Karen Harbaugh (2 page)

I wondered privately how often people were poisoned by their spouses to warrant such a recommendation but concluded it must be more for the flux than ridding one’s self of a husband or wife.

“Indeed, when last Father visited me, he brought a bottle of it for the infirmary here,” said Emily.

“I imagine since it is used in urgent circumstances, it must be in the unlocked cupboard there.”

“Well, of course!” she exclaimed. “Miss Lauderdale would hardly want to fumble with a lock when someone is at Death’s Door!” Miss Lauderdale was the natural science mistress, which meant she pointed out flowers and plants and had us sketch them. She was also in charge of the infirmary.

It was half an hour before dinner then, and we parted to ready ourselves for it. Not that I
felt
ready when I sat down to dinner. I pushed the jellied eel about on my plate and glanced at Emily. She ate with her usual hearty appetite. I grimaced. There must be something about physicians’ daughters that accustoms them to vivid descriptions of the effects of ipecac.

* * * *

Because my next operation was more perilous than any of my other attempts at becoming ill, list making was imperative. First, because I did not want to take the whole bottle, I needed a container for the ipecac. I thought my tooth cup would suffice for now. Second (and I congratulated myself for my detailed planning), I would oil the hinges on the infirmary cupboard in case it squeaked. After mentally searching my belongings, I remembered I had a bottle of camellia oil for the hair. It smelled pleasant, so I did not think anyone would detect it.

Third, caution. Miss Lauderdale had a connecting door to the infirmary. I did not know if she was a heavy sleeper, so I had to assume she was a light one. The infirmary, I knew, was usually unlocked. I would have to take my chances on that. Most important, I had to have a reason for being out of my room at night. I thought of several (a burglar, nightmares, and the like) and discarded them all. The simplest was the easiest: that I felt ill.

When Miss Standish checked to see if I was asleep, I must have seemed dead to the world. I waited two hours. Then, as quiet as a cat, I crept out of my room.

I met with no hindrance. The infirmary door was conveniently unlocked, but so was the connecting door. I hesitated. Perhaps my candlelight might wake Miss Lauderdale! I would have to risk it: this was for Mama.

When I stood by the cupboard, I heard Miss Lauderdale moan in her sleep on the other side of the door. I froze. But silence for the next long moment reassured me, and putting my candle on the floor, I began oiling the hinges.

The cupboard door opened without a squeak. By the light of the candle on the floor, I could make out the simple block letters naming the object of my search. Casting another look toward the connecting door, I quickly opened the bottle of ipecac and shook a fifth of its contents into my tooth cup. Carefully, I replaced the bottle and closed the cupboard.

Clutching the cup, I crept out of the infirmary and ran as quietly and quickly as I could without spilling the ipecac. When I had gained my room, I shut the door and leaned against it, feeling as if I had held my breath during the entire operation. My heart was beating rapidly; I took a deep breath to calm it. I let it out with a
whoosh
and allowed my shaking legs to take me to my bed.

I stared at my booty for a while. My campaign would begin tomorrow, but I was curious. I sniffed the powder. No real scent to it; was it tasteless as well? I wet my finger with a bit of it and put it to my tongue. Gahh! Immediately I went to the pitcher by my bed and drank some water to wash out the bitterness. It was going to be difficult to down the stuff, but I felt equal to it. There is nothing more determined than a Canning bent on action, Mama always said of Father, and I knew this was true for me, too.

I set my tooth cup under my bed. The maid never swept under there anyway, so it would be safe. As I got into bed, I reflected that I had an old perfume vial into which I could pour the stuff. But then I yawned hugely and consigned this task to the morning.

I awoke with a feeling that all was not right. I had not much time to ponder over this, for suddenly all sleepiness left: my stomach turned over. My mind immediately went to the ipecac. Is this all it took to make one ill? I did not want to be sick now! I waited anxiously for more violent signs, but nothing else appeared; I remained nauseated until exhaustion overtook me, and I slept.

