Lord Iverbrook's Heir (12 page)

“Miss Whitton is certainly no bread-and-butter miss. You must, however, allow me a modicum of pride. A gentleman of breeding does not stay when he has been dismissed! Dare I hope that this will not cause a breach between us? I should be sorry indeed to lose your friendship.”

“You will always be welcome, Hugh.”

He stood up and bowed low over her hand. His resolve wavered as he looked at her sorrowful face, but Selena's words still sounded in his ears. A mean, despicable, treacherous monster, was he? Who plotted to ruin lives to gratify his own vanity! Such an abominable creature would certainly not make the first step towards reconciliation.

He almost ran to the stables. If he should meet Peter now, he could not answer for his steadfastness.

Tom Arbuckle had just finished hanging up the harnesses. He groaned when ordered to set the horses to again, but after a single glance at his master’s thinned lips and abstracted eyes, he did not protest.

“Got to get the luggage out again, m’lord, and tell Cook, as was preparing a nice hot toddy for me,” he said. “It’ll be ten—fifteen minutes if Jem here'll lend a hand wi’ the horses.”

Jem was willing, glad to see his rival depart so rapidly. Anxious to be gone, Lord Iverbrook helped to buckle the harness and was waiting with the reins in his hands when Tom reappeared with the bags and slung them into the carriage.

“Shall I drive, m’lord?” he enquired, climbing up.

“No!” said the viscount through gritted teeth, and they swung out of the stable yard and down the drive at a pace that made Tom clutch at his cap.

The muddy lane and tired horses soon moderated their speed. Iverbrook drove in grim silence, broken only when he said abruptly, "You'll get your toddy when we reach Watlington, Tom.”

"Thank you, m’lord.”

Iverbrook recognised the deep disapproval in his voice. He was beginning to wish he had not acted so precipitately. Deuce take the wench! She made him as impetuous as she was herself! Still, it was too late now. He could not creep back to the kennel like a whipped cur. How sorry she would be when she found out he was not going to law! Only, that might now be his one possible course of action.

What a Godalmighty mess he’d made of it, dashing in there and demanding her hand without any preparation, without any of the compliments and flowery language women set such store by. And when she had just received that letter, too. It was all his fault. No, by God, it wasn’t! he thought savagely. It was Hubble's fault, and he’d wring the man’s neck, if he hanged for it!

“M’lord!” Tom reached over and tugged on the reins. “My lord, been’t that Master Peter? Stop, my lord! Whoa there, whoa!”

As the horses came to a standstill, Iverbrook saw a small, muddy figure staggering towards them. For a moment he could not believe it was his nephew. Then he recognised the brass buttons on the green riding coat he had given him. He leaped down into the mire, ran to the child, and picked him up.

Peter shrieked and struggled.

“No, no, no!” he screamed. “I won’t go and live with the pigs. I won’t, I won’t!”

“Of course you shall not, if you don’t want to. We’ll take you home right away. Tom, turn around in that gateway. However did you get so filthy, Peter?” Besides the mud, the boy’s flushed face was smeared with purple. His eyes were huge and dark, glazed, and he fought his uncle with silent desperation.

Iverbrook put him down. He sat down, quite calmly, and said, “Can I have a drink, Cook?
Please,
dear Cook, I’m so thirsty. Finny, I want my milk.
Run, quickly,
Timmy, the big bad wolf is coming to gobble you up!”

“He’s ill, Tom. Hurry!”

“Hello, Uncle Hugh. I’m glad you comed back but I have to run along now. Timmy’s waiting. I’ll see you at tea time. Bye bye.” Peter got up and started running down the lane.

His uncle caught him in three quick strides and picked him up again. He went rigid, teeth bared in a horrible grimace, and shuddered all over.

The carriage pulled up beside them.

“Here, get him aboard quick, m’lord. Here’s my jacket to wrap him up in, poor little tyke. We’d best get him to my lady on the double.”

“Drive fast, man! Don’t overturn us, but you can kill the horses for all I care. I think he's eaten poisonous berries. Fast!”

Peter lay quiet in his arms now. His pulse was rapid, tumultuous, his dilated eyes staring at nothing.

“I’m thirsty,” he moaned. “I’m thirsty, Uncle Hugh. Where’s Grandmama? Tell her to put blue flowers in my lemonade ‘cos I’m hot all over. Why won’t you let me sit up? I want to see out.”

“Hush, Peter, hush,” said Iverbrook helplessly. “You’ll be with Grandmama soon and she'll take care of you.”

