Page 23 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

Lady Ashworth’s home was huge, almost as large as Morendale Manor. Despite Lady Ashworth preferring to dress herself in old-fashioned clothes, her house was entirely modern and up to date. Patrina fought not to gawk as she followed the others through vast, marble hallways, with exquisite artwork and even a few interestingly naked Greek statues, which Patrina tried not to stare at too intently.

“It’s a quiet dinner party, I hope you don’t mind,” Lady Ashworth said, speaking casually over her shoulder. “Just us, I mean Agatha and me, of course, along with a handful of close friends. I do prefer more intimate gatherings these days.”

“After that crush of soiree last night, I am relieved,” Emma said, walking alongside her friend.

Patrina wished that she had had the opportunity to talk to her mother-in-law about what Lucy had overheard in the parlour. She had spoken to Cynthia, who seemed baffled and rather confused about it all.

Of course, Lucy had not really heard anything incriminating. No doubt Clayton would easily explain away what had been said. Nothing could be proved. However, it did worry Patrina to know that Clayton and Mr. Blackburn were colluding. She worried about Lucy’s safety, as well as her own.

And Neil’s, of course. I wish I knew more about what was happening.

Neil walked ahead of the party, close behind his mother and Lady Ashworth. Patrina knew that he had an attack earlier that day, and it was apparent in the way he limped along, clearly weak and drained. He had not spoken to Patrina very much.

Harry followed him closely, carrying a neat little leather bag which Patrina knew carried the herbal infusions prescribed by Mr. Blackburn, and a few of the drops, for emergencies.

Patrina did not want to think about an emergency , of her husband writhing and convulsing on the ground before an appalled audience, with nobody knowing what to do or how to react. She knew it humiliated him. She knew he lived in fear of people witnessing his fits and treating him like… well, like some sort of invalid. Or worse, a mad man.

Patrina shivered. I will be glad when this evening is over.

As if he could read her thoughts, an unpleasantly familiar figure fell into step beside her.

“I am not sure this evening will go well for Neil,” Clayton remarked idly. “My mother and I both attempted to talk him out of it, but he would not be moved. Perhaps if you had added your voice to ours, he might have listened.”

Patrina clenched her jaw. “And why would I do that?”

“For the benefit of your husband, of course.”

She gave a mirthless chuckle. “I am not sure it is to his benefit. After all, why should he live life shut away like an invalid? Lady Ashworth is, I believe, a close family friend, and she cares for him very much.”

Thomasin, trotting along behind her son, gave a tut, and shook her head at Patrina.

“My dear, you simply do not understand.”

Patrina stopped dead, turning to face them both.

“No, Thomasin. No, Clayton. It is you who do not understand,” She snapped. “Do you think I haven’t heard of your threats? To Harry, and to my own maid? Do you think I’m a fool, listening to you encourage me to leave my husband and go back to London?”

Clayton did look surprised, but only for a moment.

“You misunderstand, Patrina. We are only thinking of your good.”

“I misunderstand nothing,” she responded crisply, taking a step towards him. “You are thinking of your own good, I think. Perhaps the time has come for your visit to end.”

Clayton and Thomasin exchanged quick, meaningful glances. Thomasin said nothing, but Clayton smiled sweetly and bowed.

“We shall talk later, I think. After you, Lady Morendale.”

With a jolt, she realized that the others had gone on ahead, leaving the three of them behind. Not wishing to be left alone with Clayton and his wretched mother, Patrina scuttled after the rest of the group.

The dining room was large and ornate, with a long table rather too big for the group sitting around it. There was genteel conversation whilst dinner was served, but Patrina found that she could not concentrate on anything.

Neil sat across the table from her, and she could tell at a glance that he was finding things difficult. His eyes were glazed, his expression tight, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His dinner partner was a portly elderly man, who seemed to be struggling to stay awake, and Agatha on the other side.

Patrina watched Agatha watching Neil, her expression tight and a little concerned.

The soup was served, and Neil barely had any. He did not even seem to have the strength to lift his spoon.

This was a mistake, Patrina thought with a rush of anxiety. Curse it, Clayton was right. I should have tried to talk him out of coming here.

Agatha laid a hand on Neil’s forearm and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Neil nodded, clearing his throat.

“You are right,” Patrina heard him say, above the genteel chatter and clink of cutlery. “Perhaps I do need a moment.”

He half rose to his feet, and things seemed to unfold very slowly.

Patrina saw Neil jerk forward as his knees buckled, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Before she could let out a cry of alarm, he sagged backwards, limp.

