“Is the baby all right?”
Jonas could see the woman’s tearstained face even then as he stroked Margaret’s hand.
Is the baby all right? Will Margaret survive? Is the baby all right?
God he hoped so.
The words had repeated themselves countless times in his mind as he made the excruciatingly long walk home back to Margaret. How this illness would affect the unborn child remained a mystery. He wondered if Eloise had known. Had she guessed? Any such revelation would have made Margaret an easy target for her vindictive attacks. Eloise was the epitome of madness, able to function and appear normal all the while acting out on her absurd and deluded wishes without anyone being the wiser. Even her own father had fallen under her spell.
But how? How had she gotten to Margaret, the woman who swore she would not eat or drink anything? How had Eloise broken through their defences?
Jonas went for the door and made his way down stairs. He stood in the foyer for a moment, before heading into the parlour. Margaret’s silk scarf was draped over the back of a chair. He pulled it toward him and looked at the delicate fibres in the light.
“Got you.”
***
John startled awake and nearly jumped from his bed as Jonas tapped his shoulder. “What? Is it Margaret?” he asked, squinting at the lamp Jonas placed on the bedside table.
Jonas held up the scarf. “Test this.” He dropped it in John’s reluctant hand and retreated to the door.
“Now?”
“Now!”
An hour later the remaining members of the house were up. Jonas paced the floor in Margaret’s room, biting the edge of his thumbnail. The only thing that pulled him from his agitated state was a noise Margaret made, groaning from discomfort, and a shifting under the sheets.
“Jonas …” Her words were hoarse and quiet. Another round of convulsions ensued as sweat dripped from her forehead and glistened on her skin.
He felt her pulse at her wrist and found it quickening. With her eyes closed, she ripped her hand away and placed it at her stomach as another round of convulsions took hold.
“Peter!” Jonas yelled as he held the washbasin and guided Margaret to it.
Seconds later, Ainsley and John raced in from the hall. “We’ve got her,” they said in unison.
“Strychnine?” Jonas looked to Margaret.
Ainsley nodded. “Yes. Mr. Locke said it can be inhaled. I think Eloise touched her scarf.”
Jonas looked back at Margaret, who appeared weak and fading. “I think we need to give her another dose,” he said.
“She’s already had four drops.”
“She vomited out the first three.” Jonas’s eyes trailed Ainsley as he came alongside the bed. “One more, Peter. We just need one more.”
Ainsley looked over his sister in the bed and gave a heavy sigh. “What about the child? We don’t know what it could do—”
“None of that matters without Margaret!” Jonas reached over and grabbed Ainsley’s hand. “Please, we have to save her.”
Chapter 29
“How is the patient doing?”
Ainsley lifted his head from his hands and saw Blair at the door, hopeful.
Jonas had administered one more dose, just a drop, about an hour before and they had been waiting on bated breath ever since. They had exchanged few words and even fewer glances as the minutes ticked by. It was starting to occur to Ainsley that he should send some sort of word regarding Margaret’s illness to Marshall House in London. A wire would suffice. The exact wording of the missive eluded him, though; so did the energy required to move him from his spot at her side.
Ainsley shot a glance to Jonas on the opposite side of the bed and saw that not even the words from Blair had stirred him from his vigil.
“We are waiting,” Ainsley said apologetically. “She did speak, but neither of us could make it out.”
Blair entered the room and hovered near the foot of the bed. His gaze seemed focused on Jonas, no doubt confused by the attention he paid Margaret. Ainsley’s distress was understandable, but Jonas would have had no reason to be so distraught.
“She smiled,” Jonas said, without moving his hands from in front of his mouth.
“No doubt she is glad for the attention you both have showered upon her,” Blair said, reluctantly pulling his attention from Jonas and redirecting it at Ainsley. “Perhaps we should bring her to the infirmary,” he suggested. “There will be other doctors. We can draw from their expertise.”
“We aren’t moving her,” Jonas said. When he turned his head he looked to Ainsley across the bed. “Just a little while longer,” he said. “We will know after a little while longer.”
After the last dose, Ainsley was quick to seal the bottle of hemlock and tuck it away in the bureau. While it had sat on the nightstand, it beckoned to be used, an antidote to Margaret’s troubles but also an invitation for death if not used sparingly. They would feed her no more, and putting it away was a symbolic gesture on Ainsley’s part to signify the end of its use.
Beyond the door Ainsley caught sight of Ezra passing in the hall, a deep scowl on his face. A second later John passed by in pursuit. Ainsley stood up from his chair. Blair’s eyes followed him as he circled the bed and went for the door.
“Feel free to sit down, Blair,” Ainsley said as he reached the door and peered down the hall. “I just need a minute.”
By the time Ainsley reached the stairwell he could hear the two friends arguing.
“You’re a better friend to him than I,” John said. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where he is.”
“I don’t!”
Ainsley rounded the bannister and saw them standing on the landing just below.
“I know you are involved in something,” John said. “Tell m—”
Ezra looked up and spied Ainsley.
“What do you need, Peter?” he asked, his expression hardening.
John looked far more hospitable. “Is everything all right with Miss Margaret?”
