Hounds of Autumn

by Heather Blackwood

  While Chloe gave instructions to a housemaid, the doctor checked Ambrose again. She caught a look at the side of Doctor Michaels’ face, and saw his deep concern as well as a flash of something darker. It was gone when he turned to her and gave a reassuring nod. Her insides twisted. He was trying not to worry her, to give her comfort and hope. Though she appreciated the gesture, it terrified her.

  “What is it? Is he going to be all right?”

  “I expect so,” he said and pulled three bottles from his black bag, two with white tablets and one with a liquid. “I’m going to wake him and see that he gets some medicine. Then we will get him cleaned and he can sleep.”

  Chloe nodded and woke her husband. When the doctor tried to open Ambrose’s mouth, he moaned and turned his head away, but with Chloe’s encouragement, he eventually took the tablets and liquid. He muttered some more.

  “The doctor gave you medicine to help,” said Chloe. “We’re going to clean you up and then you can rest.” She turned to Doctor Michaels. “Do you think he can understand me?”

  “Perhaps. It can’t hurt to talk to him. It might help him be less frightened.”

  She hadn’t thought of Ambrose being frightened, only in pain. But if the situation were reversed, she knew she would be afraid. She wanted to crawl under the blankets with him and reassure him. She wanted to be reassured herself. She took a deep breath. Ambrose needed her to keep her head.

  “What next?” she asked.

  “He needs to be cleaned. Do you want to assist, or call someone to do it?”

  She pushed back the sleeves on her dress and helped move, wash and dress her husband. Servants came and stripped the bed and removed all the soiled items. A maid placed folded blankets over the sheet as a makeshift absorbent pad and once Ambrose was back in bed, Chloe spread fresh blankets over him.

  “That’s all we can do for now. I need to speak with Mrs. Block,” said the doctor.

  Chloe examined the bottles. One of the tablets was laudanum, for pain, and the other was a strong sleeping drug. The liquid tonic was to settle the stomach.

  “Doctor, wait. What about something to cure him? To absorb the toxin or get it out of him somehow?”

  “His body has already expelled the toxin, or most of it. Now we need him to keep down broth or tea and to rest.”

  “But, there has to be something you can do. He’s in pain.”

  The doctor sighed. “I know. The medicines will help the pain and help him sleep. While he’s unconscious, he isn’t suffering and it’s the best we can do for him at this time. After I speak with Mrs. Block, I hope to know more. I will come back to check on him.”

  He took his bag and left. Maybe he planned to collect samples of the soup or the ingredients into little vials in his bag. Did he have some medical laboratory in which he could study them under a microscope? She imagined the doctor testing samples and isolating the toxic agent, then devising a cure. But she knew that was a fantasy.

  She dropped into the bedside chair and studied Ambrose. The lines of his face were relaxed in sleep, but his skin was yellowish. His lips had a slightly bluish cast, as did his fingers.

  A mechanical brought a tea tray. There were two cups, and she filled one for Ambrose, setting it aside to let it cool. When in doubt, drink tea, she thought ruefully as she raised her cup to her lips.

  An hour later, the doctor returned and gave her written instructions on how often Ambrose was to take each drug. Then he checked on Ambrose again. Ambrose stirred as the doctor opened his nightshirt to listen to his heart.

  “Baxter,” Ambrose muttered. “Met with him.”

  “No darling,” said Chloe. “You had Mr. Frick send word that you were going to meet him another day. Don’t fret about it. When you are well you can see him.”

  “Doctor,” he whispered.

  “I’m here,” Doctor Michaels said.

  Ambrose looked at him as if confirming something and nodded. He sighed and his eyes closed.

  The doctor left, telling her that he would be back in the morning and to send word if Ambrose showed any change. He was going to consult with Doctor Fleming.

  “We can’t do anything unless we know the nature of the toxin,” he said.

  Chloe could not have agreed more. If they knew the cause, they could look up a cure or purgative. As Ambrose slept, she went into his temporary study and browsed through his books. She pulled out any and all that could relate to botanical poisons. She brought a stack of books to his room and went through them.