He knocked against the table as he fell, jerking at the tablecloth and spilling a tureen of soup. There was a flurry of alarmed cries, and people rose to their feet.

Agatha was the one who caught Neil. She managed to lower him to the ground, carefully.

“Send for the physician,” Clayton announced, voice cutting through the melee with an air of authority. Patrina saw one of the footmen rushing to obey, not even stopping to clarify.

People crowded around Neil, who lay twitching on the ground, face slack and unconscious. Patrina could not even get close to him, until Agatha spoke up.

“Pray, stand back, all of you!” she exclaimed, her tone tinged with exasperation. “Allow me a moment to gather my thoughts, if you please. Let the family have their due time with him!”

Emma pushed through the crowd and dropped to her knees behind her son, Cynthia right behind her. Patrina crouched down beside him, heart thudding.

“This is a worse turn than before,” Harry was saying to no one in particular.

Agatha was kneeling beside Neil, watching him with a frown.

“This fits are odd,” she murmured. “I’ve seen them before, but not in that condition. They were muscle contractions, brought on by a child who accidentally ate…” she trailed off, sitting up. “Is there any medication he takes to manage the fits?”

Patrina cleared her throat, trying to force down the panic. “Yes. He takes a herbal infusion, and there are some drops, for an emergency.”

“I have them here,” Harry said, voice shaking, kneeling down beside her. He opened the bag, showing Agatha the medications. In the background, Lady Ashworth was firmly ushering away the other guests out of the dining room.

Clayton and Thomasin stood quite still. They said nothing, and their faces were blank.

“We should give him his infusion,” Emma said, cradling Neil’s head. Her face was twisted with panic, and she smoothed back Neil’s hair from his forehead in a constant, soothing motion. “His infusions help with the fits.”

“Do they?” Patrina found herself saying. “I don’t know of an occasion where the infusion or the drops have eased one of Neil’s fits or prevented them.”

Emma frowned. “Why would the physician have prescribed them if they did not work? Pray, Patrina, now is not the time for your changes . I know you want to make your mark as Lady Morendale, but not at the expense of my son’s health, please!”

“May I see the medication?” Agatha interrupted, glancing uneasily between Patrina and Emma.

Harry wordlessly handed over the tub of herbs, and the dropper and bottle.

“What ingredients are in these?” Agatha asked, frowning.

The others glanced around at each other, and it struck Patrina that she had simply no idea what might be in the medications.

“Camphor,” Cynthia spoke up in the ensuing silence. “That’s what Mr. Blackburn said. Camphor, mercury of course, a little opium to manage the pain, and willow bark. Of course, none of us know what those ingredients do, but I’m sure the physician knows what he’s doing.”

“You would be surprised,” Agatha muttered. She undid the lid of the tub and sniffed carefully. Her frown increased. She even pinched a bit of the dried herbs, rubbing her fingers together and breathing deeply. “Did the physician mention any of a particular herb? I cannot recall the Latin name, but it’s poisonous in large enough doses and brings on strong fits and muscle contractions.”

“I’ve never heard of such a herb,” Emma answered crisply, drawing herself up straight. “And if it is so dangerous, I am sure that Mr. Blackburn would not have prescribed it. Really, Miss Simms, what are you talking about? Lady Ashworth, could you please ask your cousin to let the experts take charge? Has the physician been sent for? I really think…”

Patrina stopped listening. Neil was still unconscious, but he was breathing evenly and seemed to be in good hands.

Clayton and Thomasin had disappeared. She peered around the room, finally catching a glimpse of the edge of Thomasin’s skirts disappearing into a narrow side door. Climbing to her feet, she followed them without another word.

She heard Thomasin and Clayton before she saw them.

The side door was clearly a servants’ corridor, a dark, thin hallway designed for servants to slip in and out of the dining room unseen. A cold draught swirled around Patrina’s ankles, and there was something of an echo, bouncing off the stone walls.

The echo was Thomasin’s voice.

“It’s gone entirely too far,” she was saying, her voice tight with worry.

Patrina spotted the two of them about halfway up the hallway, huddled in an alcove, deep in conversation. She shuffled a little closer, not daring to get close enough to be seen. There was nowhere to hide in this bare hallway.

“And where exactly did you think this business was going to end?” Clayton responded angrily. “Don’t be a fool, Mother.”

“Watch your tongue, Clayton. May I remind you that I am the one who originally came up with this plan?”

