The Ivory Rose (18 page)

‘I didn’t have any choice, remember?’ retorted Jemma. ‘You dragged me downstairs and locked me in the coal cellar, hoping I’d be nibbled by rats. Next time, remind me it’s not
respectable
to be downstairs in a nightgown and I’ll dress appropriately.’

Connie guffawed with laughter, then hurriedly choked it back.

Agnes opened her mouth and shut it again. She picked up the milk pail and hurried off to put it away in the icebox.

Jemma walked into the kitchen to find Agnes fussing over a tea tray. There was a bowl of steaming gruel, a white damask napkin, a silver napkin ring and a glass of water. Agnes was hurriedly stirring the gruel with the spoon.

‘Oh, Jemima,’ Agnes said. ‘Good. Take this corn meal gruel up to Miss Georgiana. Make sure she eats it all. It took me awhile to prepare this meal, and I don’t want to see it wasted. Gruel is just what that child needs with her delicate stomach.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jemma replied, picking up the tray. ‘I’ll stay until she’s finished it.’

Georgiana was sitting up in bed, staring wistfully out the window.

‘Hello, Jemma. What horrible-looking mush have you brought me today?’

Jemma laughed, peering at the bowl, which looked suspiciously like hot glue.

‘Some sort of foul gloop,’ replied Jemma, grinning. ‘I think Agnes called it gruel. And she gave me strict orders not to leave you until you’ve finished every drop. She thought it would be good for your delicate little tummy!’

Georgiana smiled. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll take hours to eat it, then you can stay and keep me company. Besides, I haven’t been sick since you came to stay.’

‘That’s probably because we’ve been tipping your medicine out the window,’ joked Jemma. ‘I must say, you do look so much better than you did when I first came.’

Georgiana stretched. ‘I’d feel even better if I could escape from this room, get outside and run in the gardens of Kentville again,’ she complained. ‘Wasn’t it fun? And isn’t Ned nice? I think he likes you …’

Jemma busied herself stirring the gruel, battling the flush spreading up her neck.

‘Well, come on. We’d better get this over with,’ Jemma suggested. ‘Here’s a spoonful of Agnes’s famous gloopy, gluey, gooey, glutinous gruel.’

Georgiana laughed but obediently took a spoonful. Her face grimaced in disgust as she swallowed the mess.

‘Ugh – that’s horrible,’ Georgiana moaned. ‘Can’t I have some real food?’

Jemma smiled. ‘I’ll try to smuggle something nice up to you. Does it help if you hold your nose while you swallow it? I used to do that with medicine.’

Georgiana tried the technique while swallowing two mouthfuls quickly.

She wrinkled her nose and pushed the bowl away. ‘I can’t eat that. I’m not that hungry anyway – unless it was for something worth eating.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Jemma offered. ‘I’ll get rid of it.’

Jemma ran down the stairs stealthily, carrying the bowl of barely touched gruel. She headed through the back door, hoping to scrape the remainder out on the compost heap. Merlin met her at the door, miaowing loudly and rubbing his head against her skirts.

‘Hello, Merlin,’ greeted Jemma, stroking his sleek black back. ‘Are you hungry?’

Merlin replied with an even louder miaow, his tongue pink against his white nose and black fur.

‘Okay, boy,’ Jemma agreed softly. ‘Seems a waste to throw out a good meal. You might as well eat Georgiana’s glutinous gloop!’

She placed the bowl down on the step and Merlin sniffed the gruel cautiously. He thought carefully, then lapped at the gruel.

‘What’re you doing, you idiotic girl?’ barked a voice from behind her. ‘Stop that at once.’

Jemma swung around, guilt written across her face.

Agnes bent down and snatched up the bowl from the step, her face red and sweating. Merlin complained loudly at having his meal removed – he had barely tasted it.

