Rose rushed in, muttering under her breath, shaking a bottle, her thumb over the mouth to keep it stoppered.
“She’s here, Stephen,” Gillian whispered, relief flooding her. But he was oblivious, trembling violently against Gillian’s side.
“Rose, oh my God, what’s—”
Rose cut her off with a look. “Has he vomited recently?” Her tone was brisk, efficient. She still vigorously shook the bottle in her hand.
Gillian nodded.
“Good.” She poured the liquid from the bottle into a cup. “Sit him up.”
Gillian slid her arm behind his back and tried to maneuver him into an upright position. “He’s too big!”
“That’s good enough.” Rose’s hand bracketed Stephen’s mouth, and she forced the beverage down his throat with the other hand. He tried to pull away, coughing and sputtering, but Rose held his face in a solid grip. “Drink it Stephen or you’ll die.”
Gillian’s eyes widened.Die?
His lids raised halfway to regard Rose warily. “I’m not already dead?” His voice was a weak croak.
“Drink it.”
Stephen’s eyes drifted shut again, and he swallowed everything in the cup before sliding down onto his side and folding into a shivering ball.
Rose stood over the bed, breathing hard, hands on hips. Then she sighed heavily and rubbed the side of her hand across her forehead. Her hand shook.
“I put a bit of laudanum in it. He should sleep a while.”
“Will he live now?” Gillian leaned over to peer anxiously at his face. His closed eyelids moved rapidly.
“I know not. Gillian, someone poisoned him.”
Gillian jerked back around to her sister. “What? Who? How?”
Rose shook her head wearily. “It’s hard to know. He’s such a God damned sot, you cannot ken. He’ll drink anything—privy water, if he’s far enough gone. I don’t know how much poison he ingested, so I may be chasing my tail. He could die no matter what I do.”
Gillian looked back at the huddled figure on the bed. Her throat tightened. “Why is he like this? Is it the pain?”
Rose shrugged. “Aye, the pain. The cane. The fact he can barely sit a horse. He insisted on coming with me, and the journey took twice as long because of it. He was sore vexed with himself.” Rose glanced cautiously at the bed, then motioned with her chin for Gillian to follow her a few paces away. When she spoke again her voice was low. “My mind’s not set that he didn’t do this to himself.”
Gillian’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Rose nodded. “Sometimes when he’s really sotted, he says things—”
“What things?”
Rose sighed. “That we should have let him die. When I found him this morning, he swore he didn’t do this to himself. I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to spend his last moments getting his ears blistered by me.”
Gillian pressed her palm to her forehead, struck by the coincidence of this situation. She glanced back at Stephen, then to Rose, who watched her with interest.
“What is it, Gilly? You’ve thought of something.”
“This is what she was trying to tell me,” Gillian murmured.
Rose raised her brows expectantly.
“Remember I told you about the woman I saw cleaning my fireplace and drinking my wine—”
“Aye, the phantom maid. I remember.”
