Carnal Pleasures (33 page)

“I’m also to be her lady’s maid, you mean?”

“That will do for now, too.” The physician had the conscience to laugh.

“Have a cot set up in Lady Dulcina’s room, and sleep here also. Lock the door at night so no one can enter.”

Griff nodded in agreement. “Yes, of course. Whatever you think should be done, will be done.” He hesitated. “Will she get well, Doctor?”

“I hope to heaven she will, but I can’t be certain. It will take time for the poison to leach out of her system. Get fluids into her. Don’t force it on her, but impress upon her that she must drink it in order to get better. You’ll know if she is better when she comes out of the fog she is in and begins to look around, and listens to bits of conversation. Then perhaps, you can breathe easy, my boy.”

“There is nothing you can give her to speed her recovery?”

“No, only your watchfulness. Of course, a few heartfelt prayers may help, too.”

Griff and the physician met Sommers waiting outside Dulcie’s bedchamber.

“Will Lady Dulcina get better, Mr. Spencer? The staff is very worried.”

“We don’t know, Sommers, but I hope so. In the meantime, I need to ask your help.”

“Of course.”

Griff spelled out his and the physician’s necessities. “Dr. Johnson will stay the night, and I require a cot set up for myself in Lady Dulcina’s chamber.”

“Mr. Spencer! That’s quite improper!”

“Do you wish your lady to recover?”

Of course, but the countess…”

Griff was used to ordering subordinates about. “Just do it, man, and don’t argue.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Neither the countess nor Trent came down for supper, so the two men sat at table alone. “Do you think
we
need to worry about being poisoned?” Griff asked in a muted undertone. A lone footman stood in the dining room serving them.

“I should hope not,” Dr. Johnson replied, smacking his lips and enjoying his well-cooked meal of potted venison, stuffed quail, and a variety of braised vegetables, all of which were accompanied by a tasty glass or two of foamy ale from the cook’s own kitchen brew. Neither man wanted to try the wine they were offered. “I daresay if the servants indulge, it must be safe,” he said to Griff.

“The housekeeper advised me that Lady Dulcina’s had very little to eat during the past week. She ate only dry bread and drank a little tea, and could barely keep that down, I’m told. So, I don’t believe it is only food that is the culprit, or she might be dead by now.”

“How the devil then is she getting it? And from whom?”

“We’ll know if she improves in the next few days, Griff. Hope for the best.”

The men finished dinner and carried half-full brandy glasses into the late earl’s study. Their conversation turned to poisons and potions.

The eminent physician went on to expound about dangerous herbs, both the good they do as well as the damage they can cause. The good doctor was particularly interested in studying herbal heart remedies.

“In 1775, a Scot physician, William Withering, uncovered a potion derived from the dried, powered leaves of
digitalis purpurea,
the purple foxglove plant found in many gardens in England and Scotland.”

The physician noted, too, that one must be very watchful when using the treatment, because it can cure as well as kill. Dr. Johnson mentioned he used a similar salve from the foxglove plant on Griff’s wound but was careful to treat him externally only. The salve promoted faster healing on the wounds, and it had seemed to help.

“So you see, Griff, sometimes one’s treatment works well, does good, while on the other hand it can easily cause sudden death if not taken as directed.”

Finishing their brandy, the men talked a while longer, then soon went up to bed early. The doctor planned to get on his way to London early, since it was several hours’ ride. Griff spent most of the night sitting up, awake, and listening to Dulcie’s raspy breathing.

Dr. Johnson consumed hot scones, kippers, and eggs just after dawn. He had already drunk two cups of black coffee when Griff came down to the morning room.

When a footman asked to fill a plate for Griff, he refused, asking merely for a cup of coffee, which he drank quickly. He walked the physician to the front entrance. The physician’s horse had been called for, and his mount waited outside, held by a sleepy-eyed groom.

“When do you think I will know if she is…going to survive?” Griff asked, raking a shaky hand through his ruffled hair. He wore only a shirt, waistcoat, breeches and boots, no jacket even though the November weather was brisk.

“A few days should do it if she doesn’t consume any more of the poison.” Johnson stuck a worn boot into a stirrup and mounted. Griff handed him his black bag. “I know you will keep a sharp lookout, and let me if anything odd seems amiss.”

“Of course.” Griff met the physician’s eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your accompanying me to Surrey. I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Send someone to me immediately if Lady Dulcina worsens, especially if she has trouble breathing or has heart palpitations. Otherwise, I will try to come back very soon. Meanwhile, follow my instructions to the letter.”

