A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(98)
“Wake Mrs. Mackay,” I told him as I moved toward the dressing room door. “Ask if she knows any other remedies that might help Bree.”
Vanishing inside, I hastened across the room and pushed open the door to Gage’s assigned bedchamber. It was cold and dark, and I yanked open the drapes over the windows to allow the moonlight to spill into the room. I stripped the bed of many of its pillows and lowered the linens, ready to receive Bree’s body.
Gage joined me soon after, making me suspect Mrs. Mackay had already been aroused by Anderley’s knocking. “She suggested ipecac, the same as you. But without knowing exactly what she was poisoned with, she couldn’t say what else might counteract it.”
Pressing my hand to the bed pole, I bowed my head, reeling from my failure to uncover the poison sooner. If I had been able to identify it, we might have already caught the killer, and then Bree would not have been asking more questions of both staffs. She would never have been poisoned herself.
I tightened my grip around the smooth wood, welcoming the pain it caused the fragile bones and muscles in my hand. Then I forced myself to resume my task. Mentally whipping myself was not going to do Bree a bit of good. Ridding her of the poison would.
“We need a fire,” I told Gage as I knelt beside the bed, searching under it for the chamber pot.
I didn’t have to ask twice. The hearth was soon crackling, and the candles throughout the chamber were lit. Enough that I could clearly see what state Bree was in when Anderley strode through the door carrying her.
Her skin was deathly pale, and her head rested listlessly against his shoulder. I could tell now that the stain on Anderley’s shirt was vomit rather than blood. That she must have cast up some of her accounts as he cradled her in just such a position, for it stained her yellow bodice and skirts as well.
“Lay her in the bed,” I ordered him as two maids followed in his wake. I directed them all on what to do and then shooed the men from the room. I thought for a moment that Anderley was going to argue, but Gage clapped a hand on his shoulder and escorted him through the door.
With the help of the maids, I propped up Bree and pressed the bottle of ipecac syrup to her lips, forcing her to drink. While the concoction did its work, I had one of the maids fetch one of my simplest nightdresses from the dressing room while the other maid and I stripped Bree of her soiled garments. She shivered in the cool air, but it allowed me to search her for other symptoms. Finding no marks or rashes, we swiftly dressed her and bundled her under the covers, waiting and watching for the ipecac’s effects. We didn’t have to wait long.
Several long, exhausting, monotonous hours followed—for Bree and for us—broken only by her heaving and my brief departures to nurse Emma. I was surprised to find Gage was absent from our chamber, but then I realized that, of course, he would be sitting up with Anderley, going over his and Bree’s every movement that afternoon and evening, as well as every element of the inquiry. Good, because in my muddled, terrified state, nothing made sense to me.
Night eventually gave over to day, and Bree finally lay still and quiet, her beautiful strawberry blond curls a limp, grimy mop against the pillow. I sat beside the bed, watching her chest slowly rise and fall, praying we had done enough. Part of me itched to dose her again, just to be certain, but I knew she had nothing else left to give. Any more, and we risked killing her from dehydration.
After an hour had passed without further incident, the maids and I poured a sip of water down her throat. We bathed her as best we could without waking her and then changed her into another clean nightdress—this time one of her own fetched from her chamber. I dismissed the maids a short time later, continuing to ply Bree with short sips of water as I kept vigil over her. I knew I should seek rest myself while I could, but I was too frightened that she might slip away if I wasn’t there to keep watch, to will her to keep breathing.
When it came time for Emma’s next feeding, I didn’t even leave the room. I must have drowsed through much of it, the calm that flooded me whenever I nursed my daughter nearly lulling me to sleep. So when Mrs. Mackay extracted a sleeping Emma from my arms, I startled slightly.
Some minutes later when the nurse returned, I looked up in confusion.
“I’ve asked one o’ the nursemaids from upstairs to sit wi’ Emma,” she informed me. “And glad she was to do it, usually bein’ run off her feet by the bairns upstairs. So, I can sit wi’ Miss McEvoy for a spell.”
“Oh, I can’t . . .” I protested.
“Ye can. And ye should. You’re no good to her, or yourself, or Emma in this state.” She urged me to my feet. “Noo, go and get some sleep, m’lady.”
I shook my head, feeling perilously close to tears. And I knew that if I wept, I might just fall apart completely. “No, I really can’t. Even if I lie down to try, I know my mind won’t let me. So, I’m better off just staying here.”
But Mrs. Mackay stood her ground. “Nay, you’re no’, lass. Go and get some fresh air then, at least.”
I sighed wearily and then nodded. With one last look toward Bree, I allowed Mrs. Mackay to usher me through the door. My footsteps managed to carry me through the dressing room and into my bedchamber almost by pure momentum, but then they stopped. I stared at my reflection in the long mirror, realizing at some point I’d changed into a morning gown, though I didn’t recall exactly when. My normally bright eyes were flat, the light inside them dimmed by fear, and the skin across my cheekbones appeared taut, like frayed rope ready to snap.