Peter pulled away from him and knelt up on the seat.

“I can see the house now. Let me out so I can run to Aunt Sena and give her a surprise.” He was fumbling with the door catch when another seizure took him and he fell back into Iverbrook’s arms, his small body convulsing violently.

For the first time in his life, the viscount knew terror.

“Faster, Tom!”

“We’re almost there, m’lord. Hold on, Master Peter, your granny’ll make you better, all right and tight.”

They turned into the drive with screeching wheels and the horses reared as they pulled up at the front door. Tom jumped down, jerked on the bellpull and, not waiting for a response, had his hand on the latch when the door was opened from the inside by Bannister.

Iverbrook carried Peter in, the boy shrieking again and waving his arms. Mrs. Tooting appeared, and one of the housemaids, open mouthed.

“Don’t stand there gaping, you fools!” he shouted. “Fetch my lady, quick!”

Chapter 10

“Carry him to the stillroom, Iverbrook.” Selena took in the situation with one glance. “All Mama's medicines are there.”

“My lady’s there too.” Bannister suddenly looked ten years older. He put out his hand to brace himself against the wall.

Mrs. Tooting had fallen into a fit. As the viscount strode past her, Selena took charge.

“Bannister, sit down. There is nothing you can do for Peter. Doris, fetch Polly to Mrs. Tooting, then go and warn Nurse to put a warming pan in Master Peter’s bed. You had best tell Cook to make plenty of barleywater, too.”

“Oh miss, is he going to die?”

“I don’t know what is wrong with him, Doris. We must put our trust in God and in my mother’s skill. Hurry now. Bannister, are you feeling stronger?”

“Yes, Miss Selena. It’s right sorry I am to be another trouble to you, when I know Mrs. Finnegan won’t be much help neither. It was just the shock.”

“Of course. I rely on you to see that the servants do all that is necessary. Tom, tell me what happened.”

Tom Arbuckle was standing by the door, twisting his tweed cap in his hands.

“Terrible it were, miss,” he said. “We drove down the lane—his lordship were driving, that is, but I could see as his mind weren’t on it. Then I seen the little tyke, all covered with mud, which ain’t to be wondered at, only he walked kind of funny, like he couldn’t see where he were going. So we stopped and my lord jumps down and tells me to turn the carriage, the which I does, and all the time I can hear Master Peter hollering. And my lord gets him in the carriage and says he’s ate poison berries, drive like the devil. Begging your pardon, miss. So I does, and if the nipper up and dies I’ll always think I could of drove faster.”

Selena laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t say that, Tom. You did your best and I thank you for it. I expect his lordship’s horses need your care. Will you see to them?”

“O’course, miss, and bless you. His lordship’s hard hit, miss. I never seen him look like that.”

“Thank you, Tom.” As Selena turned to go to the stillroom, she recalled Hugh’s white, agonised face. She had scarcely noticed it before, her attention concentrated on Peter. Yes, his lordship was hard hit. She had not supposed him to have so much sensibility.

Poison berries, Tom said. The stains about Peter’s mouth were purple. That could be from blackberries, but she shuddered at the thought of the alternative: deadly nightshade!

The door of the stillroom was open. She stood there a moment, forcing herself to remain calm. Her mother was stirring a blackish powder into a glass of water. Iverbrook sat on the room’s only chair, holding Peter in his lap, but when the boy saw her he slid down and ran to her, talking excitedly. His voice was slurred and she could not make out his words. She picked him up and sat down on the chair, vacated by the viscount.

“It’s belladonna, Selena,” said her mother, voice shaking but hands as steady as ever. “Nightshade, deadly nightshade. He had some berries in his hand. The first thing is to bring it up. Black mustard seed to make him vomit. You hold him, keep him still, while I make him drink it. Hugh, there’s a basin under the table. Come, Peterkin, drink this for Grandmama, like a good boy.”

Peter took a sip.

“It tastes nasty,” he said clearly, then stiffened, his arms and legs flailing wildly. One arm escaped from Selena’s grasp and knocked the glass from Lady Whitton’s hand. It smashed on the floor and she stood for a moment looking blankly at the shards of glass and the wet spot on her skirt.

Iverbrook put his arm round her shoulders. “I shall mix some more," he said. “Tell me exactly what to do.”

The seizure weakened Peter and he drank the second potion docilely.

Its effect was immediate and Iverbrook was only just in time with the basin.

As the worst of the retching passed, the child lay back limply in his aunt’s arms. Lady Whitton felt his forehead.

