From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(32)
Allison stared at the delphiniums mesmerised, trying to recall everything she knew about its lethal lookalike. Death could be speedy. A racing heart, a squeezing of the chest or gripe of the stomach, then it was over. But sometimes it took longer. There could be violent sickness. Some victims complained of numbness spreading across their body, some claimed that their bellies were on fire, or that they felt as if ants were crawling under their skin. Some sweated, some shivered, became delirious. Ultimately, breathing became more and more laboured, and always death, when it came, left the victim struggling frantically for air as if they were drowning, or being smothered. Or having an apoplexy.
Could Wolf’s Bane have killed Michael? Without question. But it was the next question Allison asked herself which made her stop in her tracks. She needed to consult her Culpeper’s Herbal Guide. She needed to inform Aleksei...
No! For what she was contemplating was so radical, she had to be certain of her facts. She would bide her time, do some further research. And in the meantime, she thought, hearing the distant clang of the midday bell, dispense her lotions and potions to the waiting sick.
Chapter Seven
Allison awoke with a start, her heart pounding, bathed in sweat. Completely disorientated, she lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm her breathing, but the image remained with her, the child’s waxen face, his hands curled tightly around the sheets, his mother staring at him in utter disbelief. There had been the oddest silence for what seemed like eons, before a series of horribly rhythmic high-pitched screams started.
It was the lady’s maid who stopped them by striking her mistress across the cheek. It was she who helped the broken woman to a chair, ringing the bell to summon a manservant, demanding brandy be brought, the whole time looking at Allison, who was standing stock still in the middle of the room. It had been the lady’s maid who heard Dr Anthony Merchmont’s accusations, who had witnessed Allison flinch at them, bow her head abjectly, visibly wilt under them. She might as well have held up a placard proclaiming herself guilty. Even now, forcing herself to sit up in the bed, pushing aside the tangle of sheets and blankets, she felt a surge of guilt. What had she done? What should she have done?
Staggering out of bed, she drank thirstily from the jug of water left on her night stand. Why had the dream returned to torture her now? She had not forgotten, she would never, ever forget that tragic night, but she was in the process of putting it behind her. She was once again practising her skills, helping people, easing suffering which had been borne stoically, in some cases, for years. Ironically, the free dispensary, which was growing in popularity by the day, was proving more rewarding than her lucrative practice in London.
She pulled back the curtains, leaning her forehead against the cool window pane. For six long months she had withdrawn from society, punishing herself by giving up the thing most precious to her. For six months she had tortured herself by constantly reliving the tragic events of that day, doubting herself, berating herself, making the slurs thrown at her by the medical establishment seem trivial in comparison. She had even managed to convince herself that she deserved the scandalous accusations spread by the press.
She had paid a heavy price. And now she was atoning, through her charitable dispensary. A spark of anger flared inside her. ‘It was not my fault,’ she muttered. ‘It was not my doing,’ she said again, with a new certainty. ‘It was not.’
She could not envisage returning to London, but the fee she would earn here would give her the freedom to go anywhere she wished. Edinburgh, York, Bristol, even Paris. She could start afresh, and on her own terms.
And as for physician Anthony Merchmont! At the end of the day, all he’d wanted was to protect his exalted status with his privileged clientele. Well, she’d conceded him that, quite uncontested. Foolishly, she could almost hear The Procurer say in her lilting tone, and could easily imagine her grandmother nodding in agreement.
Allison reached for the locket under her pillow and opened it up to look at the miniature portrait. ‘He’s welcome to it, Seanmhair,’ she whispered in Gaelic. ‘I will start again somewhere else.’
She closed the locket, kissing the gold casing. Her heartbeat was back to its usual steady thump. The last horrible remnants of the dream faded. She was ready to face the new day, and to make a fresh start with her charges.
She’d been hiding behind the excuse she’d given Aleksei, that it was for the best that they didn’t care for her. The children had no one else but her for the time being, and they needed someone. She’d been too reserved with them, following their lead, and fretting about the shadow of the much-loved Anna Orlova. It was time she tried to build bridges her own way, with stories and cuddles and entertaining games. She couldn’t bring herself to like that blasted dog of theirs, but if she could find a way of making him less noxious? He was a greedy thing, which was part of his problem, for he ate anything and everything. If only he could be persuaded to eat something that was good for him, and good for his closest companions too! Allison smiled to herself. Yes, she was pretty certain it could be done, and she was pretty certain the children would like to help her too.
*
Aleksei wearily pushed aside the sheaf of papers that he had been working on, and rolled his aching shoulders. He’d been hunched over the desk for hours working on his suggested reforms. The only positive thing to come out of the effort he’d been forced to put in to oversee the Derevenko estates these last few months had been his ideas for change. Working through them with the extremely enthusiastic and supportive man of business, who produced a suspiciously complete set of his own proposals, Aleksei got the impression that Michael had been even more of a traditionalist than he’d thought. Now, the whole antiquated system would be made more efficient, and brought into the nineteenth century. Aleksei had been forced to learn a great deal more about estate management than he’d ever wished to know, and he’d had a surfeit of it for today.