“But surely there’s something we can do? We can’t just stand here and watch her die.”
Christopher made a small sound of agreement. “I’m with Pippa.”
“So am I,” Francis said. “Believe me, the last thing I want, is to watch someone else die. But I don’t know what to do to help. She rid herself of whatever was left in her stomach last night, so inducing vomiting at this point would do no good. Whatever it is, is already in her bloodstream and affecting her.”
He glanced at me. “The tea smelled like spearmint, you said?”
I nodded. “Pennyroyal, I suppose. I wish I would have realized it then, although I suppose it was already too late at that point.”
“If it had already made her ill,” Francis nodded, “then yes. Most likely it was already too late. There’s no antidote for pennyroyal that I know of.”
“So we just stand here and watch?” Christopher’s voice was higher than usual. “Shouldn’t we let someone know, at least? One of her friends? Or the Earl and Countess of Marsden, if no one else?”
“Or the housekeeper,” I said, since Mrs. Frobisher might be more help with this than Lady Euphemia would be.
Francis lifted a shoulder. “We can do. Perhaps we ought to. Perhaps her friends who are here would like to say goodbye while she’s still alive. She won’t know they’re here, but it might make them feel better.”
Ugh. “I’m sure Constance will tell her aunt and uncle, at least,” I said.
Francis nodded. “Other than that, there’s nothing anyone can do at this point. I don’t know how long it’ll be, but she won’t last until the doctor gets here. She’s already fading. Look at her lips.”
I did. They were turning blue. “Why?—?”
“Not enough oxygen,” Francis said.
“Perhaps if we helped her breathe…?”
“We’d only prolong the inevitable. There isn’t anything anyone can do to keep her alive beyond a certain point. Her inner organs will shut down—liver and kidneys and heart—and then she’ll be gone.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Christopher wanted to know. He sounded ill, and looked it, too, with both arms crossed tightly over his stomach.
Francis glanced at him, but continued without answering the question. “If this was pennyroyal, and it sounds as if it was, then chances are that she was attempting to do something about the pregnancy, not about herself. If she had wanted to escape the embarrassment, arsenic or foxglove or a bullet to the head are simpler and easier ways out.”
And there was the answer I hadn’t wanted to hear: that Francis had at one point looked into ways to kill himself. The fact that he hadn’t taken any of them helped a little, but I still didn’t like to contemplate it.
“Pennyroyal has been used as an abortifacient for centuries,” I said distantly. “She might not have realized that too much of it could kill her.”
I hadn’t realized that myself, until now. I knew about the plant and its uses, of course. What I hadn’t known, was that I would have to worry about an overdose if I ever tried to use it. It had never been anything I had had to worry about personally.
Christopher gave me a sideways look. “Do I want to know how you know that?”
“It came up,” I said. “Girl-talk at Oxford, or perhaps at Godolphin.”
“That’s what you girls sit around and talk about when there aren’t men present?”
“Among other things,” I said. “Just as I’m sure you men discuss how not to find yourselves in a position where you have to marry some damsel because you had too much fun one night.”
He made a face. “I won’t deny that that conversation has taken place.”
“You’d better not, or I’d call you a liar.” I waited a second before I added, “I don’t suppose you’d know the answer to this—either of you—but is pennyroyal the sort of thing someone could ask Dominic Rivers for?”
There was a moment’s pause, and then— “The dope dealer?” Francis said. He sounded intrigued.
I nodded. “He’s here this weekend. Didn’t you see him last night?”
“We’re not acquainted,” Francis said.
“Well, he’s here. The darkhaired chap who arrived after you had your scene with Wolfgang and retreated to the wall in the drawing room.”
