Mama whispered to Mary, “Fetch Dr. Sculthorpe. I daresay I succumbed to hysterics when I was with child, but it makes no sense to house a doctor if he cannot help her.”
The doctor tried to soothe Lydia. They all did. But she was beyond the ability to reason.
“Does she have a calming tonic?” Dr. Sculthorpe finally asked.
Kitty lunged toward the hall. “I will fetch it!” she said, returning in short time with a spoon and the bottle of tonic of which Lydia had bragged about earlier to Mama.
Taking the bottle and balancing the spoon in one hand while consoling Lydia with the other, Mama poured the liquid like a seasoned master. Getting the spoonful into Lydia was another matter, though, and after several attempts with an equal number of spills, Mama huffed. “That is quite enough, Lydia. Hold still and open up.”
Startled to hear Mama scold her so firmly, Lydia did as she was bid. Mama shoved what was left of the dose into Lydia’s mouth, provoking a fit of coughs to which she smacked her daughter’s back, saying, “That will do for now, I suppose. You will get more when you are calm enough to take it properly.”
After a cup of tepid tea leftover from the dregs of the teapot, Lydia finally calmed.
Mama asked, “Dr. Sculthorpe, shall I give her more? I do not know what is in it besides bilberries. They are not harmful to her unborn child, are they?”
Dr. Sculthorpe indulged her concern, standing by Lydia and placing his fingers against her wrist. Next thing, he knelt on the floor in front of her, holding her chin up to look into her eyes. Her pupils were so large, her eyes looked black. “You say you do not know what is in that tonic?” he asked.
“No,” Mama answered, her arm tightening around Lydia.
“Where did she get it?” he asked, lifting her chin and insisting, “Who gave this to you?”
More than alarmed, he sounded angry.
“A doctor from the north,” Lydia said, her face turning red again, preparing for another bout of tears.
He turned to Papa. “Is there more cake or bread in the house? She must eat immediately.”
Papa ran out to the hall, calling for Mrs. Hill.
The doctor turned to Lydia. “There, there. We willfill your stomach, and you will be well. Would you say the spoon was only half-full, Mrs. Bennet?”
“I hardly know!”
“Pray try to remember. Your daughter’s life depends upon it. This tonic is poison!”
CHAPTER 30
Mama’s composure, which had held admirably steady up to now, burst. “Yes, a half of a spoon,” she sobbed. “Perhaps a mite less”—sniffle—“Yes, I am sure of it, though I cannot understand why you should suggest such a dreadful thing.” She clutched Lydia more tightly. “I do not know what I would do if my dear Lydia was no more.” She rocked Lydia in her arms, both of them bawling.
“Now, now, I apologize for the scare,” said Dr. Sculthorpe, adding cheerily, “If she took so little, I daresay the bread will soak up the poison, and she will be right as rain soon.”
Papa returned, shoving the last of the cake in front of Lydia. “This is all there is.”
Dr. Sculthorpe pulled a chair closer, holding the plate up when another bout of tears nearly sent theplate toppling to the floor. “Have a bite, love,” he cooed, holding the plate under her nose. “It is delicious, is it not? Now, be a good girl, and clean your plate. Every last morsel.”
Encouraged to indulge her sweet tooth, Lydia’s hysterics surrendered to soft moans and chewing.
Once her mother’s tears had dried and her wails had died down to the occasional hiccup, Elizabeth asked, “How do you know the tonic is poisoned?”
“Her pulse was too rapid, and when I saw how quickly her eyes had dilated, I knew she had imbibed belladonna.”
“Belladonna?” Papa sank into the nearest chair, rubbing his temples. “Dear Lord, this is grave indeed.”
Dr. Sculthorpe held up his hands. “Your daughter is of a … stout … disposition. I am of the opinion she will survive unscathed, but we will know for a certainty in an hour or two. The nightshade is deadly, but it works mercifully fast.”
Mary, who had read as many books on horticulture as she had pamphlets with sermons, said, “Belladonna is taken from the Italian for ‘beautiful woman.’ It grew in popularity and use during the Renaissance. Women would extract the juice, dropping it inside their eyes to enlarge their pupils. Such is vanity — a fleeting striving after the wind.”
The doctor nodded. “The berries’ menace was known even in ancient Rome.”
