A Christmas Code (The Code Breakers Series Book 2) (7 page)

“Good Morning.” Gwyneth spoke in her most chirpy morning voice, the one she had used to irritate her brothers when they were tired.

All the kitchen staff bobbed their heads with bows and curtsies.

Gwyneth searched for Cook. At Rathbourne house, Cook always wore a crisp white apron. “I’ve come to speak to Cook.”

“My Lady, Cook left to go over the menus with her ladyship.”

Gwyneth was surprised that Lady Edworth was up this early, but with a house party of this size and the imminent visit of the Prince of Wales, Lady Edworth was understandably busy with all the details.

Cook’s absence gave Gwyneth the perfect opportunity to visit the stillroom. Mrs. Hudson’s comment that Cook was the only one who used the conservatory was odd. Why would the cook not use the herbs from her stillroom?

Gwyneth had spent a great amount of time in both the stillroom and conservatory at Rathbourne house. She needed to study plants as part of a lady’s role in household management, but it was also useful to know the treatments and remedies for the injuries and illnesses on an estate. But it was in the conservatory, which housed the exotic plants and the botanical discoveries of the new world that she spent the most of her time. Although not allowed to visit the other side of the world, she could imagine the glamorous worlds by studying the plants and the environment that nurtured them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work. Please continue. I’ll walk outside in the kitchen garden.” Gwyneth spoke again in her lady-of-the-manor voice, anticipating some reaction, since it was snowing outside and she wasn’t dressed for the weather. But the servants bobbed their heads in acquiescence. She realized that the news of her visit to the kitchen and the garden would reach both Mrs. Hudson and Brunton before breakfast was finished.

She walked through the busy kitchen to the back doors, which she assumed would lead to the kitchen garden and a small shed used as the stillroom. The garden looked very similar to Rathbourne’s winter garden—barren except for the wintergreens. Cloth covered several of the less hearty herbs.

As Gwyneth suspected, the stillroom was a wooden shed, similar in size to the generous stillroom at Rathbourne house. Here was the heart of the kitchen with its herbs and spices. The strong scent of the dried lavender, sage, and thyme hanging from a trestle above filled the air. It was a comforting smell and brought back many memories of helping Mrs. Brompton Rathbourne’s housekeeper.

A long wooden table ran down the center of the room with drying racks along one entire wall. On shelves were pots, tubs, and labeled jars filled with the ground herbs. Edworth estate had a meticulously organized stillroom.

On one end of the table, holly branches and berries were piled. She recalled an experience from her childhood—a child in the village had eaten holly berries and had almost died. The berries were very tempting to children and animals alike.

Why would a well-organized stillroom have a poison on its table? Everyone knew of native poisons like nightshade and opium, and the care you needed to take in handling them.

Gwyneth carefully examined the area around the holly. Juice from the berry had stained the scrubbed wooden table. Her heart rate quickened as suspicions raced through her mind. She scanned the shelf to examine the several mortars and pestles for a sign of the red stain.

She found none, but the doubt wouldn’t stop. She opened one cabinet that held the supplies, empty jars, twine, and the sticks for the garden. On the bottom shelf, behind a crock for storing the pickles was a mortar and pestle. And both were stained red.

A sickening heave of fear twisted in her stomach. She needed to find Ash. Could Cook be planning to poison the Prince of Wales? She didn’t have a reason for Cook’s extraordinary behavior, but poisonous berries in the stillroom was not customary.

Gwyneth replaced the mortar and pestle. Her skin shivered with awareness. Suddenly she felt an overwhelming urge to get away from the stillroom and the disturbing evidence that she found.

She closed the door quietly as she walked outside. She had to find Ash before the morning hunt commenced, otherwise it would be all day before she’d be able to talk with him. She’d go through the kitchen garden to the back of the house and the courtyard.

She’d arouse inquiries if she came through the front door without a pelisse on. She hoped the French doors to the library weren’t locked and that Lord Edworth wasn’t in the library. With the hunt this morning, she doubted his lordship would be working on estate business.

She was in such a tizzy that she didn’t take notice of the snow falling all around her, carpeting the hard, dark earth. She looked up to the skies. Snow for Christmas. She felt a rush of happiness and relief. If it snowed hard, then the prince wouldn’t make it to the party and he wouldn’t be in danger. Gwyneth hurried from the cold. She didn’t want her red nose and cheeks to give away her secret enquiry.

