Candice Hern (69 page)

Mr. Herriot leaned against the workbench and sighed. He looked down at Gram with such a sweet, self-conscious smile—not so terribly different from his cousin's easy grin— that she completely lost her heart to him. A pity he was not taller. "I am naturally keen to see the stables," he said. "But I must confess, the smells in this room bring back such fond memories of my mother, that just at the moment I believe I would prefer to see an herb garden."

Gram reached behind to untie her apron, and tossed it on the workbench. "Then follow me, Mr. Herriot, and see the finest herb garden in all of Suffolk."

Chapter 7

"I think I might kill for a beefsteak." Sedge forced down yet another spoonful of porridge. "Stop laughing, Bertie. No doubt you polished off a disgustingly hearty breakfast downstairs."

"Well, let me see," his cousin said, raising his eyes to the ceiling and tapping a finger against his chin. "There were eggs and kippers and tongue. Oh, and a bit of ham as well. Then toast and jam. And some lovely muffins."

"Oh, shut up, Bertie."

"Have I covered it, Miss Ashburton?" Albert asked with a sly grin, pretending to ignore Sedge's current misery.

"For shame, Mr. Herriot!" she replied, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You really mustn't tease your cousin so. He is still quite weak, you know."

"Balderdash!" Sedge exclaimed, quickly substituting for the more colorful word he would have preferred. "How am I to regain my strength when I am fed this?" He waved his spoon over the porridge and twisted his mouth in distaste. He had begun to chafe under the good-natured coddling he was receiving at Thomhill.

Miss Ashburton rose from her chair and came to stand closer to the bed. "I am truly sorry, my lord," she said, "but Dr. Garthwaite has ordered that you have only light, bland food for a few more days. Until the full effects of the concussion and fever have passed. Come on, now. Just a few more spoonsful."

Sedge looked into those eyes the color of rich, dark amber and his irritability somehow melted away. At such times he could almost give in to complete weakness and allow himself to be fussed over and ministered to by his red-haired angel.

But he had quickly learned that she was no meek supplicant, but a firm taskmaster who would not abide malingering. And, if truth be told, Sedge would prefer to impress such a woman with strength rather than appeal to her with weakness. Before he realized it, he had taken two more swallows of the wretched porridge.

"Well done, my lord," she said as he continued to drown in her eyes. "You will be back in the saddle before you know it" She reached to retrieve the tray balanced on his lap. "Here, let me move this."

It was not until she turned to place the tray on a side table that Sedge's gaze left her, and then only to catch Albert biting his lip as he suppressed a snort of laughter. Sedge glared at his cousin, who only seemed to become more amused and who finally had to rise and turn his back to the bed, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

"It is time now for Mrs. Lattimer's herbal infusion, my lord." Pargeter's voice drew Sedge's attention to the other side of the bed where the valet poured a cup of the ghastly brew from a glass jar.

"Oh, please! Not that, too," Sedge groaned as Pargeter thrust the cup in his hands. "I will surely—"

"Do not drink that!"

Sedge looked up to see a wild-eyed Mrs. Lattimer dash into the room, launch herself toward the bed, and bat the cup right out of his hand.

What the devil?

The sound of shattering porcelain as the cup struck the wall was followed by a stunned silence, as the room's occupants each stared in shock at the old woman. Mrs. Lattimer stood ramrod straight, her widened eyes turned on Sedge. Her white lace cap had come loose and sat slightly askew, gray corkscrew curls escaping to frame her round face. Her normal plump-cheeked rosiness had turned to chalk. She had brought a hand to her mouth, and Sedge noticed that her fingers trembled as she stared at him. Finally, she covered her face with her hands, slumped over, and began to cry. Miss Ashburton rushed to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"What is it, Gram?" she asked in a soft voice. "What happened?"

"Oh, my lord," the old woman said, raising a distraught face to look at Sedge. "I do not know how such a thing could have happened. I simply do not know. I have always been so careful. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Never." Her gaze drifted off into the distance and her brow knotted as though she tried to recollect something. When she spoke again, her voice had become more agitated, her tone urgent. "Everything is separated and properly labeled. Some look very much alike, of course, but I know what's what. I
know
these things. I do! And I used the blue muslin cap. There was no mistaking it. I am sure I did not move the crock since yesterday morning. And it could not have been in there at that time or else you . . . oh, I do not understand it. I ... I do not know ... I just do not know." Her face crumpled and tears poured down her cheeks.