“Perhaps so,” Clayton shot back, undeterred, “but I am the one who finished it off. You only wanted rid of old Lord Morendale because he was going to cut off our allowance. My plans are a little loftier than that.”

Patrina pressed a hand over her mouth, hardly daring to breathe.

Thomasin sighed impatiently. “I know, I know , but really, it is different. Old Lord Morendale, my wretched brother-in-law, was a terrible bore, and I never much liked him. Neil is my nephew, and I am… well, I am fond of him, Clayton. It hurts to see him suffer. We ought not to have come here.”

“I ought not to have let you come here,” Clayton snapped. “You are far too soft. Do you want the Dower House, or not? Since Neil was too foolish to sign it over to his mother altogether, it’ll become mine once I am Lord Morendale.”

There was a pause, and Patrina imagined Thomasin shifting mulishly from foot to foot.

“I suppose we’ve come far enough,” Thomasin sighed, after a while. “Oh, Clayton, I just want all of this to be over. That wretched wife of his hates us. I’m sure she suspects something.”

“Well, Mother, if you had done your job and stayed close to Aunt Emma and the family, you might have been able to deter him from the marriage in the first place.”

Patrina clenched her jaw, swallowing back rage. Clayton’s tone was contemptuous and disrespectful, and she longed to come running out of her hiding place and throw herself at him.

She heard Thomasin sigh. “Perhaps so, but it’s too late now. What shall we do now?”

“Well, I overheard Neil talking with that wretch of a steward. He plans to turn us out tomorrow, and I doubt we’ll be invited here again.”

Thomasin gave a gasp of outrage. “What? Why? What grounds would he have to turn out family ?”

“It’s that steward, complaining. And the wretched woman complained, too. My point, Mother, is that we do not have much time left. We have to act. We have to act now. ”

“Very well. What must I do?”

“We’ll contact Mr. Blackburn and let him know that it’s time for the final dose. It may look suspicious for Neil to die so suddenly. He isn’t even properly mad yet. But needs must, and I don’t think that the physician will have influence over the family for much longer. It has to happen today, do you understand?”

There was a long silence after that, and Patrina strained her ears to hear what came next.

Her head was spinning. There was a stark difference between suspecting that one’s family was trying to poison one’s husband and knowing it for a fact.

They’ve been poisoning him for months, Patrina realized with a shiver. Those drops and infusions of Mr. Blackburn’s were poisoned. What fools we were! And they must have done the same with poor Lord Morendale.

All to make Clayton a Marquess .

“Yes, I understand,” Thomasin answered at last, voice sad. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

“What did you think would happen?” Clayton scoffed. “Now come on, Mother. We have work to do.”

Suddenly terrified of being caught – they’d made it clear they were happy to murder to get what they wanted, and already had killed one Marquess – Patrina hurried silently back along the hallway, and out into the comparatively bright lights of the dining room. She paused, squinting around.

The dining room was a mess. The tablecloth had been half pulled off the table when Neil collapsed, and the table was a mess of dishes and cutlery, mixed in with spilled food and wine. A single candelabra stood tall amongst the mess, and the other candles flickered silently around the room.

The room was deserted. Silence hung heavily over Patrina, making her skin prickle. Some chairs were pushed back, knives and forks poised over abandoned plates, as if the diners had been mysteriously spirited away in the middle of dinner.

Well, in a way, they had.

A noise from the hall behind her made Patrina squeak in fright and scuttle away.

“Lady Morendale?”

The voice came, not from the servants’ hallway she’d just exited, but from the main doorway.

Agatha stood there, eyeing her curiously.

“I came back to find you,” Agatha said at last. “Lord Morendale’s come round, and he’s asking for you. He’s been put in one of the spare rooms upstairs. I’m afraid he’s still weak though. Where did you go?”

Patrina swallowed thickly. “Neil is in terrible danger. It… It may already be too late to save him. They’re trying to poison him. I know it for a fact. I just overheard… they said that…”

She was gabbling, trying to calm her pounding heart, trying to formulate coherent words, but Agatha raised a hand.

“Aconitum,” she said simply. “I recognized the symptoms almost at once. That herbal remedy is made up of that herb, mixed in with others to disguise the taste and smell. Not quite successfully enough, it seems. Regular intake of the herb would cause the fits, and ultimately, death. Lord Morendale is indeed being poisoned.”

The hairs on the back of Patrina’s neck rose. “And… and are we too late to save him?” she whispered.

Agatha hesitated. “I don’t know. But either way, you had better go up to see him at once.”