I staged the first display of my illness for Sunday. In most girls this would have been suspicious, but I was fond of going to church, and this fact was well known. I did not have a reputation for piety, however; it was also well known that I went because I loved the music springing from the pipe organ like winds from the sea. The schoolmistresses knew only the most extreme circumstance could tear me from this treat. So it was with concern that the Headmistress, Miss Angstead, listened to me when I complained of feeling a little faint.

She pushed back her unruly grey-white hair and looked at me with her sharp but kindly brown eyes. My lack of sleep supported me: shadows darkened my eyes, and I looked pale. I blushed a little at the lie, and she laid a bony hand on my forehead, apparently thinking I had the flush of fever.

She gazed at me thoughtfully. “You do not feel warm,” she said. “Perhaps the walk to the church will revive you.” She patted my cheek. “You have a good constitution; I am sure you will feel better shortly.”

I felt ashamed at deceiving her, but neither this nor her insistence that I attend church kept me from my plan. I had secreted a stoppered vial, which contained the ipecac and water, in a pocket of my dress. My experience the night before warned me of its potency, and I did not want to be as violently ill as Emily’s brother. I hoped I had diluted it enough to make me an interesting color, but not enough to send me to bed.

The sermon as usual was dull, but I kept awake for the music. I decided to sip the vial during the last hymn; that way, some people would be busy singing and the rest would be busy watching our new curate-from-London’s way of conducting the choir. Last week he crouched down when the choir was to sing
piano
measures and suddenly leaped like a tiger upon its prey (the choir) at
forte,
arms outstretched. Today he looked as if he were pantomiming a windmill. I waited.

The curate’s thin arm sprung in an electrified manner into the air and suspended there. This was my cue. As his twitching fingers took riveting command of every eye, I coughed, and under my handkerchief I quickly sipped the vial. I glanced around surreptitiously and caught Schoolmistress Lauderdale’s glare. My hand shook as I stoppered the vial under my handkerchief, wondering if she had seen me drink from it. She only looked at me for a moment, however, before turning, a besotted mist settling over her face as she gazed at the curate. I felt relieved; the rumor must be true that Miss Lauderdale had a
tendre
for him. No doubt my cough had distracted her from her reverie. I sneaked a glance at the younger Miss Standish and noted that she, too, looked dreamy. So that was true, too! I saved the information for later: I would have something to tell Emily for a change.

The potion took longer to work than I thought; I had planned to look ill while all of us from Miss Angstead’s walked down the church steps. We had already made our curtsies to the vicar when I felt my stomach turn. I prepared myself to look interestingly pale.

I was not prepared to become violently sick. I only had time to moan to Miss Standish in front of me before I retched all over the hem of her dress. I heard a revulsed shriek as I doubled over and gave up jellied eel again. A thought flashed through my mind that if I had to heave, I was glad it was on Miss Standish instead of Miss Lauderdale. I liked Miss Lauderdale. Miss Standish was snobbish.

The next hour flashed by quickly. I saw the worried faces of Miss Angstead, Miss Lauderdale, and the curate hover over me. I felt myself being carried and deposited in someone’s carriage, but any gratitude I fostered at being able to lie down was quickly quashed as we bumped down the road to Miss Angstead’s.

I could do nothing but moan, cough, and choke as I was undressed and put to bed. I tossed and turned therein, acting for all the world as if I were in a high fever. I felt sure Death was going to catch up with me, and I wished he would hurry up about it. It was not until my stomach was done mauling the rest of me that I lay still, sipped something that someone put to my lips, and fell asleep, aching.

I still felt ill in the morning, but better the next day under Miss Lauderdale’s ministrations. I protested weakly that I did not need so much fussing, and Miss Angstead retorted that I should be grateful that Miss Lauderdale was helping. Miss Lauderdale actually smiled broadly at this, which surprised me, for she was a solemn young woman and her shy smiles were sweet but rare. I admired her when I first came to Miss Angstead’s and used to imagine tragic and romantic stories about her to justify her single state. So I felt embarrassed that she should use her valuable time taking care of me in my induced illness.

I mumbled my thanks to her, feeling ashamed, but she smiled and shook her head. “You may not know it, but I owe you something as well. It was the least I could do to repay you.” I wondered at this, but not for long, as I yawned and fell into sleep again.

