Her brows dipped. “Samuel? What is it?”
He swallowed. “I—I need to tell you something, Your Grace, and I—I am scared.”
Instantly, she was up on her feet and by his side, resting her hands on his shoulders. “What is it, Samuel? You don’t need to be afraid around me.”
“His Lordship… he did some h-horrible things and I… I fear I am a very bad person for not telling you sooner...”
“Horrible things?” Bridget’s frown deepened. “To you?”
“No, not to me, but I have to—I have to show you,” Sam shivered. “Please come with me… quickly.”
Terrified about what he could mean, Bridget acquiesced and followed him up to a room that had all the hallmarks of a man’s study—broad desks, leather furniture, and bookshelves crammed with leather tomes. Sam crouched under the desk and pressed a latch that made a secret drawer drop from the underside.
Laying there, scarcely hidden, was a thick leather book, and Samuel nodded to it. “I don’t know your brother, Your Grace, butI have heard his lordship speak about him and—” Sam sucked in a breath. “—See, my father was a preacher, and he told me never to look the other way when you see something wrong. I—I couldn’t live with myself if I kept this secret.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look—look inside,” Sam murmured with another nod at the book.
Gingerly, Bridget took up the book, turned the pages, and began to read—a recipe for death. No, a literalrecipe for death. Why was Adam calculating Foxglove infusions, from inflicting minor irritations to enough to cause heart failure?
What is this?
Turning the page, she saw a drawing of a body, 169 pounds, drawn over the figure. The approximations of blood mass inside divided by the measurements for Foxglove was calculated and beside it was—Stage One.
Two and three had the poison increasing, and then, stage four, hemlock was introduced. The outline showed again with a red line slashed across the chest.
Beneath the outline, in small letters, it read… “Four years; Frederick Wycliffe should be dead.”
Bridget instantly dropped the book and stepped back.
For the second time in so many days, her blood turned to ice. Foxglove was an herb that damaged the heart, and nightshade was an indiscriminate killer, even worse for an already weakened body.
Could it be… could it be that Frederick’s heart condition had not stemmed from the wars? That it had been purposefully contrived inside him with malicious intent?
“Samuel,” she muttered hastily with very little breath in her lungs while scooping up the book from the floor. “Go—go and resume your duties. And thank you for your bravery in showing me the truth. Not a word of this will pass my lips. Now go on. Quickly. Go!”
The lad immediately hurried away, as Bridget tucked the book into the crook of her arm and dashed to her borrowed room. Throwing a cloak over her dress and tucking a purse into her inner pockets, she hastened through the corridors and down to the front door below.
It was late, but she could call for a carriage—
The door abruptly opened and Adam stepped in, his face sporting the irritated expression of a man who had forgotten something. He cocked his head. “Going somewhere?”
Bridget went red. “To my… f-friend Josephine,” she said as collectedly as possible in her present state of mind. “She lives nearby.”
“Oh dear,” Adam sighed. “Please do not lie to me, Bridget. Your bosom friend Josephine lives in Westminster. It would take you a night’s drive to get there. Were you about to leave for London, by any chance?”
“I—” She swallowed upon being caught in her lie. “—My aunt. I meant to say, I wanted to go see my aunt.”
“You’re lying again,” he said calmly, advancing on her akin to a predator stalking its prey.
Scuttling back, her flimsy hold on the thick book slipped and it clattered to the floor with a loudthwack.
Before she could reach down and retrieve it, Adam pounced forward the last few steps, snatched the book from just beneath her fingers, and flicked it open. Upon realizing its contents, he let his head fall back, then sighed theatrically. “Oh, how I wish you had not found this.”
His tone was gentle but menacing, and Bridget edged back, unsure of what to do or how to get away from the man. “I seem to have made a measured flaw in overlooking your curious nature, butthis.” He waved the book high in the air. “—no one needed to see this.”
Straightening her shoulders, she stammered, “D-did you poison my brother after he returned from the war?”