  As the dawn sun lightened the sky, a mechanical brought coffee, buttered bread and two poached eggs. But she was too anxious and sick to her stomach to have any appetite. And she was no closer to an answer. As mid-morning daylight flooded through the window, she turned off the gaslight beside the bed and moved her seat under the window so Ambrose could be in as much darkness as possible. He had not regained consciousness, and she considered that a blessing.

  Mrs. Block came to check on Ambrose and stood at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands. “I don’t know what it could have been. I’ve made that soup a hundred times.”

  She glanced at the books scattered around the room before leaving. Robert knocked on the door a few minutes later.

  “Mrs. Block said you were looking up things on herbs and toxins?”

  “I am, not that it will do any good. But I can’t just sit here doing nothing. The thing is, I don’t understand half of what is in these books.”

  “Mrs. Block thought I could maybe help. There is so much I don’t understand either, but maybe …” he shrugged.

  “I could use all the help I can get.”

  Robert squatted down and collected the books, placing them in a few organized piles.

  “What was in the soup?” he asked.

  “Carrots, potatoes, leeks, spinach, garlic, beets and beef broth,” she said, consulting a list Mrs. Block had written for her. “Also these herbs and salt.” She handed him the list.

  “Good.”

  “Pardon?”

  “There was no meat in the soup, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the beef broth would have to be simmered for hours, killing any bacteria. That means it’s a botanical poison for certain.”

  She was not certain, and it was little comfort. She imagined a cloaked villain emptying a vial of poison into the soup pot as it cooked on the stove. But she said nothing. She did not want to dampen Robert’s optimism. She needed his sharp mind, as hers was dulled by exhaustion, and only getting worse by the minute. She had read the same paragraph in Koch’s Postulates on Bacillus Anthracis three times, absorbing nothing. She slapped the cover closed and tossed the book onto the nearest pile.

  Robert frowned. “The thing is, most toxins are killed with the heat of cooking. I wonder if there are heat resistant bacteria.” He dug through the stacks of books until he found the one he wanted.

  “I wish Ambrose could help us. He would know what to look for. He would figure it out in a minute.” Chloe rubbed her eyes.

  Robert glanced at his uncle, then at her. “You should sleep. I can keep looking. I’ll have your maid fetch you if he wakes up.”

  “No, I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.”

  He did not try to convince her but started to page through a book. She tore out a few blank pages from her notebook and gave them to him along with a pencil.

  In the late morning, Doctor Michaels returned. He examined Ambrose with a careful eye and administered another dose of drugs. Then he glanced at the stack of books between Chloe and Robert. He scanned the titles.

  “Where did you get those?”

  “They belong to my husband. He’s a naturalist.”

  He took in the sheets of notes and he gave a little nod. Chloe suspected that he thought she was just keeping herself busy so she did not feel helpless and hysterical. Perhaps she was.

  “I will be downstairs if you need me. I will check on Mr. Sullivan every hour, but call me immediately i
f he shows any change.”

  “How is Josephine?” asked Robert.

  The young doctor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked miserable. “I’m sorry, but she passed about two hours ago. There was nothing we could do.”

  “Child …” moaned Ambrose.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart.” Chloe shot a look at the doctor. He should have known not to say such a thing at a man’s sickbed.

  “Graves. The girl,” he murmured.

  “You aren’t going to die. You’re going to recover and be just fine.” She got him to take a few sips of tea before he fell back into merciful oblivion.

  Chloe took her husband’s purplish hand and sat watching him. The sweet little girl was dead. God had taken her, and she was with her mother, just as she wished.

  Robert got up and stood alone in Ambrose’s sitting area for a long while. Chloe knew he had liked the little girl. He returned without a word and picked up his book with a new sternness in the set of his shoulders and jaw.

  At midday, Mrs. Block brought up a tray with mutton sandwiches and pickles. Robert tore into his, but Chloe had to force herself to eat a few bites.