Chapter Eight

Gwyneth hurried through the library to find an empty morning room. Had Ash already left for the hunt?

Brunton stood on duty next to the buffet table, supervising the footmen who delivered platters of eggs, sausage, and kippers, and removed the dirty dishes.

“My lady, may I prepare a plate for you?” Brunton’s eyes trailed down the length of her, inspecting every detail. True to his training, he pretended not to notice or mention that the hem of her skirt was soaked from the snow.

“Thank you, Brunton. I’ll serve myself. Have all the gentleman already left for the hunt?”

“Yes, my lady. Lord Edworth was very concerned by the weather so they started earlier than planned. Based upon how heavily the snow is falling, I believe the gentlemen will return before luncheon.”

They both turned toward the long windows, bright from the heavy flurries of snow.

Drat, she had missed Ash. It probably didn’t matter since they had two days before the Prince’s arrival, but if Ash planned to contact Cord, he should send a messenger before the snow left them stranded. She needed to get dressed and ride out to join the hunt. Committed to her next plan of action, she hurried through her tea and toast.

As she climbed the horseshoe-shaped stairwell to the upper floors, she spotted Ash’s valet, Worthy, moving toward the servant’s stairs. He seemed harried and carried a basin covered with a cloth. Was Ash ill? She gripped the handrail tightly as if she could stop the panic shooting through her body.

In her most lady-like voice, she called loudly. “Worthy?”

The valet turned quickly. Shocked, he stood in place, frozen by her scandalous solecism.

She ran up the stairs, her skirts in hand—another breach of polite behavior. Her breathing became fast and she pressed her hand against her chest. Something was wrong with Ash. She remained fully aware of the dangerous game they were involved in and the necessity that she not draw attention to herself. But the halls were empty, the ladies still abed and the gentleman off on the hunt. And most importantly, Brunton remained in the morning room.

“My lady.” Worthy was pale, and his hands trembled. “May I help you?”

“Is Lord Ashworth ill?”

The poor valet was flummoxed. He stared at her, unable to decide how best to respond.

“Please, Worthy. I’m a family friend and I’m very concerned.”

“Yes, my lady. I’ve never seen him so ill, but he told me under no circumstances should I tell anyone.”

Panic circled her like bees buzzing the nest. “Thank you for telling me, Worthy. I will see to the gentleman, myself.” Gwyneth turned and walked quickly toward Ash’s room. “But my lady…” She heard the valet following, but that didn’t stop her from proceeding into Ash’s room.

She wasn’t prepared for the awful sight. Ash lay on his bed in a night robe. His color was a ghastly white, his breathing shallow, and a fine mist of sweat moistened his brow.

“Ash.” Her voice was filled with horror.

She felt his skin—cold and clammy. His pulse was irregular. Symptoms of possible poisoning. Could he have been the recipient of the holly berries?

“How long has he been like this, Worthy?”

“In the middle of the night, he became ill. Since this morning, he has uttered nothing, except your name. Last night he was adamant that I should tell no one of his illness. I was with his lordship in France and followed his directions explicitly…” Worthy let the implication hang.

“The master and I’ve been in some tight spots, but nothing this horrendous.” Worthy’s chin quivered. “I was about to go downstairs and speak with Brunton to call for the doctor.”

Ash didn’t want to alert anyone. If he’d realized that he’d been poisoned, he would’ve sent for a doctor. Burning red anger exploded in her. Ash had been poisoned and could’ve died with no one knowing.

“Lord Ashworth has been poisoned. And since you were with him in France, you know that his work requires secrecy. I’ll need your help, but we mustn’t alert anyone in the house since I don’t know who we can trust.”

“I’ll do whatever I can for his lordship.” His eyes were serious and understanding.

“We’ll need plenty of warm water to give to his lordship. We must rid him of the poison.” Anxiety caused Gwyneth’s hands to tremble and her heart to flutter. She didn’t know when he had consumed the poison and whether her treatment would be effective. “Can you summon my friend, Miss Bonnington? Tell her to come immediately here. Do not let her maid hear you.”

