…body, was what I had meant to say. But it was perhaps not the best word to use right now, so I skipped right past that thorny issue, and simply added, “I’ll run upstairs and?—”
“I’ll go.” Crispin took off across the drawing room and through the door. I could hear his rapid footsteps down the hallway and then fading up the stairs.
I made a face. I had wanted an excuse to get out of the room, but he had removed himself faster than I could have got up from the table, so I let him go without demur. He would probably be quicker than me in every other respect, as well, and Violet deserved that. Besides, he was probably more worried about her than I was.
Not that I was indifferent to her plight. Not at all. Nor was I indifferent to my own. A third death on top of the two we had already seen today had to be some sort of record. At least when we’d had to deal with three deaths at Sutherland Hall in April, one of them had been the murderer of the other two. This was getting out of hand.
“Is there anything we can do?” I called out to Francis, who looked up and met my eyes and then shook his head.
“I’m afraid not, Pippa. If the doctor is upstairs, perhaps he can do something. But if it’s the same substance again, it’ll be the same outcome again as well, I fear.”
Yes, I feared the same. Several of the others looked ill at the idea, including Geoffrey. He was likely to be especially affected, poor chap, seeing as he had been sitting right next to her, chatting her up, when this happened.
(Did I feel a touch bad for suspecting Lord Geoffrey’s wandering hands of being to blame for Violet’s reaction? In light of what had actually happened, perhaps I did, just a bit. I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, at any rate, and assign him enough compassion to assume he was bothered by the situation.)
I cleared my throat. “Can’t we… I don’t know, stick a finger down her throat and make her rid herself of the poison or something?”
Francis gave me a jaundiced look, while several of the others, fine-minded people like Lady Euphemia and her daughter, winced.
“Miss Fletcher rid herself of the poison last night, Pippa,” my cousin reminded me. “And it made no difference, did it?”
No, it hadn’t. But— “Shouldn’t we try, at least? Just in case it would help?”
“We don’t know that it wouldn’t hurt,” Francis said. “If it’s not the same thing, but something else instead, it could hurt her throat coming back up. Better to wait for the doctor to have a look. A minute or two won’t matter one way or the other.”
I made a face, but acquiesced. I wasn’t an expert, but Francis was. Or as much of an expert as we had access to right now. And he didn’t look as somber as he had upstairs, after first seeing Cecily, so perhaps the situation wasn’t as dire.
Holding onto that possibility, I did as I was bid, and resolved myself to wait. It wasn’t easy. I am not by nature a patient person, and the circumstances—with Violet’s shallow breathing practically rattling through the silent room—made things worse. When he couldn’t handle my fidgeting any longer, Christopher reached over and took my hand, and threaded his fingers through mine. I gave him a grateful look, one he returned with a twist of his mouth, but neither of us spoke.
It wasn’t actually that long a wait. It felt like a long time, but it was only a few minutes before we heard footsteps coming down the stairs again. There were several sets of them this time: Crispin’s, quick and light. Tom’s, heavier but no less rapid. Constable Collins, thumping in his regulation boots. And bringing up the rear, the slower steps of an older man.
Bilge had gone back to his wife after ascertaining that there was nothing he could do for Violet. Like me and Christopher, they were sitting hand in hand at their table. Serena looked pale under the makeup. Bilge, with his carroty hair and matching complexion, was always pale, but I thought his freckles might stand out a bit more than usual at the moment.
Crispin popped through the door first, with Tom and Collins on his heels. They all three converged on the body. It was only a moment or two, however, before the doctor made his way through the door and across the floor towards them.
Things moved quickly after that. I hadn’t been terribly impressed with the man during Christopher’s… let’s call it illness, at the Dower House in May. The doctor had looked him over and told us that there was nothing he—or we—could do to help, other than to wait for Christopher to sleep off the overdose of Veronal, and that hopefully he would wake up on his own once he was ready, none the worse for wear. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear at the time.
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear now either, but again, it was what the doctor told us. “Best get her up to bed where she can be comfortable,” he added.
Lady Euphemia cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t she be better off under medical care?”
I translated the question to mean, ‘shouldn’t you take her with you so we don’t have to deal with her?’ and so did the doctor, it seemed. He grunted, and then said, “There’s nothing anyone can do, my lady. She’ll either wake up or she won’t.”
I mouthed the last sentence right along with him, and rolled my eyes when Christopher looked at me. “He said the same thing about you. Word for word.”
“Hmm.” Christopher glanced at the prone body. “I did wake up. Maybe she will, too.”
“You were fed an overdose of Veronal,” I said fretfully. “It’s not the same scenario.”
“Perhaps she was fed an underdose of pennyroyal and it’ll be all right.” He put his finger to his lips before I could respond. “Just watch, Pippa. We’ll talk about it later.”
No doubt we would. Although I didn’t want to watch, really. It felt ghoulish to stare as Francis scooped Violet up and strode towards the door with her, her head lolling over his forearm and her hand dangling uselessly, tennis bracelet sending sparks of light across the walls and ceiling.
I had expected Tom to take that job, honestly, since he was bigger and stronger than either Crispin or Constable Collins, and he had the official standing that Francis lacked. I was surprised when he nodded to Francis and told him, “You take her, Astley. Do you know where her room is?”
“Top floor,” Francis grunted, as he stood with Violet in his arms.
“I’ll show you.” Collins hurried towards the door ahead of Francis, while the doctor brought up the rear.