“Aye.” Griff watched the physician’s horse trot down the drive. His forehead still wrinkled with worry, but he hurried inside the manor to finish his breakfast.

Soon after, he ordered a breakfast tray for Dulcie and carried it above stairs. The cook prepared a thick porridge, thinned it down, added cream and honey from her kitchen stores to make it easier to swallow. She cut a few slices of dry bread, and of course, had pot of tea steeping beside Dulcie’s usual sugar bowl.

So far, Griff had seen neither hide nor hair of the countess, of which he was glad.

He slipped into Dulcie’s bedchamber quietly, not certain if she was awake. A roly-poly maid had been there to wash Dulcie’s face and hands, and straighten her bed. Dulcie lay quiet, but her eyes wandered toward the door when Griff entered.

Obviously, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes, because she blinked several times and tried to lift her head off the pillows.

“It’s me, Dulcie,” he said, walking slowly toward the bed. “I’m back.”

“G-Griff? Oh dear God, Griff!” She reached a trembling hand out to him, her eyes filling. “Y-you’re alive!”

Quickly, he put down the loaded tray and nodded at the maid. She bobbed a curtsy and pulled the door softly behind her when she left. Griff levered himself gently onto the edge of the mattress and grasped Dulcie’s outstretched hand, raising it to his lips.

Her pale, cracked lips quivered. Blinking her tears away, she forced herself to smile. “I-I prayed for you every night.”

“Thank you, Dulcie. Your prayers were answered, and I’ve come to make you well.”

“Ohh, if only…” Her voice faltered.

“Dr. Johnson left strict orders, and I shall follow them to the letter.”

His smile was gentle, concerned, she took notice, gazing up at him. “I seem to recall…someone…I don’t know who…”

“A physician came from London with me. He…well, he took care of me in the hospital…saved my life when I was sorely wounded.”

“W-Wounded? Oh Lord!”

“I’m fine, Dulcie.” He squeezed her hand and kissed her knuckles again. “Now, it’s up to you to get well. Will you? For me?”

“I-I’ll try…but it is so difficult…” She sucked in a shortened breath, the look on her face contorted with puzzlement. “I don’t know what is wrong with me, Griff.”

He hesitated. He didn’t want to mention the word poison. That could be devastating to her recovery if she thought she might die.

“You will be fine. Trust me.”

“Trust you? I did once before, remember? Oh yes, Griff, I will trust you
.
I believed I was having your child, but the doctor said no. So what can it be?”

“Something you ate didn’t agree with you.”

“Oh.” She blinked her eyes, which he took as agreement.

“Let me help you sit up, shall I?” Griff reached down and lifted Dulcie gently, fluffing the pillows behind her. “I am to be your nursemaid for the time being.”

“But…but should you be in here at all? The countess…”

“Damn the countess! I’ve given the witch her comeuppance. You needn’t worry, Dulcie.”

When Griff brought the small bowl of warm gruel toward her, Dulcie almost retched from the smell. “Oh no! I cannot eat a thing!”

He gazed deep, begging her with his eyes. “Please, try a tiny spoonful, Dulcie.”

“But…oh, Griff. Get the chamber pot. I’m afraid…”

“Don’t fash yourself, love. I’ve tended to worst things than this on the Peninsula. Take it slow and easy, and relax. The gruel will slide down. You must eat if you wish to get better.”

She shook her head, but opened her mouth at last, and sipped at the porridge. She managed to swallow a few mouthfuls. He fed her slowly, tenderly, until she pushed the spoon away. “Let me try a bit of tea, now,” she said, glancing up at him, staring at his face as if she couldn’t believe he were truly here beside her.

He poured out a half cup and held up the sugar bowl.

She raised two fingers, and he dipped two rounded teaspoonsful into the tea and stirred.

“Why, you have a bit of a sweet tooth, do you not, Dulcie?” He grinned, and offered her the cup, making sure she was strong enough to hold it steady and not spill it.

“Hmm,” she said. “I was very thirsty.” She drank all of the tea, and handed the cup back to him. “I think now, I must lie down again. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. I’ll sit here until you fall back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere, Dulcie, until you are well.”

“Thank you, Griff.”

* * * *

When Dulcie dozed off, Griff gathered up the leftover porridge and tea and took the tray back to the kitchen. “Well now,” the housekeeper said, with a smile on her face. “I see she’s eaten a bit of the gruel. Did she drink the pot of tea?”

