Page 116 of Murder in Highbury

She had to stifle a yawn. “Thankfully, he believes Father will not suffer any lasting effects.”

George studied her with concern. “Emma, you must be exhausted. Why don’t you lie down for a rest? I will sit with Henry.”

“Thank you, dearest—perhaps I will later. First, I want to hear what you discovered.”

He hesitated for a moment. “I think we must talk to your father, and hope that he will be able to shed more light on the situation.”

She sighed. “So the servants have no idea how it could have happened?”

While Emma had spent the morning with her father, George had investigated the unnerving incident. There were a number of medicinal tinctures and concoctions in the house, most of which were in the stillroom and carefully supervised by Serle. It was possible, although hard to imagine, that someone might have inadvertently mixed up one medicinal with another. But her imagination could not supply the means by which the laudanum had then found its way into her father’s wineglass.

“Unfortunately, no,” George replied. “Serle was beside herself at the notion that anything coming from the kitchen or stillroom might have poisoned your father.”

Poisoned.

The word hit like a hammer blow to the chest.

“Poisonedis a very strong word, George.”

“It is accurate nonetheless.” He put out a quick hand to stem her protest. “Although I believe it was entirely accidental.”

Emma struggled with a brief surge of panic. “If Mr. Perry hadn’t acted so quickly—”

“Thankfully, he did.”

“Did you check the decanter in the drawing room?”

Emma had poured her father’s ratafia from that decanter last night, but it was hard to believe that could be the source of the contamination.

“Unfortunately, because it was near empty, Thomas removed it last night and brought it to the kitchen to be washed and refilled.”

“And neither he nor the scullery maid noticed anything amiss with the decanter?”

“They did not. Serle also checked the bottle of laudanum in the stillroom, and it seemed untouched from the last time it was used.”

Emma nodded. “That makes sense. Father only occasionally takes the drops when his nervous stomach plagues him, but he’s been ever so much better in that regard. I don’t think he’s had even one drop for the past few months.”

George looked thoughtful. “Serle said that, as well. But your father has been very anxious about this murder business. Is it possible he put the drops in his glass last night and miscalculated the dose?”

“He does keep a small bottle of laudanum in his room, so it’s possible. But it’s normally Serle who adds the drops in his tea, which she sweetens with honey.”

Since the drops themselves tasted bitter, they required a sweetener or other flavorings to make them palatable.

“Then the most reasonable explanation,” George responded, “is that your father must have self-administered the drops last night and miscalculated. It seems all but impossible that one of the household staff could be responsible, even inadvertently.”

She held up her hands. “Well, none of the servants have ever wanted to murder Father before, even when he was at his most fretful. So I doubt they would begin now.”

When her husband’s eyebrows all but shot up to his hairline, Emma winced. Clearly, Mr. Elton wasn’t the only person whose mind had become unhinged by this summer’s unfortunate events.

“Howdreadfullyinappropriate of me,” she said. “My apologies, dearest. You may blame my ridiculous comments on lack of sleep.”

He stooped and pressed a kiss to her lips. “There is nothing to forgive, my love. And one might also note that your observation is not entirely without merit.”

She swatted his arm. “You’re almost as bad as I am. What is the world coming to when Mr. Knightley loses all sense of propriety, just like his wife?”

“Marriage was bound to have some effect on my character.”

“Not for the better, apparently,” she wryly replied. “But I suppose we’d best go in and speak with Father.”