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Chapter Thirty
Hermione mopped Rose’s brow once again, feeling the fever that was burning in the Dowager Duchess’ temple. She looked up from the woman who was clammy with heat although her skin was pale and turned her focus to the Doctor that was in the room.
He was hovering nearby with some small glass bottles of herbs and medicinal liquids in his hands, looking rather lost.
“What is wrong with her, Doctor?” Hermione asked, feeling her voice a little shaky. She knew that Antony and Fergus were still waiting outside the door, desperate to hear any news of their mother’s condition. The Doctor had requested that only one other person stay in the room, so that he could work with little fuss. Hermione had proved her worth in helping him care for Rose, meaning she won the right to stay.
“It is not right,” he said softly. “The symptoms are associated with a stomach sickness, food poisoning perhaps, but you said that everyone at the teahouse ate the same thing, did you not?”
“That is right,” Hermione said, biting her lip. It had been one of the first things they had guessed could have been the cause, especially after Rose had been complaining about fearing she’d eaten too much.
“Then it cannot be that,” he sighed and reached toward Rose once again. “Lift the cloth a moment.” Hermione reached back, letting the doctor lean down toward the unconscious woman. He tipped open her chin and smelled a little. Hermione wrinkled her nose, feeling that the Dowager Duchess’ personal space was well and truly being intruded upon now. “Ah… that would make sense.”
“What would?” Hermione asked, feeling her fingers clench around the damp cloth in her palm.
“I smell almonds. It is conducive with poison.”
“Poison!?” Hermione dropped the cloth then had to snap it back up off the bed to prevent a wet patch from forming. She hurried to mop at Rose’s head again. “How is that possible? Surely not!”
“I fear it is. If that is the case, then I need to apply an emetic.”
“You’re going to make her sick?” Hermione panicked, kneeling up on the side of the bed.
“I am.” He reached behind himself into his leather medicinal bag. “Fetch a chamber pot if you can. It must be done now if we are to save her life.”
Her life?
Hermione knew well enough a servant or a maid could be doing this in her place, but she wanted to do it herself. She liked Rose, dearly, and the thought of not helping at a time like this was too painful.
Hermione reached under the bed, finding an empty chamber pot and bringing it up to the Duchess. With speed and practiced alacrity, the doctor tipped back Rose’s chin and began to pour a brown, copper-colored liquid into her mouth. She appeared to choke at first before he clamped onto her chest and around her throat, urging her in her unconscious state to swallow it.
Hermione gathered Rose’s aging hair in her hands, waiting for the inevitable. It only took a minute or so to take effect before Rose began to convulse and churn. The Doctor and Hermione turned Rose toward the chamber pot, ready to empty her stomach contents and hopefully free her from the clutches of the poison.
As she winced at the sounds and offered soothing words that she prayed Rose could hear, a horrid thought entered Hermione’s head.
“We must find a way to persuade the Duchess to give us the money another way.”That was what her father had said. Had he taken such drastic measures into his hands? Surely that was not possible… yet a darkness settled on Hermione’s heart anyway.
* * *
Antony could barely stand still when Hermione eventually appeared out of his mother’s chamber. Outside, the sun was setting fast, bleeding a dark orange light into the sky that shone through the windows on all that were in the corridor. Opposite Antony, Fergus was standing just as restlessly with Lady Phoebe on his arm, whispering words of comfort.
“Hermione,” Antony turned his head up to Hermione as she stepped out of his mother’s chamber. She looked pale, drying her hands on a white apron around her dress. “What did the doctor say?”
“He thinks…” she paused, looking in pain. “He thinks she was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!?” Antony and Fergus both said at the same time. “No, that is not possible,” Antony said hurriedly. “How? Why? Who would ever want to hurt my mother?”
“I have an idea,” Hermione said, looking more scared than he had ever seen her before. She reached out, taking his hand.
“Hermione, you surely do not think?” Phoebe’s voice came from nearby, prompting Hermione to snap her head toward her sister.
“I do not want to think it, but after what he said… I have no choice. It must be said. Now.” Hermione lifted her eyes back to Antony.
“What is going on?” he asked, unable to keep his panic under control.
“My father has gambling debts, a lot of them,” Hermione said softly.
“I was aware he wanted money,” Antony said, remembering the conversation on the wedding day.
