Henry shook his head, his arms crossed tight over his chest. The physician had asked him to leave the drawing room and, despite initial protests, he had eventually acquiesced. He did not want to be the reason that Dr. Farnaby could not do everything he needed to, in order to help Thalia.
“No news or…?” Walter trailed off, his face blanching.
“No news.” Henry gestured toward the front door. “What of you?”
Walter sat down beside his brother on the chaise-longue, the entrance hall empty of anyone but them. “The stablemaster said he saw the carriage depart, at the same time that Frances insisted on fetching assistance. He did not look into the carriage,as Frances had asked him not to unhitch anything, but he said he thought he heard noises from within.”
“James?”
“He could not say for sure,” Walter replied.
Henry nodded gravely. “Do you think they have returned to Weverton?”
“I do not doubt it. James will say he has been comforting his sister after the ‘awful experience’ she endured, and will deny any involvement.” Walter paused. “Do we know what caused her to collapse?”
Henry leaned forward and held his head in his hands. “I suspect poison. Dr. Farnaby said he would inform me once he had assessed her further, but that was an hour ago.”
“If you like, I can ride to Weverton?” Walter offered. “I can pretend to be a messenger, bringing news of Thalia’s condition. I can create a ruse, that constables are being sent for to arrest Baxter. At the very least, it will keep them there until you are able to confront them. They will not bolt if they feel they have gotten away with it.”
Focusing on his breathing, Henry turned the idea over in his mind. He had not considered how to keep his cousins from running, nor how to conceal the fact that they had been discovered until constablescouldbe sent for.
“Yes, that would be… very wise,” he said. “Thank you, Walt.”
Walter put an arm around his shoulders, giving him an awkward squeeze. “Anything for you and your love, Henners.” He hesitated. “But if she makes it out of this, promise me one thing?”
“What?”
“Promise me that you will not waste any more time,” he said.
Henry raised his gaze to his brother. “If she wakes from this, I will never leave her side again.”
“Good.” With a light smack of encouragement to Henry’s back, Walter got up and headed back out into the fiery glow of sunset.
It would be dark soon and Henry did not know why, but there was something about Thalia not awakening before night fell that made him even more terrified. As if bad things could only happen in the darkness, and as long as there was a sliver of sunlight left, there was hope for her. It was silly, but his overwrought mind believed it anyway.
The sound of departing hoofbeats had just faded away, when the drawing room door opened. Dr. Farnaby stood there like a priest at a funeral, head bowed.
“How is she?” Henry jumped up.
The physician lifted his head, and Henry tried very hard not to look at the spots of blood that marked the man’s shirt and sleeves. “I believe she will survive the night and, with all probability, beyond that. By some miracle, her body seemed to eject a quantity of the poison.” He hesitated, as if trying to think of a delicate way to put it. “There was… um… residue of the tea on the front of her dress.”
“Did she fall forward?” Henry asked.
Dr. Farnaby arched a curious eyebrow. “The grazing on her arms and legs and cheek would suggest so. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Henry lied.
Frances must not have seen that Thalia expelled some of it…
“I managed to purge what I assume to be the majority of the drink from her stomach,” the physician continued. “Her heart is already stronger, as is her breathing, and there is some color returning to her face. But until she awakens, I will not know if there is any lasting damage.”
Henry grasped the man’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“However,” the physician said, a word no one wanted to hear from such a man, “there is the matter of the poison itself. I am no expert in such things, but the scent was very familiar to me. I believe she was poisoned with a plant called Pennyroyal. Thearoma is pungent, like mint. Easy to hide in a spearmint tea, which is what appeared to be in the teapot.”
Henry frowned. “But she shared the tea with my cousin.”
“The aroma was not the same in the other teacup,” the physician said. “I suspect a few drops of concentrated Pennyroyal oil must have been put into Her Grace’s cup. The scent reallywasoverwhelming. And it would explain her symptoms. But, I am afraid Pennyroyal is rather dangerous in other ways, in… um…lastingways.”
