Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(60)

She didn’t look back at the spirit, nor at Sylas as he blew out the candle and whispered, “Thaddeus?” Instead, she clutched the book tight and hurried out the door.

“I’ll go first thing in the morning,” she said to no one in particular as Sylas nodded and shushed her gently. She listened for his sake, but Signa no longer cared who heard her now because everything was going to be fine. No—it would be better than fine. It was to be wonderful because first thing in the morning she would gather the antidote, and Blythe would finally have her life back.

Soon, all would be well again.





TWENTY-FIVE





WHILE ADDING CREAM TO HER CUP OF TEA AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT morning, Signa overheard Warwick telling Elijah that Blythe’s tongue was beginning to fester with the same sores that Lillian’s had in the late stages of her “disease.” Blythe had been sick throughout the night, unable to keep any food or drink down.

Signa gripped her knife tight, trying not to let her frustration draw attention to herself for fear that Elijah might suddenly come to his senses and not allow such a conversation at the breakfast table.

Death’s warning had been fortuitously timed, and now that a cure was known, Signa had only to get her hands on it. But she couldn’t help wondering why Blythe was still so ill. Signa had instructed her not to drink anything but water. Had told her to dump her medicine when no one was watching. Signa had checked Blythe’s room that very morning while her cousin slept; she’d inspected the cold tea and pastry left at her bedside, both of which were fine. But because her tongue was starting to show signs of poison, Signa knew that, somehow, she was still consuming belladonna.

“The doctor doesn’t think it wise for her to have visitors today,” Warwick told Elijah, who was scraping butter across a muffin in an angry manner Signa had not known someone holding a muffin could be capable of. “He and Percy were able to break the fever this morning, though she had a bout of delirium.” Signa was glad, at least, that Percy had been there to supervise the doctor when she couldn’t. She tried to steal his attention across the table to tell him as much, but Percy kept his tired eyes low as he stirred his untouched porridge.

“What did she see this time?” Elijah was as brash as he was disheveled, graying hair sprouting from his head every which way. He wore spectacles low on his nose and was still wearing an emerald robe with matching slippers while Signa already wore her corset and a pinstripe wrapper, with her hair twisted into an elegant knot at her neck. She’d have to change into a wool visiting dress before leaving the house, as to do otherwise would be met with immediate gossip and ridicule. While Signa had spent so many years longing for a place in society, she found herself becoming a bit… tired. And immensely jealous of Elijah’s lack of care and decorum.

“It was Mother.” Percy was the one who answered, still not looking up. “Blythe claimed she was in the garden with our mother.”

It made no sense that after months with both Blythe and Lillian ill, no one had suspected poison. Was the doctor truly so incompetent? “Perhaps company is exactly what she needs,” Signa said in her rage. The signs were there—the delirium, the sores, the sour stomach, coughing up blood. It was all there. It was true she knew a fair bit more about poison than the average person, but still.

“Miss Farrow—” Marjorie, who wore more rouge than usual upon her cheeks to conceal that one side of her face was still swollen, seemed ready to chide Signa before Elijah waved her off with his knife hand.

“Let her speak freely. Any rules we maintained in this home ended long ago.” He ate nearly half the scone in one bite. “State your piece, girl.” Despite his erratic behavior, Signa found she rather liked Elijah and his bluntness. In a world revolving around forced niceties and bending to the whims of others, it was refreshing. Still, she could not simply tell him that she knew of an antidote for Blythe’s illness—she had to tread these waters lightly.

“In this state, it would be a burden on her mind to be left alone with such thoughts,” Signa said. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to head into town to see if I can find something that might lift her spirits. Just a small gift, should you allow me some money and your permission.”

Percy, who’d been glaring into his porridge as though it was the source of all his troubles, finally peered up at Signa with interest. Marjorie, however, was having none of it.

“If the doctor doesn’t recommend she has company,” Marjorie said, grasping a fork firmly in one hand, “we should abide by his suggestion.” As a governess, she was welcome to sit and dine with the family, but she spoke too openly for any household that hadn’t abandoned the strictures imposed by society. Too freely, and without anyone reprimanding her.

“As we did with Lillian?” Elijah asked coolly enough that several at the table shivered. “A lot of good that did my wife.”

Signa collected Elijah’s words and stored the memory away to add to her collection. One day soon, she would gather up all the pieces and lay the entire puzzle before her.

“Percy!” Elijah’s voice boomed with authority. “You will go with your cousin. See that she is safe and has what she needs.”

Percy sat straighter. “If we’re to go into town, with your permission I’d like to stop by Grey’s and check on the orders.” His voice was flat and factual, lacking even a hint of emotion to betray his earlier desperation to visit the club.