Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(61)
The corners of Elijah’s mouth twitched. “You will accompany your cousin on her errand, and then you’ll return.” He spoke with finality.
Percy seemed to feel it, too, for while it was clear he wanted to argue, he settled in his chair and gripped his teacup, knuckles white. “Yes, Father.” When he sank lower in his seat, Signa dared not look at him, guilt heavy in her chest. “Of course.”
Percy was far from entertaining company.
As he preferred not to ride horseback, a coach was readied for the journey into town. It wasn’t too long a ride, but Signa had never been more uncomfortable. Even traveling with Sylas, an unrelated stranger, had been easier to navigate.
Signa missed the way Percy had been yesterday, before Byron had shown up with the news of Grey’s to spoil the mood. She missed his laughter and jesting, and the feeling of his spirit vibrant with life. The Percy she was with now was not the sly and teasing man that she’d been getting to know, but one who was rigid and proper and sharp. His thumb traced circles over a leather coin purse as he glared out the coach’s window, chin jutting with great severity as he observed the passing landscape. Signa bit her tongue. It was cruel, she thought, that Elijah would not give him a chance. That he chose to ignore his son’s suffering no matter how deep it was.
“I found something, cousin,” she said, hoping to lift his spirits. “We’re not here to find Blythe pretty new gloves or stationery. We’re going into town because I’ve found her a cure.”
Only then did he rouse. “What do you mean you’ve found a cure?” His eyes were narrowed. “There hasn’t been a single doctor who’s been able to help my sister.”
“None of them knew that she was being poisoned. But we do, and I’ve found an antidote. There’s an apothecary in town, and—”
“An apothecary?” His brows shot toward the ceiling. “Signa, we cannot trust my sister’s life to an amateur. There has to be a medicine that will help her. We can speak with more doctors—”
“If the doctors haven’t caught on now, they’re either all fools or someone’s been paying them off.”
Any retorts died on his tongue. “You think that’s possible?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Even if that is the case, some apothecary’s cure isn’t something we should be playing around with. There are safer ways to go about these matters.”
“I understand your frustration, but nothing else is working, Percy.” She took his hand, squeezing tight. “But this will, I promise. I need you to trust me.”
He looked to the carriage roof as though it held the answers and sighed when it did not share them. “Very well. If there’s a possibility, then of course we must try it. Though we cannot allow ourselves to be seen there—the entire town will talk.”
“Of course.”
Signa’s smile was not reciprocated as Percy turned his attention to the rattling cobblestone streets that were so much brighter and more open in the daylight than when she’d been here with Sylas several nights before. Now the shops that lined the street were fully awakened. Through immaculate windows, Signa spotted women in gloves and bonnets, draped in cashmere gowns as they took their tea or filtered into a shop to order warm clothes and decorations for the approaching winter.
When they passed Grey’s, Percy leaned over Signa and slammed the curtains shut. She reeled back. There was no humor in Percy’s face. No hint of anything but severity.
Signa dared not speak another word.
Percy was the first one out of the carriage when it rolled to a stop in front of a tiny green shop. Ivy stretched up and over the walls, and a window display showcased an assortment of vibrant plants hung from woven canopies. Signa was so busy staring that it took Percy clearing his throat for her to notice he was holding out his arm. Passersby surveyed them with curiosity, turning to gossip with one another and likely theorizing over Signa’s presence. Percy adjusted the small gold button on one of his brown leather gloves and paid them no mind. There was likely nothing anyone could do or say that would make Percy come across as anything but a gentleman in the public eye.
Inside the shop, they were greeted by a frail elderly woman with white hair. One look at her and Percy’s nose turned upward.
“Don’t dawdle,” he whispered. “We get whatever you need, and then we get out.”
For a fleeting moment Signa wished she’d stepped on his toes harder the day before, though she refused to let his negativity sit with her when they’d entered such a wonderland. Jars of tonics and bottles of herbs sat upon shelves riddled with tiny wooden bobbles. There were small containers of living moss, and dainty baskets of dried herbs that smelled so fragrant Signa wanted to bathe in them.
The middle of the shop was full of live potted plants. Most of them were types Signa had never seen before, with trailing vines or large bulbous flowers. She resisted the urge to stroke her finger across their petals, awed that such a wondrous place could exist. Had she enough money, Signa would have been tempted to buy out the entire store.
“Can I help you find something, miss?” the shopkeeper asked. Signa was glad to see that she paid Percy’s snobbery no mind.
His eyes darted to Signa, a dark warning brewing within them that signaled her to take caution with her words. The moment they left the apothecary, gossip would ignite. Though it was possible that whoever was harming Blythe was already aware they’d been found out, Signa and Percy didn’t need to risk adding fuel to the fire, or word getting back to Elijah that his wife’s death could have been prevented had someone been playing closer attention to her strange symptoms.