A footman appeared. “Lady Frederica reports that Mrs. Darcy’s problem has been resolved.”
The tightness in his chest suddenly loosened. Elizabeth had been imperiled because of him, and that he could not bear. Except that he was endangering her every single day by his mere presence at Pemberley.
He could stay still no longer. “I will be with Coquelicot if you need me.”
Coquelicot had pronounced Elizabeth free of any taint of poison, but Cook and his assistant were less fortunate. “I can treat their symptoms, but I cannot remove the poison. It will have to make its way through them. I will do what I can to keep them comfortable.”
Darcy thanked her and turned to Cook, who lay on a cot, his forehead beaded with sweat. At least he was awake. And horrified by what had happened.
“I used the same recipe I always do, monsieur,” he said, his French accent more prominent than usual.
“What ingredients were in both the ragout and the fish?” Darcy asked.
Cook closed his eyes. “Butter, of course, and flour. Pepper, salt, and a bouquet garni. And spices. Mace and cloves.” He blinked. “The mace was new.”
“Where did you get it?”
“The cook at Asquith Hall. I met him in town and he offered it to me, saying it was unusually fine quality. But it truly was mace, I would swear it. I smelled it.”
Something could have been mixed into it. “Was he French, too?” Someone the assassins could have influenced, perhaps.
“Of course.” Cook mopped his face.
Darcy frowned. “Had you met him before?”
“No, he is new here. His last position was at Hartfield Hall.”
More likely in Napoleon’s Grand Armée, unless Darcy missed his guess. The assassins had finally managed to strike at him, and it would have worked, had it not been for Georgiana’s fae.
“Did you use the mace for anything else?” Darcy asked. Would there be a mass poisoning of servants later?
“No, I reserved it for upstairs, since there was so little of it.”
One small blessing. He would ask Mistletoe to examine the mace – and everything else in the kitchen.
Chapter 21
Thebutlercamethroughthe kitchen door with a ponderous air just as Elizabeth had almost persuaded Cook not to resign his position. He had recovered from his poisoning, but he continued to blame himself for nearly killing his employers.
Hobbes clearly had something to say, though.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Lady Amelia Morgan awaits you in the drawing room,” the butler intoned.
“Granny?” cried Elizabeth in disbelief. Turning back to Cook, she said, “We will continue this later, but I dearly hope you reconsider.”
The she was running upstairs and into the drawing room, where Granny was waiting. Oh, but it was good to see her again! Even if she was wearing a commoner’s dress that was far too big for her.
“Gently, girl,” Granny cautioned as Elizabeth embraced her. “My old bones have been sadly jostled in that horrid conveyance. I hope you have a soft bed for me, since I do not intend to leave it for a week!”
Elizabeth held the fragile form to her with care. “We would have sent the carriage for you if we had known you were coming.”
“Ha! If I had known before I was soaring dragonback over London, I would have asked for it,” Granny said tartly. “I am altogether too ancient to ride a dragon.”
Fear crept into Elizabeth’s pleasure. “Oh, no! What happened?” What could have sent Granny fleeing from London?
“Tea and a fire first, and then the news,” said Granny. “Pray send for Cerridwen, Darcy, and anyone else here who ought to know what is happening. I am too weary to tell it more than once.”
