Page 98 of The Mistletoe Countess
“From the rider you hit with a horseshoe perhaps?”
Her grin rewarded him. “You are beginning to think in the proper way for the surroundings, my lord.”
But the real curiosities came when they reached what was formerly a main-floor sitting room. One of the few spaces with intact windows, the space held a few cooking utensils and an assortment of other remains hinting at recent occupation.
“Someone has certainly been here.” Frederick kicked at a mussed blanket on the floor and stepped to the large window overlooking the entry, the road to the ruins a tangle of overgrowth. Someone would have to know where they were going to take that route.
Grace didn’t respond. She was examining something by a table in the corner near a back window.
“The ash is fresh in the fire.” Frederick added, which meant the occupants hadn’t been gone too long. He patted the pistol he’d slipped into his riding jacket, ensuring its place should the unwelcome guests return.
“Frederick, did you alert anyone in the house of your impending arrival from India?”
What an odd question. Grace didn’t face him, her attention still riveted on what appeared to be a small white flower and a medicine bottle.
“I sent a telegram when I’d arrived in London to let the house know to expect me first thing in the morning.”
Her gaze came up to his. “So everyone knew exactly when you’d return.”
Frederick caught the suggestion behind her statement, and his chest tightened. “What is it?”
Grace raised the flower to him with her gloved hand, her breath shaking ever so slightly. “This.”
He crossed the room. “Queen Anne’s lace?”
But the look in her eyes proved this little plant was something much different.
“Frederick, I believe this is hemlock. One of the most poisonous plants in the world.”
Everything began to come together. The ability for Celia to be absent at the time of Edward’s death. The perfect timing of Frederick’s arrival.
“What do you mean?”
She pushed past him and walked to the fireplace. “The purple speckles on the stem, as well as other small differences, show that it’s different from Queen Anne’s lace.” She bent by a discarded pot among the fire’s ashes. Aha. A root. She stood and returned to Frederick’s side. “More possible proof. A root for making oil, I suspect. Likely hemlock oil.” She raised the root so he could see it more clearly, an idea forming. “Do you recall Brandon or Elliott giving any specifics about your brother’s symptoms before he died?”
“No, nothing.” He shoved a hand through his hair and took another glance about the room. “Good night, Grace! Are you saying, someone made poison here?”
“It seems likely. Hemlock is extremely toxic, especially in liquid form.”
A burst of air came from her handsome hero. “How do you know these things?”
“I became curious.”
“About poisons?”
She looked up from her examination of the root. Why was he so surprised? “About everything.”
His expression evaporated into an uncertain smile, and he crossed the room and slid his arm around her waist. “My dear, if I didn’t know you had such a kind heart, I’d be terrified of you.”
She rewarded his sweet words with a grin before returning her attention to the plant. “But doctors should know the signs of such poisoning. It’s not so uncommon nowadays that it can’t be easily detected.”
“Mother was adamant about Edward’s heart being weak, and I didn’t have any reason to doubt her. Even our longtime family doctor agreed with Mother’s assessment, though I’m not certain his age adds to his reliability.” He shook his head. “But I knew something seemed odd all the while.”
“Well, from the accounts I’ve read of people’s deaths by hemlock, they could match your description of how you found your brother.” She murmured more to herself. “Muscle spasms. Breathing difficulty. Horrible deaths, unless you were Socrates, of course.”
Frederick studied her a moment and cleared his throat, offering his hand to her. “We need to interview Brandon. He could give an accounting of any symptoms.”
“Very clever, my dear hero.” She took his hand and walked with him to the door, casting a look back over the rooms as they passed. “And as you said, Celia would have known about this place because of her…time with you.” She shook her head against the direction her imagination turned. “So it makes sense her thugs hid here.”
