“Where is that blasted doctor?” he growled.
Behind him, Juliet’s voice softened. “Try to keep her as still as possible.”
Clara drew closer. “Henry …” Her voice was lower now, coaxing. “Think carefully. Juliet means well, I’m sure—but if something was given to your sister in error, even with the best intentions …” She trailed off, her words hesitant, as if she hated even to suggest it.
“I gave her the correct amount of tincture!” Juliet burst out. “Gentian root. Chamomile. Yarrow and peppermint. Nothing lethal. An overly large dose would make her stomach sick and create a mild disorientation, not … this. Oh, Henry, at least loosen her collar so she may breathe easier.”
With shaking fingers, Henry worked loose Charity’s lace. “Come back to me, Sister,” he whispered, his forehead resting lightly on hers.
Her lashes flickered.
Hope surged.
Then her head dropped limp again.
He staggered backwards, helpless.
The door opened. Mrs. Hamby swept in, skirts whispering. “Molly told me, sir. I’ve brought smelling salts.”
Juliet rose, but he stopped her with a small wave and accepted the vial from the housekeeper. “I will administer it.”
He cracked open the top and waved it gently beneath Charity’s nose.
Nothing.
“Please, Sister. Fight.” He hovered closer.
Still nothing.
Clara let out a breathy gasp. “Oh, Henry. She was fine until the tea.” She dabbed her eyes. “Juliet, perhaps something was mixed by mistake. That happens, doesn’t it?”
Juliet straightened, face pale but steady as she shook her head. “I did not make any mistake. The medicine was takenfrom the same bottle I used this morning.” She swept her hand towards the tea tray at the bottle in question.
The doctor finally arrived, followed closely by the constable. Rain still clung to their coats.
Henry exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “Thank God.”
The doctor’s examination was swift and thorough, going so far as to collect Charity’s cup and swirl his finger around the liquid remains. After that, he collected the bottle and sniffed it, his tongue darting out for a wisp of taste before a great scowl darkened ominously on his brow. He faced them all with a stern set to his lips. “Laudanum and, if I don’t miss my mark, oil of ether.”
The constable spoke before any of them could respond. “Who put that in Miss Russell’s tea?”
Henry’s gaze shot to Juliet, barely comprehending what was going on.
“I did,” Juliet said, her voice steady despite the trembling of her hands. “But I added only what I believed to be my aunt’s tonic, not laudanum or oil of ether.”
Henry turned on the doctor. “Are you certain?”
“As far as I can be without further analysis. And with a mixture this strong, your sister has a hard fight ahead of her.” He handed the bottle to the constable, who swiftly pocketed the evidence.
“Then by your own admission, miss,” the constable said, advancing on Juliet, “you’ll have to come with me.”
“Wait!” Henry darted between them. “Is that truly necessary? Can you not question her here? Miss Finch has done nothing but care for my sister … up until now.” He hated himself for those last words, yet they couldn’t be stopped.
“Mr. Russell.” The constable folded his arms, a bull not to be moved. “I understand this is difficult, but with the doctor’s witness of the residue in your sister’s cup, Miss Russell’sapparent state of unconsciousness, and Miss Finch’s own confession of administering the substance found on the tray, it falls to me to act on what is presently before me. The evidence warrants immediate custody. I am afraid this is nonnegotiable, so please step aside.”
“I did not poison Charity!” Juliet cried. “Anyone could have added those ingredients to my aunt’s tincture. I certainly didn’t!”
The constable cleared his throat. “The household staff will be questioned in due course, miss. But respectfully—you prepared the dose and delivered it to Miss Russell. That places the burden squarely at your feet until proven otherwise and constitutes sufficient cause for detention pending further enquiry.”
