Page 101 of Wicked Queen

“That’s natural,” the doctor said. “She may have had trouble getting enough oxygen to her brain. Some patients experience memory loss or confusion.”

Memory loss. She’d come to me because she thought I was the King and she’d been cared for by one her whole life—and I’d failed her.

“She’s being examined now, but our toxicologist did notice some strange things. What medications was she on?”

“General ones,” Henry said. “She had one to help with her arrhythmia.”

“And she was taking it?” The doctor frowned.

“Yes. Well, she missed a few days when we returned to London. Clara had to pick some up at the chemist for her,” Henry said.

“Clara,” I said in surprise.

“She offered to help when I shared my concern. Your grandmother was insisting she didn’t need it. That she would see the doctor. Would missing a few days cause this problem?” Henry looked devastated. He hung his head. “I should have insisted.”

“Do you have the pills she was taking?” The doctor asked.

“They’re in her purse.” Henry gestured to the bag he’d carried in under his arm like a security blanket.

“May I?”

I nodded to the doctor, wondering why we were going to this much trouble. My grandmother was an old, bitter woman who’d lived too long a life.

The doctor retrieved the bottle and studied it for a moment. “I’d like to show these to the toxicologist.”

“Of course,” Henry said absently. Edward had moved next to him and begun to talk quietly.

I followed the doctor in the hall. “Why do you need the pills?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that there are odd traces in your grandmother’s blood. It seems she may have been taking something she shouldn’t,” he said, shaking the bottle. “It would be useful to have her other medications.”

I nodded. “We’ll have them sent over. I’m not certain I understand, though. Was there a mistake? Was she taking the wrong medication? Did it cause the heart attack?”

This time he hesitated and the pause sent a shiver running up my spine. “It’s difficult to say. We don’t usually see this kind of thing in a simple heart attack.”

“What are you saying?” I demanded. “Was it a heart attack or not?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, “but it doesn’t appear to have happened naturally.”

“She was ninety,” I snapped before the meaning of his words sank in.

“And in optimal health during her physical six months ago,” he said.

“A lot can change in six months.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it’s our duty to look into this sort of thing—unless you ask us not to.”

He’d placed the decision on my table, waiting to see if I would take a bite. But there didn’t seem to be much of a choice. If there was a possibility that this wasn’t natural, then that meant foul play. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to my family, and more proof that the Crown had cause for concern would only help my case with Parliament.

“Of course, you should investigate. We’ll cooperate in any way.”

“In that case, we will need to speak to anyone who handled her medication.”

“That would mostly be Henry,” I said, struggling to remember if my grandmother had another attendant she trusted with such matters. “I’ll ask my uncle for any other household staff that might have had access.”

“I appreciate your cooperation,” the doctor said, “but I must warn you—this means we’ll need to speak with your wife. She handled your grandmother’s medication as well.”

The North Wing was dark when I reached it an hour later. The official press release could wait until tomorrow. My mobile had kept dropping my calls to Norris and Clara—an annoying quirk of old buildings that had survived the Blitz.