Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(83)
The crowd gathered as the countdown to midnight began. A Christmas tree towered in the center of the foyer, decorated with giant red and gold bobbles, fruits, and lit candles. Signa caught sight of Percy next to it, laughing with Charlotte as she handed him a glass of champagne and took one for herself. Eliza was there, too, trying to slip closer to the duo. A man in a crow mask clasped Percy by the shoulder. Signa wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the walking stick in his hand—Byron. It was with relief that she noticed Percy smile. He spoke low to the man, patting a yawning, departing Byron on the arm as he threw back his champagne.
Everett Wakefield was near the front of the crowd. His smile was small and confused when Signa caught his eye, for she’d missed the last waltz with him. She averted her attention and hated herself for it. He was a kind man, yet with the brush of Death upon her lips, it didn’t matter how kind he was. Death was her poison, and all she wanted was to consume more.
She thought she caught a glimpse of Sylas, too, and had half a mind to hurry to him and ask if he’d seen anything, but Elijah already had a flute of water raised by the time Signa walked into the room, finishing a speech for his guests. Signa caught only the tail end of it, thrust into a cheering crowd as he said, “And may this be a merry Christmas, indeed!”
The crowd around him echoed those words as midnight struck. Someone shoved a flute into Signa’s hand and she accepted it with a laugh, sipping the champagne as others toasted and wished one another a merry holiday. They were strangers, but in that moment it didn’t matter, for her body hummed with happiness.
Had the chatter been a little louder, Signa could have remained in that happiness, for she might not have noticed the sound of shattering crystal and the gasps that followed. The ballroom might never have fallen into silence as all eyes turned to the tree. And she might never have registered that, beside her, Marjorie was screaming, and Sylas had suddenly appeared beside her, gripping her wrist.
“Shut your eyes,” he whispered, low enough that Signa couldn’t be certain she wasn’t imagining things. “You don’t need to see this, Signa.”
But she didn’t shut her eyes, and she did have to see this, because a body had fallen into the Christmas tree, sending it crashing to the ground as the decorations shattered on the floor. And that body was Percy, whose eyes had rolled back in his head as he lay, unconscious, in the mess of his own blood and vomit.
THIRTY-FIVE
IT WAS FORTUNATE FOR PERCY THAT SIGNA HAD A SINGLE DOSE LEFT of the Calabar bean.
They left Warwick in charge of escorting everyone from Thorn Grove. Signa had never disliked people more than when she’d overheard whispers that perhaps Percy had been too taken with liquor, like his father. She bristled at the very thought of it, for how rude these people were to cast judgment upon the man who had invited them so graciously into their home. Surely, their gossip was not that of polite society; Elijah hadn’t so much as had one drink that evening.
Holed up with her in Elijah’s room, away from prying guests, Marjorie and Elijah allowed Signa to work without protest when she said she could reverse Percy’s illness just as she’d reversed Blythe’s. Her anger made it easier for Signa to beat the rest of the Calabar bean into a fine powder, which she’d stirred into a glass of water and administered to a trembling, gasping Percy as thick beads of sweat rolled down his neck. Marjorie and Elijah watched with grim eyes, neither daring to speak.
Percy, fortunately, was quick to throw up the poison, and within the hour he was breathing easier. Death, who’d been crouched at his bedside all the while, still and waiting, finally nodded once and then was gone. Instantly, the tension in Signa’s shoulders eased.
“How did this happen?” Elijah looked to Signa and the remnants of the milky-white antidote on the nightstand.
Signa had no answer. She’d seen Sylas for only seconds before she followed Elijah and Marjorie into the room, though in that time he swore he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. No matter how she twisted her brain to rearrange the pieces, it was a puzzle that made no sense. One by one the Hawthornes were falling ill from belladonna—but why? For their money? Signa had been suspicious of both Byron and Marjorie since the night she and Sylas went to Grey’s. Yes, Byron wanted his brother to cease his hold on Grey’s, but would he hurt Percy to do it? And what might Marjorie’s involvement be?
Signa raked her fingers through her hair as her frustration mounted. Percy had been fine when he’d escorted her to the party, and she’d seen him smiling and dancing. Even in those final moments before his fall, he’d looked happy, chatting with Charlotte and Eliza. But Byron had been there too. Byron, whose words Signa recalled from that night at Grey’s with Sylas.
If he won’t give the business to Percy, convince him to give it to me. There’d been such bitterness in those words. Such rage. I’d take better care of it anyway, just as I would have taken better care of her.
“Where’s Byron?” Signa asked. “He and Percy were together moments before he collapsed.”
Elijah sat on his knees at Percy’s bedside, watching the slow rise and fall of his son’s chest. “You think my brother is responsible for this?”
Signa couldn’t be sure, and she knew it was best not to answer rashly. Byron had made it clear that he wanted nothing more than for Grey’s to stay in the family, and though he’d been advocating for Percy that night, could there have been more to his interest?