He nodded his head in agreement.

“I know that will be tricky, but I need her and the water now. And leave the basin in the change room. We don’t want anyone to know of his lordship’s illness.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Worthy walked briskly out of the room intent on his mission, his shoulders set with determination.

Gwyneth knelt over Ash’s body. “Ash, you aren’t going to die. Now that you’ve finally declared yourself.” Her voice broke with the words. She suppressed her feelings and the need to throw herself on Ash and weep. She couldn’t give in to emotions. Ash needed her.

She’d force warm water down his throat to make him vomit the poison. She needed to prevent him from going further into a stupor. Worthy would go to the stable to get Brinsley, whom Ash had said she could trust. And Brinsley would get a message to Cord. She couldn’t leave Ash, but she was stuck, uncertain what to do about the holly berries that she had found in the stillroom. She couldn’t prove that Cook had prepared the potion. Anyone could enter the stillroom and concoct poison.

Chapter Nine

Fighting the poison in Ash’s body continued through the day and into the early evening. Ash remained unresponsive to their ministrations, but Gwyneth refused to quit.

Inducing emesis with warm water had been repeated through the morning until Ash vomited only water and bile.

When he started to drift into a stupor, cold water was splashed onto his face and chest followed by Brinsley and Worthy forcing him to walk as they dragged him back and forth in the room, attempting to purge the poison from his body.

Brinsley had been a steady presence for Gwyneth, unwilling to give up on Ash. He had sent a coded message to Cord. One of the men in the stables had ridden out, but they all worried about him making it to London with the thick snow that covered the ground.

Gwyneth focused on Ash who was showing some signs of improvement. His breathing was less shallow, his heartbeat was steady, and some of his color had returned. He was still pale but no longer deathly white. She was exhausted and unable to differentiate between slumber and stupor any longer, but she had to maintain the regime.

Once more, she repeated the routine of the cold water on Ash’s face for the umpteenth time. Ash opened his eyes. “What the hell?” He pushed against her so forcefully that Gwyneth almost fell off the bed.

“Ash!” Tears poured down her face as she ran her hand along his cheek. He was warm to touch—the deathlike chill had passed.

“Get off me, Worthy! His voice was tremulous, but he was conscious. He took a deep breath then closed his eyes. “Sleep… I want to sleep.”

Gwyneth was no longer able to maintain her calm, stoic role. Painful sobs shook her body and made her unable to speak or breathe.

Brinsley proclaimed, “Thank God.”

Amelia came to the side of the bed where Gwyneth was perched. “Gwyneth, he’s going to be okay. You did an unbelievable job of nursing him.”

Gwyneth turned and continued to cry on her friend’s chest. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost him.”

Worthy had tears in his eyes when he spoke to Gwyneth. “Lady Gwyneth, let me take over. You need to rest. I’ll call you if there is any change.”

Amelia pulled Gwyneth up from the bed. “Let me take you to my room. You can claim you have a headache. Your maid will believe your story since you look like hell.”

Gwyneth burst into laughter, as Amelia had planned, but the hysterical laughter was mixed with painful gulps.

Amelia pinned back the falling hair from Gwyneth’s chignon. “We must keep up appearances. I must dress for dinner.”

Her friend had risen to the challenge. Amelia hardly acted shocked that the French cook had poisoned Ash because he was a spy. England was at war and everyone’s perspectives had been altered. The English waited for the day Napoleon would invade their country.

“Yes, let’s not forget about appearances,” Brinsley said sarcastically.

“What would you know about good behavior, sir?”

For some reason Amelia and Brinsley had taken to each other in strong dislike. How two people who had just met this morning could have such strong feelings toward each other was difficult to comprehend.

“I must go down and pretend that nothing out of the ordinary has occurred and make excuses for Gwyneth’s absence.” Amelia smoothed the wrinkles on Gwyneth’s crumpled muslin dress, but could do nothing about the wet spots from the tears.

Recognizing Amelia’s worry by the way she fussed, Gwyneth took her friend’s hand. “You’re absolutely correct, Amelia. I haven’t had time to think about dinner.”

“You will rest in my room. I will tell your maid that I’ve designed a special dress for you tonight, and my maid will assist you in the dressing.”