Page 24 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

Patrina climbed the stairs, heart pounding. Agatha led the way. The staircase was dark – it hadn’t been expected that the guests would want to go upstairs, so the candles were set out sparsely – and she could hear muffled, worried murmurs coming from upstairs.

Her mind was reeling.

I was right. Clayton and Thomasin do wish Neil harm. They are trying to kill him.

They might have succeeded.

How many doses of Aconitum would it take for the poison to be lethal? How much has Neil had?

Now wasn’t the time to worry about that.

“The thing that worries me,” Agatha said, without turning around, “is how quickly he relaxed after this fit.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

The older woman glanced over her shoulder, meeting Patrina’s eye. “I’m afraid not. From what I’ve heard, his fits were more violent. Relaxing too soon could be a sign that his body is giving up, losing its strength. Has he seemed weaker and more disoriented lately?”

Patrina swallowed hard. “Yes, I would say so.”

“Then let’s hope we found him in time.”

“What… what can be done?”

Agatha breathed out evenly. “The first step, of course, is to stop his doses of the herb. After that, he requires rest, fluids, and small but regular amounts of healthy foods. It will take a while to regain his strength after such an extended period of poison doses.”

“But… but he will recover, won’t he?”

Patrina held her breath, waiting for Agatha’s response.

Before Agatha could say a thing, running footsteps echoed across the landing, and Harry appeared, out of breath and flustered. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Patrina.

“There you are! Neil is asking for you. Will you come in to see him?”

“Of course,” Patrina answered at once, climbing the rest of the stairs to get to the top. Her heart was thudding, but she made an effort to calm herself. “Harry, Clayton and Thomasin must not be allowed to be near Neil again. Neither must Mr. Blackburn.”

Harry blinked, visibly shaken. “Of course, but… but why not?”

“They’re trying to poison him.”

There was really no easy way to say that. Harry sucked in a breath, eyes widening. Patrina was braced for a barrage of questions or denials, but Harry only shook his head, recovering himself.

“I see. You must know, though, that Mr. Blackburn has already been sent for.”

Patrina bit back a curse. “That’s not ideal. Harry, I need you to do me a favour. Go for a constable, right now.”

“I will,” Harry nodded, and hesitated. “But you shall keep watch over Neil in my absence, will you not?”

“Of course. Of course I will, Harry. Just make haste, won’t you?”

“I’ll take the fastest horse in the stables,” Harry answered grimly.

He set off at a run, and then there was nothing for Patrina to do but draw in a deep breath and step into the sickroom.

***

Neil opened his eyes at the sound of a familiar, whispering voice. Relief and warmth surged through his chest when he saw Patrina step into the room.

He remembered very little of what had happened. He’d had a fit, of course. The last thing he remembered was Agatha, warning him that he looked pale and ill, and asking him if he’d like to sit quietly in a private parlour for a moment.

Neil agreed, and had just been thinking that a few hours in a private parlour would be less humiliating than collapsing in front of the whole company. And then, quite abruptly, there was nothing.

He’d woken up briefly, lying on his back and looking up at the ornate ceiling of Lady Ashworth’s dining room. There was a flurry of voices around him, but none of them seemed to make sense.

And then he had woken up here, in a cool room which was clearly a spare one, lying in a comfortable bed with his family all around him.

Not everybody, actually. His mother was there, and Cynthia, and Lady Ashworth hovered nervously in the corner. Agatha had disappeared somewhere, and Harry abruptly went running out onto the landing.

“Where is she?” he croaked, not for the first time.

His mother took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly.

“I don’t know where Patrina has disappeared off to, my darling,” she murmured, “but Miss Simms will find her, I’m sure.”

On cue, Patrina stepped into the room, and Neil sighed in relief. He saw how she paled at the sight of him, lying weak and thin in a borrowed bed. He held out a hand for her to take, but the effort was too much and he was obliged to let his arm drop back onto the sheets.

“I think the end is coming sooner than I thought, my dear,” he whispered.

Patrina’s expression tightened. “No, Neil. You aren’t dying. I won’t let you.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit.”

“No, I quite mean it. Neil, I… listen to me. This may sound strange, but you cannot let Mr. Blackburn treat you anymore.”

Neil frowned. He sensed his mother tensing beside him, her grip on his hand tightening.

“Patrina,” she said warningly, “This is not the time.”

Patrina ignored her. “Neil, I am serious.”

“We already agreed that I would seek other advice, Pat, but…”

“You’re in danger,” she blurted out. Neil swallowed hard. His eyes were stinging.

“What do you mean?”

Emma rose to her feet, letting Neil’s hand fall. “Stop it at once, Patrina! I shall not tolerate this.”

Patrina did not stand up. She stayed where she was, perched on the edge of the bed, Neil’s hand in hers.

“I have something to tell you all,” she said quietly. “It is not a pleasant story.”

And then Patrina began to talk, starting with a conversation she had overheard between Clayton and Aunt Thomasin. She talked about a herb that none of them had ever heard of – Aconitum, Agatha chimed in, from where she had slipped silently into the room after Patrina – and a long-standing plot, spreading over years.

When she finished the story, the room was very, very quiet.

“I don’t believe it,” Emma said, voice shaking. “Clayton and Thomasin are family , for all their flaws.”

“Papa insisted he was being poisoned, at the end,” Cynthia whispered. “Mr. Blackburn said that he was simply losing his mind. He prescribed a palliative remedy. Papa didn’t want to take it, remember, Mama? He fought so hard not to take it.”