Ainsley gave a quick nod. “Jonas believes she is on the mend.”
At that moment he was not thinking of Margaret, however. His attention was equally divided between the two of them. Ezra, normally even-tempered, looked ready to pounce. His gaze was stern and his stance unmoving. John looked far more embarrassed than angry. Jonas had long maintained that someone in the house had been behind Frobisher’s murder and that the same person had manoeuvred against him. Ainsley certainly hoped it had not been Ezra all this time.
“Who is missing?” Ainsley asked, watching Ezra’s reaction closely.
Ezra’s eyes rolled to the ceiling but before he could say anything John cut in.
“Giles. He left shortly after you came back last night.”
“I told you, he’s probably working in his office,” Ezra cut in, rubbing his temple, obviously frustrated that he was forced into having this conversation.
“For the entire night?” John turned to Ainsley. “Something about this doesn’t feel right to me—”
Ezra gave John a slight shove, forcing him to back away from Ainsley. “It’s quieter, all right? You can’t blame him for wanting peace and quiet with all the ruckus going on here lately.” Ezra looked incredulous. “Why does it matter to either of you?”
“It matters because one professor is dead and another is accused of murder,” Ainsley said.
“Peter!” Blair’s panic-stricken voiced reached them at the stairwell before the man hurried down the hall and looked down the stairwell. “Come quick, it’s Margaret.”
Ainsley ran up the stairs, pushed past Blair, and rounded the doorframe to the room. He found Jonas hovering over Margaret’s body, his hand at her neck checking for a pulse.
“What happened?” Ainsley asked, coming along the opposite side.
“She went limp and she stopped breathing.” Jonas’s voice betrayed his panic. “Margaret. Margaret!” He began slapping her gently on the side of the face.
Ainsl
ey searched for a pulse. “She’s cold. Margaret!”
Blair and John came into the room but stayed near the door
Jonas pulled back the covers and put his ear to her chest. “She has a heartbeat.” He placed a hand on her cheek, tapping lightly. “Breathe, Margaret. Come on, breathe.” He pulled the pillow out from behind her head and tossed it aside. With his ear to her mouth and nose, he listened for a second before placing his mouth on hers and blowing air into her cheeks.
“What are you doing?” Blair moved forward but John coaxed him back.
Ainsley reached over and pinched Margaret’s nose. “Do it again,” he said.
Jonas did it again and this time they saw her chest rise.
“Doctors do this to newborn babies who don’t start breathing straightaway,” John explained.
A panicked gasp filled the room. Jonas and Ainsley pulled back as Margaret began coughing wildly.
“Sit her up. Sit her up.” Ainsley grabbed the pillows and began placing them behind her back as Jonas pulled her body forward and then laid her down on them in a semi-reclined position. Her eyes fluttered for a moment.
“Margaret.” Her name escaped Jonas’s lips as he held her hand to his chest. “Are you awake?”
Ainsley could see her chest rising and falling with regularity.
Then they all watched in awe as she raised her other hand to her head and felt her face. “Everything feels like pins and needles,” she said quietly.
“It’s all right,” Jonas said, trying to keep his enthusiasm at bay. He stroked her hair, pulling it back from her face. “You’re going to be all right.”
When Ainsley looked away from the bed he saw that Ezra as well had entered the room and was standing alongside Blair and John at the footrail.
“How did you know to do that?” Blair asked. “How did you know it would work?”
Jonas turned his head to look at him. “At that time what other option did I have?”
Outwardly, Ainsley smiled, but inside he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Margaret looked to be on the mend once and for all, but no one had seen Giles since the day before.
***
Ainsley knew he was being followed but went into Ezra’s room anyway.
“What are you doing?” John asked when Ainsley reached the centre of the room.
He motioned for John to close the door. “Has Ezra left?”
Apprehensively, John pushed the door into place. “He’s gone for at least an hour. I don’t think we should be going through his things.”
Ainsley ignored him and opened the top drawer of Ezra’s desk. “John, I think it’s time you accept the fact that one of your housemates is involved in Frobisher’s murder and I don’t mean Jonas.”
John stood back and watched as Ainsley riffled through a few papers. Nothing caught Ainsley’s eye. All the handwriting was small, too small and too short, to do a proper comparison.
“I won’t believe it’s Ezra,” John said. Despite his reluctance, he still watched as Ainsley went through each drawer and book systematically.
When Ainsley moved to the bedside table he found what he was looking for almost instantly. He moved it to the light of the window and pulled the letters Rebecca had given him from the inside pocket of his jacket. His heart sank. He stood near the light for some time, reading over each word, cross-comparing it to the others to be sure, before finally folding up both pages together and tucking them away in his jacket. He would not let John see it, and was glad he had not been looking over his shoulder.
“Peter, what is it?” John asked, as Ainsley passed him for the door. “Where are you going?”
“To the telegraph office,” he said opening the door. “I have a friend with the Yard who might be able to help us.”
Chapter 30
Never before had Margaret felt so stiff. Pain radiated from each of her limbs, culminating at her neck, which felt constricted and swollen. She had vague memories of illness, of heat and pain, vomiting and arguing. And Jonas. He had been talking to her, almost crying. Had he been afraid she would die? Judging by the way her body felt perhaps she had died.