  Mrs. Block looked at the sheets of scribbled notes and the books lying open around them.

  “Are you having any luck?”

  “No,” said Chloe. “None.”

  Mrs. Block picked up some papers and flipped through. Chloe wanted to snatch them from her hands, but stopped herself. Mrs. Block knew herbs and plants. Perhaps she could see some kind of pattern, some hint. The housekeeper came to the list of soup ingredients and stopped.

  “You’ve added something to my list. There were no mushrooms in my soup.”

  “Yes there were. Chopped fine.”

  “No, I’m certain there weren’t.”

  Robert and Mrs. Block locked eyes in horror.

  “What is it? Do you think it was bad mushrooms?” asked Chloe. “But how can that be? The people at the market in town would never sell poisonous ones. It makes no sense.”

  “It wouldn’t be something someone bought at the market,” said Mrs. Block. “Oh God, no. No.” She shook her head in horror. “There’s a mushroom that grows on the moor …” her eyes filled with tears.

  Chloe dug through the stacks until she found Harrod’s Mycologia and flipped to the table of contents.

  “What is the damned thing called?”

  “The Destroying Angel.”

  Chapter 36

  Chloe stopped short as she opened the book. “Where’s the doctor?”

  “In the kitchen,” said Mrs. Block.

  Chloe raced down the stairs and burst into the kitchen. Doctor Michaels looked up in shock. He had a half-eaten sandwich in front of him and a book open on the table. So he had been investigating, as well.

  “It’s Destroying Angels,” she said.

  “What?” She saw his confusion, and then he grew thoughtful, weighing the symptoms.

  Chloe heard Mrs. Block yell for someone named Sarah, but she did not look away from the doctor.

  “There were mushrooms in the soup,” said Chloe. “And Mrs. Block said she didn’t put any in. Do the symptoms match?”

  Doctor Michaels shook his head and blinked in confusion. “Well, I would have to check, but I believe so. But everyone who lives around here knows what the poisonous mushrooms look like. Everyone knows not to bring it in the house or even touch it.”

  “But people have eaten it before?”

  “By accident. I’ve heard that sometimes some fool eats one, but it’s always someone out on the moor who makes a mistake. It wouldn’t be someone like Mrs. Block—”

  “Never mind that. What is the cure? How do you treat it?”

  “I—There is nothing. Some people die and some survive. It depends on their age and constitution as well as random chance.”

  She was not going to entrust Ambrose to random chance.

  “What about Doctor Fleming? Would he know? Have you ever personally treated someone who ate them?”

  “No, I haven’t been in practice that long. But yes, Doctor Fleming would know. But who would be fool enough—”

  “For God’s sake, man, fetch Doctor Fleming!”

  The doctor rose from his seat, furious at being addressed in such a fashion. Chloe glared at him, but then muttered an apology. She was clearly overwrought and could not afford to be.

  Mrs. Block yelled again, this time for someone named Billy. A boy appeared in the door and she told him to have Doctor Fleming summoned.

  “Destroying Angels,” she said. “Don’t forget it. Destroying Angels. Now repeat it back.”

  He did, and she sent the boy running out the back door toward the stables. Chloe turned back to the doctor.

  “That book there,” she pointed at the doctor’s book which lay open beside his plate. “Would it have information on how to treat him?”

  The doctor shook his head. Chloe turned to Robert. “Get the mycology book, the red one.”

  The boy ran out the door. A maid came in as he left, the young woman who was Mrs. Block’s niece.

  “Sarah, you are the one who brought up the soup to Mr. Sullivan, yes?” said Mrs. Block. Her voice was shaking.

  Sarah nodded. Her eyes were wide.

  “And were there mushrooms in it?”

  “Yes. They were in the pot when I dished it out, just like you told me to. You told me to give it to him.”

  “I know. And you’re sure there were mushrooms?”

  “I’m sure. I remember thinking you put them in for extra flavor. I thought nothing of it.” The girl’s hands were clasped at her chest and she looked terrified. “And I served the soup for that poor little girl. She ate it right up.”