Emma closed her eyes momentarily. “This can’t be true.”

“The herb is rare, and hard to find,” Agatha spoke up. “But its smell and taste are distinctive. It was in that herbal infusion, Lady Tidemore. Any physician will agree with me, which explains why Mr. Blackburn was so keen for Lord Morendale not to visit any other practitioners. By all means, consult other physicians. Do further research and ask difficult questions. But for heaven’s sake, please do not let his lordship take any more drops or herbal infusions from that man.”

A muscle jumped in Emma’s jaw, and she glanced down at Neil. “You cannot believe this.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Neil admitted. He felt sick, and not sure if it was due to his current state or from the awful story he’d just heard. “Clayton has always had an eye on my title, but I never thought… I never imagined…” he trailed off, biting his lip.

Memories flashed through his head, mostly of Clayton and himself running about as children, playing and laughing without a care in the world.

“Neil did begin to get worse after Clayton and Aunt Thomasin arrived,” Cynthia said suddenly, her voice shaking.

Emma rounded on her daughter. “How dare you! How dare you! This is nonsense. This young woman…” she paused to point at Patrina, “…is simply making up stories to get attention.”

Patrina sat up a little straighter, meeting Emma’s eye squarely.

“I think you know that isn’t true,” she said quietly. “Emma, please. Think for a moment. You aren’t a foolish woman, and we all know how much you care for Neil. Are you going to risk losing him?”

Emma swallowed hard, throat working. Neil shifted to look up at his mother.

“Mother? I’d like you to listen to Patrina. I want her wishes respected in this manner.”

Emma closed her eyes, reaching blindly for her son’s hand. She said nothing, only giving a short nod.

And then there was chaos outside. Neil forced himself into a sitting position, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Clayton strode into the room first, smiling briskly around.

“How’s the invalid, then? Don’t worry, Neil, Mr. Blackburn is here. Everything will be all right. I daresay that madwoman who calls herself a healer didn’t bother to give you your drops, eh? Not to worry. We’re here now.”

Mr. Blackburn stepped into the room next, eyes shadowed by his heavy brow. He didn’t seem to be looking at anyone in particular and clutched his medical bag tight to his chest.

Aunt Thomasin came next, smiling placidly.

Neil glanced at Patrina. Her face was very white, and she sat very still, clutching his hand. She met his gaze and gave him a tiny nod. Neil drew in a breath.

“I know what you’ve done, Clayton.”

There was a brief silence. Clayton was now standing at the bottom of Neil’s bed, hands on his hips, the very model of a handsome, caring cousin, a marquess-to-be. He blinked, missing a beat, then smiled.

“Done? I just told you. The physician is here. That steward of yours might have fetched him, you know.”

Neil shook his head. “I know what you’re trying to do, the three of you. What you did to my father. You want me dead, Clayton.”

Clayton flinched backwards at this, seeming truly shaken. His loss of composure only lasted an instant, and then the charming smile was back.

“Goodness, cousin, did you knock your head when you collapsed? Heavens, this is not good news. My poor uncle made all sorts of wild accusations towards the end. Aunt Emma, perhaps we might make a plan to…”

“Talk to me, Clayton, not my mother,” Neil heard himself say, voice shaking with anger.

Clayton paused, an uneasy expression creeping into his eyes. He glanced at Patrina, and the expression solidified into pure hatred.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” he muttered, creeping closer. “She’s filling your head with nonsense. You know this is all in your head, Neil. You know it’s your illness.”

Neil swallowed. “Look me in the eye, Clayton, and tell me that it’s a lie.”

For a split second, Neil saw the truth cross his cousin’s face. Guilt and anger and regret all mixed there in his eyes, the instant seeming to stretch out forever.

Then it was gone, and Clayton was just Clayton again, throwing off the awkward moment with an easy laugh.

“Heavens, Neil, you’re more ill than I thought! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Neil glanced past Clayton. There were only two new people in the room now. At some point, Mr. Blackburn had crept out. Outside, Neil could hear shouts and voices, and the clatter of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves on the paved courtyard. Lady Ashworth crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain.

“The constable is here,” she remarked, almost off-handedly.

“If you’re so confident in your own innocence, that all of this is nonsense,” Cynthia spoke up, rising shakily to her feet, “then you won’t mind talking to the constable, will you, Clayton? You won’t mind another physician taking a look at the herb infusion and the drops which were prescribed for my brother. If this is all lies, the medicine will be harmless. Won’t it?”

Clayton swallowed, eyes widening.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” he snarled, turning on his heel and storming out of the room. Neil heard him break into a run, racing haphazardly down the stairs. He leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes.

Only Aunt Thomasin was left. She’d sank onto a stool in the corner, hunched over. It took Neil a moment to understand that she was crying.

His mother took a step forward, her voice shaking.

“Thomasin?” she whispered. “Oh, Thomasin, tell me it isn’t true. You were like a sister to me.”

“I wasn’t, though, was I?” Thomasin hissed, suddenly angry. “We were never Morendales . You were the Marchioness, and I was your poorer sister-in-law. We relied on you for everything, for all of our money. You can’t imagine how it was for us!”

Emma sat down with a thump, sucking in a breath. “Oh. Oh, Thomasin!”

“It was never meant to go this far,” Thomasin whispered.

“I think,” Neil heard himself say, as unconsciousness nibbled at the edges of his vision again, “that we should speak to the constable as soon as possible.”