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“Certainly.” He coughs, as if in discomfort. “Might I bring you something for the pain?”
“I have that, thank you, sir. I only need to rest. It has been a most trying few days.”
“It has been,” he says. “I will tell Isla and Mrs. Wallace that you are not to be bothered, except to bring your meals.”
The thought of food has my stomach lurching.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I will leave you to your rest, then.”
He walks, a little too heavy footed, down the hall. Equally heavy footsteps tromp down the stairs.
“There,” I whisper as I glance at her. “He is gone.”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a vial. Then she opens it.
“Drink this antidote,” she says as she passes it over. “Quickly.”
I take the vial, rise to my knees and lift it to my lips. Before I can drink any, I cough, doubling over. When I’ve recovered, I lift the vial again and tip it into my mouth. Then I start to sputter and choke.
“Th-th-that—” I say. “That was not an an—an—”
“You accuse me of such terrible crimes,” she whispers at my ear, “yet you do not truly think I am your equal in wits. I have heard you speak to Duncan when you think you are alone with him, and you do not use such pretty manners as you did just now. You might as well have shouted that you were not alone in here. How long will it take him to sneak back to your rescue?”
I collapse, eyes rolling as I convulse on the floor.
“Too long to save you,” she says with a smile. “I’ve decided I rather like this plan, even if I do not have time to write your death confession. Duncan will find you and realize that is why you were so quick to get rid of him—you were ending your wretched murderess life.”
I’m on my back, sputtering and writhing. She glances once at the door, and then, pulls her skirts tight and slides under the bed, as effortlessly as if she’s a child playing hide-and-seek, as if there’s not a woman she poisoned, dying on the floor beside her.
Once she’s hidden under the bed, she adjusts herself into the shadows.
“Sweet dreams, Miss Mallory,” she says, as my eyes stutter closed.
I shut my eyes. There’s a moment of silence. Then the swish of fabric and fingers on my chin—Sarah’s fingers, turning my face away from the bed so I don’t give away her hiding spot.
The barest creak of the door. Another creak of the hinges. Gray looking in and then slipping inside, trying to figure out where I am. I wait for the first step into the room, eyes shut as I play dead, the “antidote” having been dumped on the floor when I faked the coughing fit.
When Gray’s footsteps enter the room, I roll, my stomach lurching, my vision clouding at the sudden movement. For a moment, I’m blinded, and I imagine Sarah flying from under the bed and launching herself at Gray.
But the blindness lasts only a second. Then I can see enough to grab the knife.
“She’s under the bed!” I shout. “Block the door!”
Gray stands frozen inside the door, staring at me in confusion. I can only imagine what I look like, my eyes watery from retching, hair yanked from its pins.
“Duncan!” cries a muffled voice from under the bed. Sarah appears, pulling herself up on the other side of it. “Oh, Duncan, thank the heavens you have come. Your maid—she tried to murder me. Poison me.” She gestures wildly at me. “She has the empty vial. I tricked her into thinking I had drunk it. She is mad. Utterly mad. I came to see how you and Isla were, and I caught her hiding poison in Isla’s laboratory.”
Gray is silent a moment. Then he says, “I presume she killed Lord Leslie and framed my sister?”
“Yes.” Sarah feigns a sob. “She is a monster.”
“I was not speaking to you,” he says.
Sarah’s shoulders convulse. She hovers there, as if suspended by strings. Then she charges. And here Gray makes the same mistake I did. He knows what she’s done, but the residue of her charade lingers, and he doesn’t expect this sudden transformation from sweet and gentle woman to howling beast.
She falls on him, and I’m there in a flash, pulling her off him as she kicks and screams. She tries to turn on me, but by then Gray has her, one forearm held in each hand as he restrains her.