Sedge wondered if the old woman's wits were wandering. She was not making any sense.

Her granddaughter looked at Sedge, Albert, and Pargeter in turn, then furrowed her brow and shook her head. She tightened her arms around Mrs. Lattimer's shoulder. "Come now. Gram," she said softly, "everything is all right. It is all right." After one more squeeze, she removed her arm and took both her grandmother's hands in her own. "But tell me, my dear. Tell me what happened. Is something wrong in the stillroom?"

"Wrong?" Mrs. Lattimer's eyes widened in fright or confusion, Sedge could not be sure. "Yes," she said at last, "yes, something is wrong. Someone," she said, emphasizing the word as her eyes raked first Pargeter, then Mr. Herriot, and settled at last on her granddaughter, "has been in my stillroom, disturbing my herbs."

"What are you saying, Gram? Who would do such a thing?"

"I do not know," the old woman said. She narrowed her eyes and turned her gaze once again on Pargeter. The poor man looked ready to run for his life.

"I—I was in the stillroom this morning, ma'am," the valet said. "But only to get the mixture for his lordship's infusion, just as you showed me. I assure you, ma'am, I touched nothing else."

Mrs. Lattimer seemed to accept that explanation. Pargeter's shoulders sagged in relief as her gaze shifted to Albert. "Mr. Herriot?"

Albert appeared slightly abashed by her question. "Haven't been near the place, ma'am. Spent the morning with Sir Terrence in the stables."

She turned on Miss Ashburton. "Then who, Meg?" she asked, her voice rising in frustration.

"You know the servants never go in the stillroom without permission, Gram. Please, tell us what has happened."

The old woman took a deep breath and swallowed with difficulty, but then continued with more confidence. "I was working at my bench, as usual, and thought to check on the mixture for his lordship's infusion. Just to discover if I might need to make a new batch, you see."

"Yes. Go on, Gram."

"Well, I untied the cap from the crock," she said, and then turned to look at Pargeter. "I had used a piece of blue muslin, remember, to easily identify the crock for you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Pargeter replied. "I took two handfuls from that very crock this morning, Just as you told me."

"Oh," the old woman groaned softly. "Thank God I stopped you." She turned to face her granddaughter. "You see, when I uncovered the crock I immediately noticed that something was not right. It was not the same mixture. There was... there was the distinct fragrance of... of monkshood."

"Monkshood?" Miss Ashburton's eyes widened in shock.

"Yes. You know, my dear, that I use the tiniest bit of monkshood in my special liniment." She looked once again at Sedge. "It seems someone or other is always falling off a horse around here. I have developed a special liniment for strained muscles. One of its minor ingredients is monkshood, but only the merest pinch. But this," she said, pausing to take a deep breath, "this was not a small amount. There was ... dear God, there was enough monkshood in the mixture to ... " She paused again and gave Sedge a stricken look. "I am so sorry, my lord. It... it would have ... it would have been fatal."

Pargeter's hand flew to his mouth and the blood drained from his face. "Oh my," he murmured. "Oh my."

Good God, Sedge thought, that odious brew had almost killed him, after all. He turned away from the horrified look on Pargeter's face and caught Albert's eye. The young man was as white as a sheet and his hands were tightly clenched. Sedge watched as his cousin's gaze turned on Mrs. Lattimer in astonished horror. Or perhaps it was fear. Or even anger. He sincerely hoped neither Albert nor anyone else was angry at this sweet old lady who was so devastated by a simple mistake.

"Was anything else disturbed or out of place?" Miss Ashburton asked.

"No," her grandmother replied, her voice almost a wail. "Everything was just as it should be, just as I had left it. Oh, good Lord, if no one was in there, and nothing had been moved, then ... then I...
I
must have ..." Her voice trailed off as sobs overtook her once again.

Miss Ashburton wrapped her arm around the old woman's quivering shoulders and murmured words of comfort. "It's all right, Gram. It's all right."

Mrs. Lattimer composed herself, wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. She looked at Sedge with an earnest expression, as if willing him to understand, to forgive.