With some struggle she opened her eyes to find Blair seated at her bedside. The image of him was blurry, but she could make out enough to know he was there and no one else.
“Where’s Jonas?” she asked groggily. “And Peter?”
Ignoring the pain in her muscles, she tried to pull herself from the pillows to look about the room. Blair was quick to coax her to lie back down. “Jonas is resting,” he said, “I don’t know where Peter ran off to.”
“But Jonas was here,” she said confused. “So were you.” The last few hours flashed through her mind but there was no chronological sequence to her thoughts. Everything had melded into one finishing with memories of her and Jonas in the parlour. He had gone down on one knee.
No.
Margaret stopped herself and closed her eyes. It was not Jonas. It had been Blair.
When she opened her eyes again she found Blair had moved closer and was now cradling her head with his hand. He used his thumb to stroke the side of her cheek as he smiled. Had her eyes been closed for a minute or had more time passed than that?
“When I thought you were dying I …” His voice trailed off in uncertainty. “I just didn’t want to contemplate it. We’ve only just reacquainted ourselves.” His smile was genuine, as were his feelings for her, but her feelings for him were not as pronounced. It took a moment, but then she remembered what Jonas had said. He wished her to marry Blair, to remove herself from the scandal of Jonas’s current situation. To save their child from lifelong guilt by association.
“Don’t look so frightened.” Blair drew her attention back and she realized her expression betrayed her thoughts. “However this happened to you, I promise it won’t happen again. Not while I am here.”
His assurance fell flat. She had no desire to be protected by anyone but least of all him. It was true, he had saved her life and was a dear childhood friend, but she could not in good conscience marry him, not when she knew she carried Jonas’s child.
Slowly, she grabbed Blair’s wrist and gently pulled his hand away. “I have something I wish to say,” she said.
“It’s all right, Margaret,” he said softly, perhaps wishing she would not have the words to refuse him. “Now that you are on the mend, we have the rest of our lives to say things to each other.”
Margaret’s gaze followed the movements of Blair’s lips. It took a few moments for her to realize he had finished talking. When she looked up to his eyes, she found him tearing up.
“That is if you accept my hand.” Blair raised her left hand and touched the underside of the ring moving it side to side slightly. The diamond sparkled against the dampened light streaming in from the window. He must have slipped it on while she slept off the lingering effects of her illness.
“Oh—”
“Say yes,” he pleaded. His expression looked less confident than it had a day or two before. Perhaps he held on to the hope that he had been the one to ask her first. But it was clear he was shaken and anxious for her official acceptance.
“I can’t.”
“Margaret—”
“My heart breaks for you, but I just can’t.” Seeing the distant look in his eyes, Margaret reached for him but he pulled away. “You are a good man,” she said, watching him straighten in his chair. “Anyone would be blessed to call you husband.”
“Your heart belongs to another,” he said quickly, saving her from having to utter the words.
Margaret nodded. “I am so very sorry. It was never my intention to lead you on in such a way. You saved my life.”
He smiled and finally met her eyes again. “I have never met a girl who found herself in peril so routinely,” he said with a laugh.
“Yes,” she said, “I will admit to that. It seems to be an affliction I suffer from.”
Despite the jovial speech, a sombre mood had befallen the room. Reali
zing this, Margaret slowly pulled the ring from her finger and placed it in the palm of Blair’s hand before closing his fingers around it. “You are a very special man, Blair Thornton,” she said, “and you deserve to be with someone who only has eyes for you.”
Blair nodded but his expression reflected his broken heart. He stood up from his seat next to the bed and stepped toward the door. He stopped short, paused for a moment, and then turned to face her one more time. “I had meant to stay on until this business with our doctor friend had been resolved,” he said. “I’m not so sure that would be … prudent, given the circumstances.”
How could he stay, knowing his suit had been denied and that the man he was helping to keep from the gallows was the man who had ultimately won Margaret’s heart?
“Peter and I understand.”
“Perhaps I may compose a letter, speaking of his excellent character,” he offered, with a hopeful look. “It could be used in his defence. I could convince my father to write as well.”
Margaret forced a smile, even though her insides churned with panic. What had she done? If Jonas went to the gallows and she was indeed with child, everyone would know of their fornication. A quick marriage to Blair would disguise such a scandal.
As he slipped out into the hall she resisted the urge to call out to him, to take back her refusal. In the end, she knew he did not deserve to have someone use him in such a way. Any illegitimate child born to her was her burden to bear alone.
She listened to the sound of him heading down the stairs and noted the slow, melancholy way he opened the front door and left.
With the house quiet Margaret slipped her hand under the blankets and felt her lower stomach. A small mound existed, hardened and unmistakable. It hadn’t been a delirium-induced desire. It was real. She was pregnant and she had known for the past four months. Her preoccupation with her father’s illness and her heartbreak at having to postpone her elopement with Jonas had served as great distractions against the many changes taking place in her body. Her tender breasts, her excessive fatigue, her relentless nausea had all been warning signs of a larger situation, one she had been content to ignore but could no longer deny.
Shadows of Madness Page 23
