Page 108 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“That’s right,” Tilda said. “Let me show you to Albert.”

“I’d like to look at the biscuits when I’m finished examining him. Do you still have them?”

Tilda looked to her “sister.”

Mrs. Kilgore nodded. “I’ll fetch them whilst you’re in with Mr. Harwood.”

Leading Dr. Giles to the cupboard, Tilda motioned for him to enter.

The doctor leaned over Maxwell. “Has he been sleeping for a while?”

“Not terribly long. We spoke briefly, but he was tired. His color actually looks a little better.”

The doctor poked and prodded at Maxwell, who finally opened his eyes. He blinked several times. “Giles?”

“Yes. How are you feeling, Mr. Harwood?”

Maxwell’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Harwood?”

Tilda tensed. Had Maxwell forgotten their disguises due to being ill?

The doctor glanced at Tilda. “It’s not unusual to suffer from delusions.” He’d set his bag on the floor and opened it to retrieve a stethoscope. He pulled down the bedclothes and listened to Maxwell’s chest.

“What are you doing?” Maxwell asked. His words were slurred, making him sound as if he were inebriated or half asleep.

“Just making sure you’re all right,” Dr. Giles said cheerfully. He continued listening to Maxwell a moment longer, then returned the stethoscope to his bag. “How are you feeling now?”

“Tired.”

The doctor asked Maxwell about his symptoms, and it seemed he was doing better. He didn’t need to run to the privy, nor was he feeling nauseated. Tilda relaxed slightly. Perhaps he hadn’t been poisoned after all.

As Maxwell’s eyes began to close again, the doctor leaned down and sniffed Maxwell’s neck. He straightened and turned to face Tilda. “It’s arsenic poisoning. But not a lethal amount. In fact, I’d wager he vomited a good amount from his system, according to what your sister said. He should be well enough in a day or two.”

“Really?” Tilda sagged with relief. Only for a moment, however, as she realized someone had set out to hurt him—and Hadrian.

Giles inclined his head toward the kitchen. “I’d like to look at the biscuits now to see if I can determine if they are the source of the arsenic.”

“They have to be.” Tilda led the doctor back to the kitchen, where Mrs. Kilgore had set the basket of remaining biscuits on the worktable.

“How many did he eat?” Dr. Giles asked.

“Probably a half dozen,” Mrs. Kilgore replied, her eyes darkening with concern. “Is it poison?”

“Arsenic,” the doctor replied. “Though there can’t have been too much. Six biscuits could have been lethal. I wonder if the intent wasn’t to kill Mr. Harwood but just to make him ill. Thankfully, he’ll recover.”

Mrs. Kilgore exhaled. “I’m so glad. My husband would be—” She snapped her mouth closed and her eyes rounded briefly. She’d clearly forgotten herself. “My husband would have been upset. I’m a widow,” she added.

But the doctor wasn’t paying much attention to her, fortunately. He was studying the biscuits. “I can’t really tell if these contain arsenic. We’d have to feed them to someone or an animal, such as a rat, to see the effects and know for sure. You’re certain these are the source?”

“They have to be,” Mrs. Kilgore said. “There’s no arsenic in the house.”

“Did Harwood eat at the pub last night, perhaps?” the doctor asked.

Tilda shook her head. “I know he did not.”

Dr. Giles frowned at the biscuits. “I’ve seen that pineapple stamp before.”

“Do you know who made them?” Tilda asked, her pulse quickening.