"The receipt for the infusion calls for large amounts of comfrey, hyssop, and chamomile, among other things," Mrs. Lattimer said. She spoke quickly and breathlessly, her eyes still on Sedge. But she seemed to look right through him, as though she were not really speaking to him, but to herself. "The combination results in quite a pungent aroma. Most people find it unpleasant, but I rather like it. Unfortunately, dried chamomile leaves and dried monkshood leaves look very much alike. If it were not for the altered fragrance"— she paused as her eyes focused on his once again—"I might not have noticed."

"Well, thank goodness you did, Mrs. Lattimer," Sedge said, offering a smile to the distressed woman, hoping to put her at her ease. "I am very grateful to you. Although," he said as his smile broadened to a grin, "I must admit I rather suspected that wretched stuff might kill me one day."

Sedge's lighthearted comment seemed to ease the tension in the room. Miss Ashburton smiled and cupped her grandmother's cheek. Albert looked relieved and resumed his chair, and Pargeter moved to retrieve the broken pieces of the teacup.

"I still do not understand it," Mrs. Lattimer said. "I keep the more toxic herbs separated from the rest—monkshood, foxglove, Scotch broom, belladonna, that sort of thing. I am certain there was no monkshood in the mixture when I showed it to Mr. Pargeter yesterday. I would have noticed. I am sure I would have noticed." Her eyes followed Pargeter as he held the stacked pieces of broken cup in one hand while he mopped up the spilled liquid with the other. The valet looked up at the mention of his name.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said, "but I would have no idea if the mixture was incorrect when you showed it to me. I have no knowledge of herbs, either by sight or by smell. I simply took what was in the crock."

"Well," Miss Ashburton said, offering a somewhat strained smile, "I do not believe we should dwell on the hows and whys of the matter. It would be a futile exercise in any case, and serve no purpose. It was simply a mistake, one that was fortunately caught in time." She took her grandmother in a warm embrace, resting her chin on the older woman's head and looking over her at Sedge. Her expression seemed to beg his support. "Do not worry about it any further, Gram. No harm has been done, after all."

"That's right," Sedge said, captured by those sherry eyes once again. "No harm done. I am alive and well, as you see. However," he added as his face broke into another grin, "I do believe a nice rare beefsteak would help me to feel much better."

Miss Ashburton released her grandmother and laughed. That wonderful, musical laugh. "All right, you stubborn man," she said, her eyes flashing. "I will have one sent up, if you insist. But when Dr. Garthwaite scolds you soundly for bringing on an upset stomach, I shall disavow any responsibility." She retrieved the breakfast tray from the side table, cast a lingering look at Sedge that almost took his breath away, and headed toward the door. "Come on, Gram," she said over her shoulder. "I will help you prepare a new batch of your herbal mixture. We mustn't allow his lordship to miss a single dose."

* * *

"Your point, my lord."

"About time." Lord Sedgewick's eyes twinkled at Meg over the fanned tops of his cards. "You've beat me on points and flushes with each hand."

"A run of good luck, that is all."

He snorted and dropped his cards. "Luck? Are you certain, my dear? I rather begin to think you cheat."

"Hush, my lord, or I shall call you out for such an insult."

"Call me out, will you?" He flashed a grin at her. "An invalid in my condition? What a cruel woman you are!"

Meg tried not to let that infectious grin turn her heart upside down, but it was no use. During the week since he had regained consciousness, Meg had spent a great deal of time at Lord Sedgewick's bedside. She knew he chafed at his confinement, and she wanted to help keep him company by reading to him or playing piquet or just talking. Mr. Herriot, a good-natured but somewhat restless young man, had become so enthralled with the stables that he seldom left Terrence in peace. His visits to his cousin's bedside had become less and less frequent. Poor Lord Sedgewick was, she knew, bored to distraction. But that was not the only excuse for the amount of time she spent with him. She could not have stayed away if she tried, for she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. And once again, she had been singed.

Meg's youthful infatuation had been rekindled and seemed to burn completely out of her control. She tried to ignore it, knowing it was pure foolishness. But the man was so amiable, so engaging, so thoroughly charming that it was useless to even try to resist. She was falling in love with him all over again, despite the benefit of greater maturity, wisdom, and confidence than she had known six years before.