“She swallowed a cup, Mrs. Travis, but wouldn’t take more. I will try to coax her to drink more at the noon meal. Meanwhile, perhaps, you can make an egg pudding. My mother always ordered that for me when I wouldn’t eat anything else.” He smiled down at the rotund woman.

“I’ll be please to cook anything milady wants, Mr. Spencer. Just ask.”

“While I’m about it, Mrs. Travis, can you tell me where Denny Wall lives?”

“Denny? The gardener’s son? Why, he lives with his folks, but he’s out in the rear garden now, I believe. At least I spied him digging out some plants there an hour ago.”

“Thank you. I’d like to speak with him.” Griff started toward the back entrance of the manor.

“You’d best wear a coat, Mr. Spencer. The day is raw and windy. Don’t want you to get sick, too, like my girls.”

“You mean someone else in the household has fallen ill?”

“Only them two giggling housemaids. But I’ve twice fixed each of them a tisane. They should be fine on the morrow.”

“I see.” A thought crossed his mind, but he pushed it away for the moment. “Well, then, I’ll be gone only a short time. I don’t want to leave Lady Dulcina alone.”

Griff found Denny Wall where the housekeeper told him he would be. The young gardener turned with a frown and some surprise when he saw a stranger enter his preserve.

Griff had questions for Denny. “You’re the gardener’s son, I take it.”

“Aye.”

His clipped tone showed Griff he wasn’t the friendly sort.

“That I am, and you are…?”

“I am Griffith Spencer, Mr. Wall. Dulcie’s fiancée.”

“Is that right? Yer the fellow Miz Dulcie…er…Lady Dulcina met in London, eh? Ye made it back from the Continent, then. Will ye be stayin’ at Bonne Vista?”

Griff didn’t like his attitude, but he wasn’t about to call him down for lack of respect. He obviously wore a heavy cloak of protection about his young mistress, and Griff knew he would feel the same way.

“I hope so. But, I need to ask you about some things. You see, Dulcie…er, Lady Dulcina, is very ill. Did you know that?”

“Aye, I heard.” His attitude chastened somewhat. “Is-is she worse? I was wonderin’…well, do ye think she will get well? Lord, I don’t want her to die. She and me, well…”

“She told me you were good friends…ever since childhood.”

“Aye.”

“May be that you can help me, Mr. Wall. Please keep this under your cap.” Griff took a step or two closer and chose his words carefully. “The physician I brought from London believes that Dulcie…Lady Dulcina…has been poisoned…”

“Poisoned?” Denny’s expression exploded with surprise. “Who would poison Miz Dulcie?”

“That’s what I would like to know.” Griff kept his voice low. “Tell me, do you have any ideas?”

It took Denny a moment to calm down until he ran a rough palm over his eyes, nose, and chin in contemplation.

“Do you know of any poisonous plants, or perhaps, any dangerous herbs, that grow in this garden? I see you’ve been digging out some plants just now.”

“Aye,” Denny said and squinted up at the taller man. “I see where’re yer headin’. I’m to dig up these plants by my father’s orders. Just moving them to make room.” Denny leaned a forearm on his shovel. “Now let me think.”

Griff’s eyes bored into Denny’s.

“Nay, Mr. Spencer, I can think of only wot Cook uses for her stew pot and wot Mrs. Travis uses to treat the housemaids…well…” He sniggered. “For their monthlies.”

“Damnation,” Griff muttered. “Nothing, eh? That would sicken anyone if he ate it in his food? I was hoping…well, never mind. I’ll look elsewhere.” He turned on his boot heels and strode toward the kitchen door.

“Hold on, jes a minute,” Denny called out sharply, hurrying to catch Griff before he went into the manor. He still carried a heavy-bladed shovel, and was waving it in his callused paw. Griff wondered if he planned to cause him some harm.

“Over there,” Denny said, pointing to a small, tidy-looking, wooden building situated a distance away from the manor’s kitchen door. “Foller me.”

Denny entered and Griff stepped inside behind him. The room had only one small window, and the shed was gloomy and dank with the smell of damp earth. Immediately, Griff realized it was the gardener’s implement shed. Denny rested the shovel against a wall and began moving things around, uncovering lids on wooden barrels, and untying half-filled, sturdy, canvas bags. “It’s kept in here for the cook and housekeeper, ye see. I knows because I seen my father give some to Mrs. Travis about a month ago. She was lookin’ to kill the rodents wot got inta the kitchen storeroom.”