As the days passed, I grew stronger but was still interestingly pale and wan. I tried to sustain this as long as I could (without ipecac), but my pink cheeks soon betrayed me. When Miss Lauderdale reported to the Headmistress that I was well enough, I was called to her room.

I twisted my hands in front of me nervously, not knowing what this interview was about. Miss Lauderdale had been evasive when I asked her. Miss Angstead was writing something as I sat and did not look up at me until she finished with a flourish.

She sat back in her chair, steepled her fingers, and looked at me for a long moment. Her dark, sharp eyes assessed me, and she seemed to come to a decision. She pulled open a drawer and tossed something onto her desk. It was the vial I had carried with me to church. I flushed hotly.

“You know what this is,” Miss Angstead said softly. It was a statement.

I looked down at my hands. “A vial?” I murmured vaguely, trying to sound as though I were only guessing.

Miss Angstead emitted what sounded very close to a snort. “Come, come, my dear. You are intelligent enough to translate Plutarch, you do not need to guess what this object is. I imagine this has something to do with your late illness?”

I suffered a severe shock. Not only had she discovered the vial, but it seemed she knew all along of my depredations in the small closet-library. I took myself well in hand, however. I opened my eyes wide with innocence and looked at her appealingly. She considered me with her intelligent eyes, gave back an amused smile, tapped her steepled fingers together, and waited for my answer. She had an efficient air that gave the impression of having all the time in the world. I knew then I was up against a seasoned campaigner. I wanted to cry in despair at the mess of my plans but resolutely took hold of my bottom lip with my teeth and managed not to. I would think of other plans.

“It held ipecac, ma’am,” I said, looking at her defiantly.

“Ipecac. I do not see how that substance could have been useful in church.”

“Well, it wasn’t, not in church. I only meant to take enough to be thought in a decline.”

“A decline. And why was it necessary to go into a decline? Not to avoid your studies, I hope?”

“Oh, no, Miss Angstead! Ask anyone! I really do like my studies. It was for my mother.”

“Your mother.” Her habit of echoing me made me nervous. I shifted from one foot to another. She indicated that I should choose a chair. I sat gingerly on the edge of one. “Would not a decline make your mother anxious more than anything else?”

“Well, yes, it would for a while until I became better. You see, I need to go home. She needs me to take care of her.”

“Mrs. Canning, I suspect, is quite old enough to take care of herself, do you not think?

“No! I mean, no, ma’am. She’s quite alone, without proper company, and it’s horribly easy for unscrupulous people to take advantage of her. It has happened before, you see,” I said fiercely. “She doesn’t have anyone except me, really.”

“From what I hear, your mother doesn’t lack for company.” It was said kindly, without malice, but I felt despondent.

“But not
proper
company!” I blurted. I blushed again.

“And you think by leaving school, you will be repaying her,” she said conversationally.

“No, that is not it at all.” I decided the only way out of this was to explain how I had come to decide on my plan. I related to her Sir Jeremy’s proposal to my mother and her refusal.

Miss Angstead listened and made no comment.

I felt comforted by this, somehow. I finished my tale, and she sat there nodding, seeming to think. “And how did you—procure—the ipecac?” she asked. Hanging my head, I told her my preparations and actions. She raised her eyebrows, but she seemed amused rather than angry. She said dryly: “Miss Lauderdale told me not to underestimate you.”

“Miss Lauderdale?”

“Yes. She was the one who found your vial. No, she did not intentionally betray you,” she assured me as I shot her an indignant look. “She thought you had taken the potion inadvertently, or worse, and she was in fear for your life.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“No, I know that now, but I also know how mean-spirited some of the other girls can be, and why your mother wanted you to be a parlour boarder. It is often reason enough for girls to be despondent. And, after all, taking the potion was a rather desperate act, don’t you think?”

I twisted my fingers, and muttered agreement. I looked up again at her pleadingly. “But, don’t you see, desperate situations require desperate acts to solve them! I know I can do something to make Mama’s situation better! I have to go home!” My voice cracked.

Miss Angstead sighed. “And what do you suppose you will do, once you are home?”