‘I didn’t go to all that trouble to make gruel for the blasted cat,’ scolded Agnes, kicking out at Merlin violently. Merlin yowled and ran to the stables for safety, his fur standing on end. ‘That was for Miss Georgiana. I told you to make sure she ate every drop. Why can’t you follow simple instructions?’

‘I … I …’ stammered Jemma, shocked by the vehemence of the cook’s reaction. Agnes ignored her, scraping the leftover gruel into the garbage pail.

‘That cat is here to catch rats, not eat our precious food,’ continued Agnes, yanking her apron. ‘You feed the cat and it won’t hunt rats, then the rats will eat
our
food – and I don’t slave all day cooking to feed the rats either.’

Agnes spun on her heel and marched back into the house, looking over her shoulder. ‘You can go without supper tonight to teach you to do what I tell you.’

Jemma sighed. Could Agnes be the most unpleasant person she had ever met in her life?

Connie was standing at the kitchen table, ironing an enormous basket of clothes. She had a selection of irons standing in the coals of the hearth to heat. Her face was pink with heat and shone with sweat. She brushed a hank of hair out of her eyes.

Connie gave Jemma a sympathetic smile. She had obviously heard every word of her altercation with Agnes.

‘Would you mind carrying up Miss Georgiana’s ironing for me, please Jemma?’ asked Connie, swapping her cool iron for a hot one. ‘I’m running out of room.’

‘Sure,’ agreed Jemma, picking up the pile of freshly washed and ironed clothes. She breathed deeply the smell of soap, lavender, sunshine and warm cotton.

‘Don’t take any mind of Agnes,’ warned Connie. ‘She hates to see good food wasted.’

Connie sprinkled the sheet with lavender water and smoothed out the crinkles with the hot iron.

‘Then why would she throw it in the garbage? You’d think poor Merlin could at least finish it.’

‘Just to be mean,’ retorted Connie with a laugh. ‘She hates cats, but she hates rats even more.’

Jemma slowly climbed the backstairs to Georgiana’s room, her arms laden with nightgowns, pinafores, petticoats, caps and stockings. Georgiana lay back on the pillows, her face pale and wan. She picked listlessly at the coverlet.

Jemma moved around the room, putting away Georgiana’s things while she chatted.

‘Are you feeling all right, Georgiana?’ asked Jemma, realising that the girl was not answering her. ‘You seem to have become suddenly pale.’

‘I … I don’t feel very well,’ Georgiana said. ‘I don’t think that gruel really agreed with me.’

Georgiana suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach. She gagged violently.

‘Oh, it burns!’ Georgiana whimpered, holding her throat. Then she vomited.

Jemma leapt towards her, throwing the remaining clothes down on the chest of drawers. She grabbed a towel from the washstand and threw it over Georgiana’s lap. Georgiana retched and coughed, gagging on the bitter bile.

Jemma wrung out a cloth in the wash bowl and dabbed Georgiana’s sweaty brow and mouth, concentrating hard not to feel sick herself.

‘Oh,’ Georgiana sobbed. ‘I hate being … sick … I haven’t been sick for days now. I feel terrible.’

‘There, there,’ soothed Jemma. ‘You poor thing. Can I get you a glass of water? Why don’t you clean your teeth – that will make you feel better …’

Georgiana struggled to her feet, holding her stomach with both hands. She collapsed back on the bed, writhing.

‘It hurts,’ she screamed, clutching at Jemma desperately. ‘The pain is terrible. Do something! Please help me.’

Jemma felt a wave of panic engulf her. She stroked Georgiana on the forehead, trying to soothe her. The girl’s skin felt cold and clammy, like the belly of a dead fish. Jemma recoiled.

What’s wrong? Why was Georgiana perfectly fine one moment, then vomiting and thrashing about in agony the next? It doesn’t seem normal.

Georgiana vomited again, and this time there was dark blood mixed with the bile.

Jemma panicked at the sight. ‘Stay here, Georgiana,’ she instructed. ‘I’m going for help.’

