“They’re of the Ibi tribe at Port Loko. You should ask them what they were going to do with Tenneh. They manage the head and tale of the caravans that snake between Port Loko and the northern slave markets. And your father - he owns the barracoon at Port Look. They’re all in the trade together. It’s a family business. Austin married your mother, the chief’s daughter, as part of a business pact. When your grandfather went behind Austin’s back to deal with another slaver, he sold you and your mother to get revenge.”
“You…” Rachel was so angry, she wanted to lash out at the woman, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open and fell suddenly to the floor from her chair, boneless, like a bag of melons.
Chris trembledwhen he crouched down to touch Rachel’s face. The ring woven from her hair he kept on the fourth finger of his hand was a painful reminder of how much she meant to him, how much he had to lose.
She lay still on the floor of Mrs Chelly’s cottage, breathing shallowly. But breathing, by God. Shewouldget better. He refused to let her go. He’d sent a message to Dr. Peregrine at the apothecary to meet him at the vicarage.
Bellingham had passed on word when he’d gotten the message from Lieutenant Bourne’s shore boat crew that Mrs Chelly had tried to poison Rachel before sneaking off into the undergrowth surrounding Freetown. Lieutenant Bourne had been on guard out in front of the house, unaware of what was happening inside. He’d been watching for any more signs of slave runners and had been unaware of the danger inside the house. Now he’d followed Chris’s orders to fetch the cart the vicarage used to ferry laundry to and from the river so that they could take Rachel home.
Bourne pushed through the doorway and joined Chris at Rachel’s side. “The cart’s out front, and I brought the donkey too.”
Chris nodded. “If you carry her out to the cart, I’ll steady the animal so that we can make her comfortable for the ride home.”
Once they were outside, Chris was confused by the demeanor of the four-legged beast who had tried to nip at him all the way back from the riverside laundry the day before. He was now unaccountably docile and obedient. Once they made Rachel as comfortable as they could in the cart with folded quilts, the creature trotted up the hill toward the vicarage at a soft command from Bourne.
Chris paced alongside the cart on the opposite side from Bourne so they could steady the conveyance. “How did you make the donkey so biddable?”
Bourne gave him puzzled look. “Oh, that? I’m Irish.”
As if that explained everything.
Once they reached the vicarage, Dr. Peregrine had already arrived and met them at the gate. The Vicar Berry was close on his heels.
“What did she give her?” Peregrine demanded.
Bourne shrugged and looked to Chris. “I was standing guard out front and waiting for Miss Berry to finish her business with the mission cook. When she didn’t come back outside after a very long time, I went into the cottage to make sure she was all right, and found her like that.” He pointed to Rachel’s pale face.
Dr. Peregrine put his ear to her chest and then lifted each of her eyelids, looking at her eyes beneath. He put a finger beneath her tongue before tasting and smelling the wetness on his finger. “Poison.”
“What kind of poison?” Chris sucked in a breath. He wanted to beat someone senseless.
“It’s a beetle you can find in the jungle near here.” He took off his spectacles and rubbed them with a grubby handkerchief. “But you have to know what you’re looking for and make sure you don’t get caught in their pincers.” He held his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “They’re this big, and herbalists like her catch them in traps at night and then grind their shells into powder to form the poison.”
He laid his hand against Rachel’s cheek. “She must not have drunk the whole cup of tea Mrs Chelly gave her.”
Chris and Bourne had found a broken cup and a liquid stain on the floor of the room where the two women had been meeting.
“Isn’t the poison bitter? Why didn’t she know something was wrong?” Chris clenched and unclenched his hand.
“She did,” Peregrine assured him. “If she hadn’t thrown the nearly full cup to the floor, she’d be dead.
“What can we do?” Chris hated the desperation in his voice.
“We can work to get her conscious and then get her to vomit or drink a great deal of water to dilute whatever poison is in her stomach.” He put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Other than that, all we can do is wait.”
“There’s nothing we can give her to reverse the effect of the poison?” Chris grasped at possibilities.
“No.” Dr. Peregrine hung his head. “I wish to hell there were. If she makes it through tonight, she’ll have a chance to get better, but tonight will be rough.”
Her father interrupted their grim discussion. “There is one thing we can do. After we get her settled into her own bed, we can pray, gentlemen.”
Chris helped the other three men carry Rachel into the house slung inside one of the quilts. He was used to this amazing woman in a constant whirl of motion - treating wounds, teaching classes, sewing and mending clothing, climbing the waterfall to rinse the laundry. Seeing her now, her face devoid of any expression, was like a knife to his gut.
Rachel wasin the midst of a serious conversation with the woman who looked like her mother, but not quite. Most of the time when she sighted her, her image existed for mere moments before fading into mist.
But now, she’d convinced her to come nearer and reveal who she was and what she wanted.
“You’re not my mother, but you knew her, didn’t you?”
