Page 46 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

Sir John sat back and surveyed the doctor with the first hint of disfavor. “And you did not wish to be linked to his death, Dr. Grampian?”

“He was not my patient when he expired.”

“But he might have been considered so had you insisted upon a post-mortem?”

“He might have been,” Dr. Grampian reluctantly admitted.

“And so, you simply guessed at the cause of his death?”

“Indeed not!” the doctor exclaimed, sitting erect in the witness chair. “It was mismanagement, of a surety. That woman, who calls herself a healer, is solely responsible.”

“You do not believe Mrs. Gilly possesses any healing powers?”

“I believe that she’s capable of reading books and parroting instructions, or that she could serve as a midwife.

I do not think she has sufficient learning or training to be of true assistance.

She seems to have adopted a unique way of treating people, which leads them to believe that she’s giving them helpful advice.

They would be better served,” he said, looking out over the crowd, “to heed their physician’s instructions. ”

“If you have so much antipathy for Mrs. Gilly, Dr. Grampian, why have you not come forward before now?” the sheriff asked.

The entire courtroom silenced to hear the doctor’s answer.

The physician only stared at the magistrate, his features fixed in a stern look, one that might have precluded further questioning. But Sir John evidently feared no man.

“Is it because she treats the poor, Dr. Grampian, and offers no interference to your business?”

Dr. Grampian didn’t answer. The words lingered in the air even as the physician was dismissed and Charles Talbot took his place in the witness chair.

“Please state your name and your relationship to the accused.”

“My name is Charles Talbot, and I was the late Gordon Gilly’s apprentice.”

“For how long did you work in that capacity, Mr. Talbot?”

“For twelve years.”

“So you came to be in his employ before his marriage to his wife, is that not correct?”

“It is, sir. I was in the household when Mrs. Gilly married her husband.”

“Did you think it odd that he chose to marry a woman so much younger than himself?”

“I thought he was a fortunate man,” Charles said. “Or maybe just a wealthy one.”

Laughter erupted in the courtroom.

Sir John didn’t look at the miscreants, simply addressed his comments to Charles.

“Are you aware that Mr. Gilly had the opportunity to consult a physician several months prior to his death?”

“Yes,” Charles responded. “I was. He didn’t actually tell me, but I had seen him taking a medicine twice a day. When I asked what it was, he admitted it was something that the physician had given him.”

“Did you discuss his illness with Mr. Gilly?”

“I did not wish to ask any inopportune questions, sir. Mr. Gilly didn’t have any use for illness, and disliked feeling bad. I believe that he subscribed to the same philosophy as his wife that the less said about something unpleasant, the better.”

“But he continued to be treated by his wife?”

Charles nodded. “He was. We had a habit of sitting in the parlor after dinner, and it was then that Mrs. Gilly would give him the drink she prepared.”

“And he took it with no reluctance?”

Charles seemed to hesitate. Sir John frowned at him, and he continued, looking reluctant. “He didn’t want to drink the mixture some nights, but she insisted.”

The crowd behind Hamish began to stir, individual voices that began as murmurs picking up and becoming words that he could discern only too well.

The sentiment was turning against Mary. She sat immobile in her box, paying no attention to the audience in the courtroom, no expression on her face.

Both Brendan and Marshall glanced at him, but Hamish didn’t move.

“What did she do on those nights?”

Charles glanced quickly at Mary and then away, the impression that of a man who was forced by necessity to tell the truth, but who didn’t wish to betray a woman.

Mary might have been carved from marble.

“She would plead with him to drink the medicine, say ing that it was for his own good, that she wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she knew he’d taken it. Sometimes, she’d weep.”

Mary looked up, staring at Charles. Her gaze was intent, but not revealing. Hamish, however, had the impression that the young man lied.

“Did you ever see Mr. Gilly become ill after taking one of these potions?”

Charles murmured something, his head bent and his gaze on the floor. Hamish didn’t believe the pose of reluctant accuser one moment.

“I cannot hear you, Mr. Talbot.”

Charles raised his head and stared directly at the sheriff. “Yes,” he said, loudly enough to be heard in the back of the courtroom. “He was ill almost every night after she gave him the drink.”

The murmurs were growing louder. Sir John leveled a gaze on the assembled people in the chamber and the gallery until the voices once again subsided.

“What was in this potion she gave him?”