“Another dose, Hugh. I will prepare willowbark for the fever and powdered charcoal to absorb the poison.” The sound of her own voice steadied her. She took down several jars and began to pound and stir their contents in her mortar. “Centaury as a stimulant, and some say vinegar is efficacious against belladonna. He must be kept warm."

Selena unbuttoned his wet coat and took it off. She had his shirt half off when Iverbrook approached with the second dose of mustard and water. Peter began to struggle again.

“I won’t! I won't! It makes me hurt in my middle. Don’t make me, Aunt Sena. I’ll be a good boy, I won't eat any more berries.”

“Peter, be still!” said Iverbrook sternly. “This is no way for a gentleman to behave. Drink!”

Cowed, he obeyed, and the dreadful spasms began again. They so exhausted him that he swallowed without protest the murky liquid his grandmother next pressed upon him. Iverbrook stripped off the rest of his damp clothes, wrapped him in his own coat and, hugging him close, looked enquiringly at Lady Whitton.

“To bed?”

“To bed.”

“Mama, you look worn to the bone. Hugh and Nurse will settle Peter. You come and lie down and tell me just what we must do for him, and what to watch for. I’ll join you shortly, Iverbrook.”

The viscount carried his slight burden up the stairs. He was half way up the second flight when Peter twisted in his arms and cried out.

“I’m stuck, Auntie Dee! I can’t get down. You’ll get stuck too if you climb up. Help me! I’m going to fall!”

“It’s all right, Peter. Hush. I shan’t let you fall. You’re quite safe.”

“You’re not Mr. Russell. Go away. Mr. Russell will help me down. Auntie Dee, come quick!” His words began to slur again, and he lapsed into lethargy.

Mrs. Finnegan had his nightshirt warming by the fire. A tiny, wrinkled old woman, she started up as Iverbrook entered the nursery. Between them they quickly put him to bed. Nurse tucked him in and felt his flushed forehead.

“Oh my dear!” she moaned. “My poor precious lamb!”

Peter muttered and opened his eyes.

“You promised, Aunt Sena. You said I can go with you to see the lambs. But Leo is turning into a sheep! I can’t ride a sheep. Leo, stop it! You’re not a sheep, you’re a pony. Uncle Hugh, don’t let Leo turn into a sheep. Please! If he gets all woolly, he won’t be a gentleman’s horse when he’s growed up.”

Mrs. Finnegan sank onto a chair, crossed herself, and flung her apron over her head.

“My baby’s lost his mind!” she wailed, rocking back and forth.

“You have lost yours, woman!” said Iverbrook harshly. “Peter,
Peter,
Uncle Hugh won’t let Leo turn into a sheep, I promise. You must get well quick, for he is waiting to take you for a ride.”

“Leo’s waiting. I have to go.” Peter strained to sit up. “Jem says you must never keep a horse waiting. Let me go. Let me go! I’m so thirsty.”

Iverbrook looked around helplessly. Not even an empty cup met his eye. The old woman was sniffling to herself beneath the apron and it seemed useless to ask her for help, nor would he leave the child alone with her. Selena seemed to have a lot of incompetent servants, he thought angrily. Still she had explained her bailiff to him, and doubtless she had reasons as good for employing the others. In general, the household ran perfectly smoothly.

But now Peter was crying out for a drink and there was none in sight.

Selena came in.

“How is he, Hugh?” she asked, casting an exasperated glance at Nurse.

“Hallucinating again, and very thirsty. He’s so hot, Selena. Must we keep him covered?”

“Mama says to keep him warm. He is to drink as much as we can persuade him to, and I’m sure we might bathe his forehead. I shall fetch barleywater, and a cooling lotion for his head. Can you manage alone here?”

“Yes, but hurry back. I am an unpractised sickroom attendant.”

“You have contrived to admiration so far. I’ll be back in no time.”

Selena hurried down to the kitchen, where Cook, imperturbable as ever, had barleywater ready. Polly was hovering there, so Selena asked after Mrs. Tooting.

"Me and Mr. Bannister took her to her chamber, miss, and I give her the medicine like my lady done last time. She’s much better now. How’s Master Peter, miss?”

“Much the same, I fear. Bless you both. What should I do without you?”

“Oh miss!” Polly crimsoned and her eyes filled with tears. Cook grunted and turned back to her stove.

"Polly, since you were so handy with Mrs. Tooting’s physic, can you find me the lovage and rosemary lotion, and bring it to the nursery? I must take Peter his drink.”