Mr. Plum stepped away from her. The blisters on his face swelled by the second. “That plant, on your gown, what is it?”
Elswyth raised her hand, looked at the ivy that circled her fingers. “I—I don’t know. It’s what the dressmaker sent.”
Drusilla stepped forward and examined Elswyth’s arms. “It’s poison ivy,” she said, announcing it to the room. A gasp sounded from the crowd, which quickly turned to shouting.
“That’s nonsense, of course it’s not. It’s… it’s…” Elswyth started. But as she looked at the vines around her arms, on her hands, across her whole gown, she noted the features. It wasn’t truly poison ivy, at least not as she knew it. After all, poison ivy wasn’t really ivy at all. This was a hybrid, most likely, of poison ivy andHedera helix—she could see a red glisten to the leaves where the toxic oil leaked. But why hadn’t she been affected? The oil would have surely given her a rash as well, but she’d grafted the plant to her skin, which would have allowed her body to adapt to the toxin. That, and Kehinde had been slipping various toxic plant oils into her tea for weeks, at this point. She’d been exposed to poison ivy countless times.
“… natural immunity,” she whispered. But who had done this? And why?
Elswyth frantically searched the room, looking for Venus. Miss Forscythe stood safely in the corner, away from the rest of the dancers, untouched—of course—by the ivy.
“You don’t understand,” Elswyth began, pleading. “I was tricked. I didn’t intend—”
“You witch,” Begonia Pritchett said. “If this scars, you will hear from my family’s barristers, I’ll ruin you! I’ll—”
Everyone in the crowd began shouting at once.
“—madwoman, now this—”
“—strange, horrible girl—”
“—must have poisoned the Captain—”
A scream cut through the noise. All eyes turned to where Hyacinth Thatcher stood over Lord Forrester, his body crumpled on the floor. “Somebody do something. He can’t breathe!”
The crowd stopped, momentarily distracted from their own itching. Before she knew what she was doing, Elswyth had crossed the room and was kneeling by Lord Forrester’s side. He looked terrified, hands grasping at the floor for purchase. A thin whistling sound came from his throat.
“What are you doing? Get away from him!” Hyacinth Thatcher screamed.
“We don’t have time to wait for a doctor,” Elswyth said. “He is having an allergic reaction, and his throat is swelling shut. If we wait, he will die of suffocation.”
Elswyth examined his throat for a moment. She reached down to touch it and then thought better of it, ripping the ivy from her arms. She tossed it to the side and then took a glass of water from a nearby table and vigorously washed her hands, fabricating soapwort as she scrubbed. Then she massaged his throat, feeling the swelling there, as he feebly tried to push her away.
Elswyth placed her fingertip to the spot under Lord Forrester’s jaw where she felt his pulse. Then, blocking out the sounds of the room, she concentrated. Her nail bed faded from pink to green and then finally to black. It grew outward until it came to a point, forming a thin thorn. It was a particular variety of whistling thorn with a hollow interior—Vachellia drepanolobium—one of Kehinde’s methods of administering poison. Within the thorn, she summoned the essence ofEphedra sinicain its concentrated form, ephedrine, a powerful stimulant. She built ephedrine within the thorn until it threatened to burst, and when it was ready, rammed it into Lord Forrester’s throat.
“She’s going to kill him!” Begonia Pritchett screamed.
“That’s enough now, Miss Elderwood—” Lord Ashdown started, rather uncertainly. He moved to Elswyth and put a firm hand on her shoulder.
“If you move me now, he will die,” Elswyth said.
Lord Ashdown hesitated for a moment, and in that moment, Elswyth was able to push the rest of the ephedrine through the thorn-needle and into Lord Forrester’s blood.
Lord Ashdown pulled Elswyth back. Her thorn-finger slipped from Lord Forrester’s vein, followed by a spurt of blood, and the man erupted upward, sucking in a monumental breath. This was apparently too much for Miss Hyacinth Thatcher, who screamed and fainted into the arms of Lord Barry. Thankfully, Lord Ashdown went to the girl’s aid, unhanding Elswyth.
Lord Forrester gasped again and then scrambled to his feet with the help of Mr. Plum. Elswyth moved toward him.
“Are you all right, Lord Forrester? You mustn’t move too fast. The ephedrine—”
She reached out for him, and he jerked backward, a look of disgust on his face.
“Don’t touch me,” he said. He looked around the room, sweat still dripping down his brow, a red rash still covering his face and neck. He flattened out his coat, brushing dirt and dead leaves from it, and then turned to Miss Forscythe.
“Venus, this has gone on long enough. I entertained her affections because you insisted, and because I pitied the loss of her sister. But I cannot go on with this ruse a moment longer.”
He cast a venomous glance at Elswyth. Her blood felt cold. She wanted to say something, but it felt as if the room were spinning. Everything around her was collapsing all at once, and all she could do was stare.
Lord Forrester turned and bowed to his hosts. “Lord Forscythe, Lady Forscythe, thank you for your hospitality. Now, if I may, I would very much like to leave the presence of this dreadful woman.”