  “And the soup was simmering for hours,” said Mrs. Block. “Any time from when I put it on the stove to when it was served, someone could have put the mushrooms in.”

  “Just a moment,” said the doctor. “You are saying that someone intentionally put Destroying Angels in the pot? That’s madness.”

  But Chloe knew it was beyond madness. Someone in the household knew that Ambrose was sick and would be the recipient of the soup. It was no accidental oversight.

  “We need to find out who did this,” said Mrs. Block.

  “More importantly, we need to make sure the patient survives,” said Doctor Michaels, turning toward the door.

  Robert appeared with Harrod’s Mycologia. He already had it open to the page on Amanita virosa. His expression was grim. Chloe grabbed the book.

  “Cap is white in color.” She skipped ahead. “Symptoms include violent vomiting, diarrhea, intense stomach pain and cyanosis of the extremities.”

  “What is cyanosis?” asked Robert.

  “His hands and feet have a bluish tinge,” said the doctor.

  Chloe ran her finger down the page. “Poisoning causes complete disruption of metabolic system, and symptoms mimic that of Asiatic Cholera. Patient experiences periods of consciousness mixed with insensibility. Jaundice and degeneration of cardiac muscles, organ failure in kidneys and liver. Some victims survive, depending on age and previous state of health. In most cases, the victim lapses into a coma and dies.” She stopped. “There are no known antidotes.”

  No known antidotes. She felt Robert’s steadying hand on her arm and someone took the book from her hands. The victim lapses into a coma and dies.

  “Are you going to be all right, mum?” asked Mrs. Block.

  Chloe blinked. No known antidotes. But some people survived, depending on age and previous state of health. Ambrose was not elderly. He was still active, and he was much larger than little Josephine. So his dose of the poison would have been relatively smaller in proportion to his mass. Perhaps he would survive. Perhaps.

  “Of course I’ll be all right. I just needed a moment.”

  Doctor Michaels headed out the kitchen door to tend to his patient.

  “We should go with him,” Robert suggested. He was the one who had taken
the book from her and now held it with his finger holding their place. He offered his arm, but she shook her head and strode up the stairs beside him.

  The doctor was examining Ambrose. He was conscious, though the whites of his eyes were now more yellow, as was his skin, except for his purplish hands. The doctor got him to take more of the tonic and tablets. He forced Ambrose to drink half a glass of water.

  “If he can pass fluids, there’s a greater chance that he can expel the poisons,” he said.

  Later, Doctor Fleming arrived and talked with Doctor Michaels in the hallway. She could hear their voices, but could not make out anything they were saying.

  Doctor Fleming entered. “So he was vomiting and had the diarrhea at the same time as the girl?” he asked Chloe.

  “Yes. Mrs. Block said they found him right after Ian and I brought Josephine to you.”

  He nodded and rubbed his beard. “Good. That’s good.” At the look on Chloe’s face, he explained. “He vomited a few hours after consuming the mushrooms. That means the poison was in his system for a shorter period of time than if it had been a full day. Sometimes patients do not exhibit symptoms for a day or two. By that time, the damage is worse.”

  “So there is hope that he’ll survive?”

  “It depends on how much of it he ate and other factors. We need to encourage him to drink, as Doctor Michaels has told you, to get the poison to pass out of him. After that, we just hope that his body is strong enough to overcome the damage done to it.”

  The doctors came and went through the day. Robert rarely left her side. He helped the doctors administer more of the drugs and checked Ambrose’s breathing and pulse occasionally. He also made Chloe eat a little.

  Chloe tried to get Ambrose to drink more, and managed to get him to take some broth. Giles sat on the bedside table, barely moving as people came in and out and tea trays were brought and replaced.

  Members of the family came through to check on Ambrose throughout the afternoon. Beatrice came with her mother, who stood silently gripping the end of her elephant-headed cane. Dora came with Alexander and their father. William asked the doctors twice if they were doing everything they could. They said they were.