctor swallowed slowly his eyes downcast, “but the late earl was a good man. A finer friend I could not ask for. What I find strange, Your Grace, is that we had an understanding. His health was declining, we were both aware that his heart was weak, but I had just seen him the day previous and he was healthier than I had seen him look in years.”

“What, exactly are you saying?” Stefan leaned forward.

“I do not believe he died of natural causes, Your Grace.”

“Have you any evidence or is this merely your opinion?” Stefan asked swirling the amber liquid around.

“He was drinking, Your Grace.”

“And that proves your hypothesis how?” Stefan could not help the shudder that took over his body. Something was odd in this house. And the doctor’s doubts only added to his own.

“He did not drink, Your Grace.”

“Ever?”

“Not since his diagnosis. I would say he had not a drop of alcohol for at least two years.”

“And how do you know he was drinking, doctor?”

The doctor began pacing. “When I arrived, he was already dead. And the scene before me was heartbreaking to say the least. There was so much commotion I almost missed it. But next to his chair by the fireplace I noticed a sniffer of brandy. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it was only half full and had been tipped over.”

“That does not prove much.” Stefan admitted.

“I am merely telling you what I’ve observed.” The doctor stopped pacing. “Maybe my grief is talking. The good Lord knows only the daughters have grieved that loss.”

Stefan didn’t feel it was his place to ask what the doctor was referring to. He stored the information in the back of his mind as the doctor continued talking.

“As if things could not get any more peculiar. I find nothing wrong with the Dowager.”

“Nothing?” Stefan asked aghast.

“Absolutely nothing. She’s sleeping. Nothing more. Albeit, it is a strong sleep. Most likely drug induced, although I do not know why she would do such a thing.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Stefan rose from his seat and pumped the man's hand. “And I will think on what you’ve said.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor went to the door, but as he reached for it, it swung open wide revealing Willard. “Oh, good sir, I was just coming to fetch you. The hackney is here.”

The doctor nodded and walked off, leaving Stefan alone with the alarming news of the doctor’s discovery. Something was taking place in this household. And he was going to find out what.

Rosalind. She should at least know if her father was drinking brandy or acting out of sorts. She had seen him in his last moments. Should he bring back those painful memories though?

It was decided for him as Rosalind entered the room minutes later searching for a book.

“Oh, Stefan. I’m sorry, I knew I would have trouble sleeping so I came in search of a book, but I can come back at another time.”

“Wait.” He stood nearly knocking the brandy in his hand over in all his haste. “Stay, please.”

Rosalind looked towards the door then back at him. She must have decided she would rather spend time talking with him than tossing and turning in her bed, for she came near him and sat, tucking her feet beneath her.

“Brandy?” he offered.

Smiling, she nodded her head. Who wouldn’t need brandy after a day like today? If he stayed much longer in this madhouse he’d be a perpetual drunk.

He poured her a glass and handed it over.

She sniffed it before taking a large swallow.

“Rose, your mother….” How does one tell news such as this? Sorry, but you’re mother’s insane?

“She’s the devil.” Rosalind cursed and threw back the rest of her drink. Well yes, one could always be blunt. His little Rose, always honest to a fault.

“Well, yes there is that. Stole the words right from my mouth. Granted, I had others to add in as well. Colorful words too, would you like to hear them?”

Rosalind laughed. “Maybe after another drink.” She held out her glass. “I have half a mind to tell Samson to trample her.”

“He’d listen to you too. The cursed horse likes you better than he likes me, though he has revulsion of getting his hooves too dirty. I imagine he would somehow convince another horse to do his dirty work, all the while eating oats in the stable.”

Rosalind laughed loud and deep, causing Stefan’s blood to stir. “My groom is positively enamored of that horse. I’ll be surprised if he can even move after all the food he’s been consuming.”

“Glutton.” Stefan chuckled then sobered as Rosalind looked away with watery eyes.

“Rose…I spoke with the doctor.”