Jemma ran down the main stairs, no thought of being silent or invisible.

‘Agnes!’ yelled Jemma. ‘Georgiana is terribly sick. She’s vomiting and screaming in agony. She’s vomiting up blood!’

Agnes leapt to her feet, her face pale. ‘Run and tell Ned to ride for Doctor Anderson,’ she ordered, fumbling for her keys. ‘Tell him to come at once.’

Agnes used her keys to open the pantry, which was usually locked, and reached for some medical bottles on a high shelf.

Jemma obeyed and ran out to the stables, yelling for Ned.

Ned listened carefully to the instructions, then slipped a bridle into Butterscotch’s mouth and vaulted onto her, bareback.

‘I will be as quick as I can,’ Ned promised. ‘Do no’ fret.’

Jemma ran back into the kitchen, where she noticed the pantry door swinging wide. She automatically moved to close it – Agnes normally never left the pantry door unlocked for more than a moment.

As she closed the door she noticed a small box had been knocked to the floor. She picked it up and scanned the label:

With shaking hands, Jemma opened the top of the box. It was half-filled with a grainy powder, not unlike sugar or flour. Jemma carefully sniffed inside – odourless.

Jemma put the rat poison back on the top shelf, her mind churning.

Why would Agnes keep a box of arsenic – a deadly poison – in her pantry? Agnes made Georgiana a bowl of gruel shortly before Georgiana became sick. She was stirring it just before I carried it up? Did Agnes put rat poison in Georgiana’s gruel? Why would Agnes want to kill Georgiana? Is that why she took the gruel away from Merlin?

Jemma felt sick in the stomach. She reached up to the mantelpiece and pulled down
Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management
. She flipped quickly to the pages dealing with first aid. Her hands shaking, she turned to a page marked ‘poisoning’. Her finger scrolled down the page until she found:

Jemma’s hands trembled. Arsenic! It might be too late by the time the doctor arrived – Georgiana might already be dead.

Jemma searched the pantry. She filled a glass with water, stirring in two teaspoons of mustard powder. She filled another glass with milk from the pail in the icebox, then grabbed the bottle of castor oil from the medicine shelf.

She took the stairs two at a time, trying not to spill the potions she carried. Jemma found Agnes bending over Georgiana, who was screaming, her back arching in agony. Jemma’s heart thudded –
what is Agnes doing?

‘Fetch some more towels,’ barked Agnes, swinging around to face Jemma. ‘And go tell Miss Rutherford while I clean up this mess.’

Jemma thought quickly, too frightened to speak.
I have to get Agnes away from Georgiana.

‘Why don’t I clean up the mess, Agnes?’ offered Jemma with a trembling voice. ‘It might be better if you break the news to Miss Rutherford gently. You know how worried she gets about Miss Georgiana. The doctor should be here in a few moments.’

Agnes pondered the vile mess and then nodded. ‘You’re right. We don’t want Miss Rutherford to have one of her nervous fits. That’s to be avoided at all costs.’

Agnes thrust a cloth into Jemma’s hand. ‘Strip the bed and change Georgiana into a clean nightdress. I’ll bring more towels and some rags.’

When Agnes had left the room, Jemma ran to the bed. ‘Georgiana, drink this,’ she urged. Georgiana shook her head adamantly.

‘Please,’ begged Jemma. ‘It will help you. We need to get rid of whatever is making you sick.’

Jemma held Georgiana up behind her shoulders – cajoling, begging, pleading with her to swallow the disgusting mustard brew. Georgiana sipped, gagged, then gulped it down.

Then the vomiting started again. Jemma cried as she cradled Georgiana in her arms, wiping her forehead with wet cloths, mopping her face, her lips, her chin.

‘I’m sorry, Georgiana. I’m so sorry, but I had to make you sick again. It’s for your own good.’

Georgiana finally settled back against the pillows, exhausted, with Jemma on her knees beside the bed.