Charles shook his head. “She never told me, although I saw her mix it once. After Mr. Gilly’s death, I began to investigate.” He glanced at the sheriff, and Sir John nodded. “I found this in Mr. Gilly’s room.”

Withdrawing something from an inside vest pocket, he began to unwrap it from a linen handkerchief.

Hamish could feel the tension in the room as people around him leaned forward to get a better look.

When the unwrapping was complete, Charles held a small vial with a frosted glass top up to the light.

Hamish had seen many similar ones in Mary’s chest.

“This was one of the ingredients in the mixture she prepared.”

“Can you identify the contents?”

“As you can see, sir, it’s clearly labeled.” He stood and walked the short distance to the sheriff’s desk, reached up, and placed it in front of Sir John.

The sheriff peered at the container and read the label aloud. “Mercury.”

For the first time, Mary’s eyes met Hamish’s before quickly sliding away. So, she’d known he was there all along. The look on her face was dispassionate now, but he’d seen her flinch as Charles gave his testimony.

The sheriff surprised him and the rest of the courtroom by recalling the physician.

“Is mercury used for the treatment of disease?” Sir John asked.

“Frequently it is, but only under the care of a trained physician. Mercury is efficacious for several diseases, some of which would not be wise to mention in mixed company, sir.” He glanced at several of the women in the gallery. “However, it should be treated with caution.”

“So it might it be possible to give a fatal dose to a patient?”

“Indeed it could.”

Dead silence filled the room, and hundreds of pairs of eyes looked at Mary.

Next, Sir John called the young maid, Betty.

She walked to the chair looking as if it were the gallows, instead.

Her hands clutched a handkerchief with a punishing grip as she sat and looked at Sir John.

She kept pressing her lips together and alternately licking them.

When he asked her to identify herself, she jumped at the sound of his voice.

“My name is Betty Carmichael.”

“State your relationship to the accused.”

The young girl looked first at the sheriff and then at Mary. “I am maid to Mrs. Gilly, and to the late Gordon Gilly.”

“You had occasion to tend to Mr. Gilly prior to his death, did you not?”

“Well, I do what I’m told, sir. If Mr. Gilly wanted a bowl of soup, I fetched it. Or if his linens needed changing, I did that, too.” She bowed her head, and Hamish didn’t doubt she would have made a small curtsy if she hadn’t been seated in the chair.

“He was a very kind man, sir. He was forever saying thank you and please, and he never forgot the smallest kindness. He often gave me a few coins for the market, and told me to bring back a pretty ribbon for my hair or a sweetmeat for me and Cook to share.”

“Have you ever seen him ingest any substance that would knowingly do him harm?”

Betty looked confused. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir. Mr. Gilly was very careful about what he ate. For the longest time, he had a problem with his bowels, and he couldn’t eat more than a few oats in the morning or some toast in the afternoon.”

“For how long was he ill?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say he was ill, sir. He was old.”

Again, that hint of laughter, this time from the gallery.

“He was losing a lot of weight because of it,” she said, her head bobbing up and down. “There were times he wouldn’t eat anything at all but Mrs. Gilly’s drink.”

“She was the only one to feed him, then?”

“Not really, sir. It were a bunch of herbs all ground up with some ale to give it a taste. She would mix it up for him in the evening and he’d drink it.”

The courtroom had grown hushed.

“For how long did she give him this potion?”

“Well, a few months, sir. But she was forever giving him tonics, at least while I was with them.” She glanced over at Mary and smiled wanly.

“How long have you been with the accused?”

Betty looked at Mary again. “Nearly five years, sir. Since I was twelve. She took me home when my mother died. I learned my numbers from her, and how to read. She taught me how to be a maid so that I could always have a job.”

“I only asked you how long you’d been with the accused, Miss Carmichael, not a description of each day that passed since you entered her employ.

” Sir John scowled at Betty, but she didn’t wilt under his censure.

Instead, she tilted her head back and looked up at him with a frown on her face. A chick facing down a hawk.

“Did he take the drink up until the night he died?”

“No, sir. He couldn’t eat anything by then, or hardly drink anything at all.”

Mary stared straight ahead, looking as if none of what was happening had anything to do with her. Hamish wondered if she were maintaining that aloof demeanor in order to endure what was happening to her. He’d looked the same, he was certain, as he was being tortured.

“Did you ever see him become ill after he drank this potion?”