“Oh, Henry, there are wicked people in this world, those who will do anything to secure what they want. And make no mistake about it, Juliet wanted you. I saw it in her eyes. So, what better way to win you over than to appear as a redeemer of the one you love most—your sister. Think about it. Someone begins tormenting your sister. Then Juliet shows up in your life at just the right time, conveniently skilled. That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“That is ridiculous!” He fisted his hands so tightly that his arms shook.
Despite his vitriol, Clara showed no offense. “Do not be so humble, Henry. Your name is well known. You are a man of wealth and position, and a handsome one at that. Juliet may have sought you out because of those things, orchestrated this entire scheme to secure a very comfortable life for herself.”
He shook his head, trying to make sense of her logic. “Are you implying Juliet poisoned my sister—and is responsible for all the other torments before that—simply to win me over? That is insane!”
“Not to win you over, Henry, but to make herself a place by your side. She’s a lovely woman, and beguiling. With enough proximity, what man could resist such charms?” She rose, landing a light touch on his shoulder. “I know this is hard for you, but think about it. The letters, the personal items movedor broken, the feeling your sister had of someone watching her? And then, just when Charity was to leave and end her place in your home, Juliet used her skill in medicinals to keep Charity here. To make herself essential to you. Because a sick sister needs a companion—and a distraught brother? Well, he needs someone to lean on. You see now, don’t you? Why could it not have been Juliet? She had every opportunity, especially when you invited her into your home.”
He wrenched from her touch as if burned. Had he truly allowed the very one he’d sought to vanquish live beneath his roof? Sup at his own table next to his sister?
Still … Juliet’s sentiments and actions did not add up. She never had explained the green ribbon his sister had tripped over. Her knowledge of the manor grounds was as intimate as his own. And—God forgive him—she had certainly welcomed his kiss, despite the slap that followed.
These truths went down like wormwood. But no. He could not accept it. These things might sanction what Clara said, but the confirmation was too abhorrent to even consider.
For if Clara spoke truth, not only would he be a fool, but Juliet would be a monster.
He scrubbed his jaw with his knuckles, over and over, the rasp of whiskers harsh against his skin—an annoyance he relished, for to take on the anguish of accepting Juliet as the villain would drive him to his knees.
And yet … a small voice in the back of his mind refused to be silenced.
If she were playing a part—if all of this had been some elaborate game—why the poaching? If she were responsible for the torment from the beginning, why choose such a dangerous method of bringing herself to his attention? Why risk arrest? Exposure? She couldn’t have known he’d spare her.
Blast it, he couldn’t think straight. Not while Charity’s life hung in the balance. Not while guilt and dread pulled him in opposite directions.
Later. He would sort it out later. When he had his wits about him.
If it wasn’t already too late.
The quiet swoosh of a door against carpet cut the silence. Henry spun about the moment Dr. Branch stepped into the corridor, then took off at a good clip to meet the man but a few strides from his sister’s room. “How does she fare?”
The doctor’s brow condensed into an ominous line. “I am sorry to say that Miss Russell has yet to regain consciousness. If she’d not already been weakened by her previous illness, she may have rallied by now. The laudanum and ether she ingested has reduced her breathing to a hazardous degree, and I am afraid I have done everything in my power to neutralize the effects of such a dose. As such, she will require a constant vigil tonight. Shallow or not, if she continues to breathe until morning, then I think we will have turned a corner, and she should improve dramatically.”
“Ifshe continues to breathe?” The walls closed in on him, the world turning black at the edges. No. No! This could not be happening.
God, please!
“Of course she will recover.” Clara’s voice sailed resolute, a lifeline in this sea of horror. “Your sister is strong.”
“Mmm.” Dr. Branch removed his spectacles, rubbing the glass with his handkerchief for a good while before tucking away the cloth. “She is resilient, no doubt.” He reset the glasses on the bridge of his nose, hooking the ear pieces securely. “But,” he said with a sigh, “to be perfectly honest, I fear Miss Russell’s vital functions have been significantly impaired. I have done my best with friction, bleeding out the impurities, and continuedadministrations of smelling salts, but you must understand, Mr. Russell, that there is no antidote.”
Henry shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from shaking the man. “Can you truly do nothing more for her?”
The doctor wagged his head. “It has been a delicate battle, one which I have fought with all my resources, but your sister is in God’s hands now.”
Chapter 21
Three days in the belly of a fish. Three in a cold stone tomb. Juliet hunched listlessly on the wooden cot, note dangling from her fingers. Despair wrapped its arms around her. Again. It was her constant companion now—one she welcomed, for at least it was familiar. Was this how Jonah had felt when he’d been trapped in the dark and deep? How Jesus had suffered when bearing the load of sins that were not of His own making? Mirthless laughter caught in her throat. Who was she fooling? She was not a prophet or a saviour.
She was just a girl in a cage awaiting a fate she was powerless to stop.
So she clung to the only thing she knew: bitterness. And why not? It was all she had left. But it gave no relief, not a shred of it. She was sinking, hard and fast. Hardly able to breathe for want of release.
She crumpled the paper into a tight wad and threw it against the wall, sick to death of this wallowing, this unfair hand she’d been dealt. Had her father never ruined their family, she wouldn’t be in this situation!
And yet where had her anger gotten her?
She huffed a long sigh. Oh, it had worked for a while, she supposed. Her fury had protected her from facing every lie he’d spun, each promise he’d broken, the scars he’d carved into her heart, but here? Now? It did no good. So much pain filled her chest it was a wonder her lungs worked at all. The rage thathad been her armour seemed as confining as this cell. It hadn’t saved her from anything. Not from poverty or hunger. Not from Henry’s doubt and betrayal. And it certainly hadn’t freed her from this wretched place.
