Page 124 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
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Shock froze Thomas, Nolan, and Richard, then Thomas swore and looked for the bellpull.
Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t bother—I’ll get her.”
Ten minutes later, Catriona and Lucilla had independently completed detailed examinations. Catriona settled the covers back over Manachan’s chest, then straightened and faced the three of Manachan’s children now gathered at the foot of the bed. “I regret to say that Lucilla is correct. Your father was poisoned.” Her gaze rose to Thomas and Richard, standing a little further back. “My guess would be with arsenic.”
Nolan frowned. “But you can’t be sure, can you?”
“No, I can’t.” Catriona walked toward them; with her arms spread, she urged them to the door. “But the magistrate can order tests, and then we’ll know for certain. I suggest we go downstairs and wait for the doctor and Sir Godfrey to arrive.”
As usual, Catriona got her way. Nolan, Niniver, and Norris appeared dazed; they sat in the drawing room and stared either at their hands or vacantly into space. The rest of the household wasn’t much better.
Thomas knew how they felt.
Lucilla sat on the sofa beside him, one hand in his, the other tracing comforting circles on his back. Leaning closer, she murmured, “If someone here—Nigel, for instance—was intent on poisoning Manachan, there was nothing you or I could have done to save him.”
He nodded; his rational mind recognized the truth in her words, yet he still felt numb inside. Still wondered…
But as the minutes ticked by, his mind cleared enough for several questions to rise above his inner desolation. Ferguson and Mrs. Kennedy brought in the tea tray; while Catriona poured, Thomas caught Lucilla’s hand, rose, and, drawing her with him, walked to the end of the room. Halting by the window, ostensibly looking out, he settled his hand about hers. “If it is arsenic, as you and your mother think, could Manachan’s illness have been due to that poison? The illness he’s been battling for the last months? I read somewhere that a fatal dose can be built up in a body over time.”
Lucilla raised her brows. “You could be right.”
Catriona came up, carrying a cup and saucer for each of them.
Lucilla reached for one cup. “Mama—I told you that Manachan had been ill for months, on and off. Could that, too, have been due to arsenic?”
After handing Thomas the second cup, Catriona quizzed him on what he’d witnessed of his uncle’s symptoms, and Lucilla added what she’d observed while staying at Carrick Manor and treating Manachan. Catriona grimaced. “It’s certainly possible. For a man of Manachan’s previously rude health, gradual poisoning might well have caused those effects.” She looked at Lucilla. “Which brings me to ask—what did you put in the boosting tonic and in the restorative you gave him?”
Lucilla rattled off a string of herbal essences; Thomas could make nothing of them.
But Catriona nodded. “I can see why your treatments worked. You had several ingredients in there that would have bound up the poison in his system and cleansed his body of it. You weren’t targeting the poison intentionally, but your potion nevertheless reduced it, and so he improved.”
Lucilla sighed. “I can’t believe I saw no sign of poisoning while I was here—not even when I examined him.”
Catriona looked grim. “Don’t distress yourself on that account—that’s one of the difficulties with arsenic poisoning. You can take a person right up to the brink of death, and yet all the symptoms are easily explained—in Manachan’s case, by old age. Only once they die…” She shrugged. “And even then, if a doctor isn’t looking closely, or isn’t summoned in time, then the death will still be recorded as due to natural causes—heart seizure, congestion of the lungs, or the like. The external evidence fades quickly.”
The doctor arrived soon after. He went upstairs with Catriona and returned looking exceedingly grave. By then Sir Godfrey had arrived; the doctor was relieved to be able to place the entire matter into Sir Godfrey’s hands. After a low-voiced conference with the magistrate, the doctor departed.
A heavy-set, bluff, and—under normal circumstances—genial gentleman, Sir Godfrey returned to stand before the drawing-room fireplace. He, Catriona, and Richard were old friends, and Sir Godfrey had known Manachan as well as any of the surrounding landowners. With gruff courtesy, Sir Godfrey expressed his condolences to the family and the clan, then informed Manachan’s children that, as it appeared their father had been murdered, he—Sir Godfrey—was obliged to investigate and report on the matter.
Richard had already apprised Sir Godfrey of Nigel’s disappearance. Sir Godfrey’s questions, primarily directed at Nolan, but also seeking confirmation from Niniver and Norris where possible, ran over much the same ground as Richard and Thomas had already covered.
Unsurprisingly, Sir Godfrey came to the same conclusion everyone else was entertaining. He harrumphed and stroked his chin. “Well, we don’t yet have proof that it was arsenic, but with the samples the doctor has taken, no doubt such proof will come in time, and meanwhile…well, the stuff’s not called inheritance powder for nothing, what?”
From under his shaggy brows, Sir Godfrey eyed the three Carricks lined up on the sofa before him. “As Nigel’s gone missing, I fear I must trouble you to allow me to search his rooms.”
Niniver and Norris stared at Sir Godfrey blankly, then both looked at Nolan.
Eventually realizing that it was up to him, Nolan assented with a frowning nod. “Yes. Of course.” He glanced to the door, where Ferguson had stood throughout.
Without waiting for direction, Ferguson bowed to Sir Godfrey. “I can take you to Master Nigel’s room, sir.”
Thomas couldn’t sit still; he followed Ferguson, Sir Godfrey, and Richard up the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard Lucilla’s boots on the treads behind him. He halted and faced her; as she joined him, he said, “You don’t have to come.”
She met his gaze. “He might have been your uncle, and as irascible a curmudgeon as ever there was, but he was also my patient.” She tipped up her chin. “Besides, do any of you know what arsenic powder looks like?”
He guessed. “It’s white.”
