Then something stirred suddenly in her memory.
Foxglove.
Wolverton had mentioned it.
One of the ingredients used in the poison.
Charlotte rose abruptly.
No... it cannot be—
A violent wave of dizziness swept through her. She caught herself against the chair before sinking heavily back down.
‘Forgive me,’ she murmured weakly, pressing trembling fingers to her temple. ‘I was awake rather late...’
‘Think nothing of it, Miss Walker,’ Mrs Wilberforce replied sweetly.
But there was now something oddly watchful in her expression.
Panic flickered sharply through Charlotte. ‘How do you know my real surname...?’
A small pause followed.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Wilberforce with a smile far too calm. ‘How careless of me.’
Charlotte’s blood ran cold. Her vision swam. Her limbs grew impossibly heavy.
‘What... what did you...’
Realisation struck too late.
‘You poisoned me.’
‘Amongst my many talents,’ Mrs Wilberforce said lightly, ‘I am remarkably skilled at imitating handwriting and forging signatures.’
Charlotte tried to rise, but her body would no longer obey her.
‘Do not distress yourself. I shall pen a passionate and regretful letter to Henry explaining that you no longer wish to see him, nor involve yourself with his strange religion. That you have chosen the Captain after all—and decided to elope with him.’
‘No...’ Charlotte fell to the floor.
Mrs Wilberforce.
The poisoner.
An Odd Fellow.
Charlotte willed her limbs to move, but every muscle felt weighted with stone. She clawed weakly towards the doorway.
Too far.
‘Sarah...’
The cry barely escaped as a whisper.
‘Oh, not to worry,’ Mrs Wilberforce continued pleasantly. ‘I shall send your maid along with you. A lady must have her maid, after all.’
Then she calmly took the cipher parchment from Charlotte’s loosened fingers and dropped it into the fire.
