Page 38 of A Momentary Marriage

Laura looked over at James in his bed. She wished she had the aid of his cool, incisive mind now. He coughed, and somehow that made Laura cough, too. She stiffened. She had coughed a few times today, but had thought nothing of it. Her head ached. She had attributed it to the strain of her situation, the stiff neck from sleeping in the chair.

But what if those symptoms came from something else? She had been closed in this room with James for two days. She hadn’t handled the breathing treatment before now; Owen or Walter had helped James. So the treatment couldn’t have affected her. She could be only imagining that her mild symptoms were like James’s. But if she was not, it would mean that there was something in this room that caused it. Something that had originally made James ill. If she remembered correctly, simply breathing in the vapors was hazardous.

Laura glanced around the room. It wouldn’t be in plain sight. Otherwise James would have seen it, or certainly one of the servants would have noticed it when they were cleaning. She opened the wardrobe and each of the drawers in the dresser even though enclosed spaces didn’t seem the likeliest place for it. She lay flat on the floor and checked under the highboy and the nightstands. Last, she turned to the bed, aware of a curious reluctance to search under it even though the high bed would be the best place to hide something. She didn’t really want to find out.

Irritated by her cowardice, she lay down beside the bed. She could see nothing on the floor underneath the bed, but near the head of it, a shallow square object hung from the frame. The bed was so high off the ground that Laura had no problem sliding beneath it. The object she had seen turned out to be a cast-iron pan hanging from wires fastened to the bed.

Laura’s heart hammered. It was too dark to see the contents of the pan, and she had to slide out and set the lamp on the floor beside the bed, then crawl beneath the bed again. It took some contortions to not block the light as she lifted her head to peer into the container. The bottom of the pan was covered with silver liquid.

Laura shot back out as if she had seen a snake. She would have jumped to her feet except her legs were trembling too much. There could be no doubt. Someone had put the mercury there. He had carefully, intentionally fastened it beneath the upper part of James’s bed, where he would breathe it in all night long.

She shuddered with revulsion at the thought of James lying here ill the last few days, all the while breathing in the fatal poison. How could anyone be so cold-blooded?

Even worse, the would-be murderer must be here in the house. A stranger sneaking into James’s bedroom with a pan and a bottle of mercury would have been noticed. Of course, it could have been done by an earlier visitor to Grace Hill. One of Tessa’s admirers, for instance. Laura had several times seen Mr. Netherly pacing up and down the entire length of the hall, apparently lost in communion with his muse. He could easily have slipped in and out of James’s room. But why would he—or any of Tessa’s swains—want to kill James? It would hardly endear them to Tessa.

No, the obvious killer was someone in the family.

What was she to do? How could she fight this? Laura was alone. James was too ill to be of any help, and she had no idea whom she could turn to. However awful the idea was, any of the people around her could be the very person trying to kill James. Not his mother, of course, but Tessa would be of no help in a crisis. Graeme’s home was not far away, but Tessa had said that Graeme was still in London.

No, it was up to her to protect James. Laura shivered. The house seemed dark and cavernous, looming all around her. She had never felt so small and cold. So alone.

James stirred on the bed, muttering. She pushed herself to her feet and leaned over him. He moved his head restlessly on the pillow. His black hair was damp with sweat from his intermittent fevers, and it clung to his skull, making him appear even more gaunt. A saving anger rose up in her. She was not going to let James die.

“James.” When he didn’t respond, she shook his shoulder, saying his name again. Finally his eyes opened. He blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

“James. Listen to me.”

“Laura?” The word was a mere whisper.

“Yes, it’s me. This is very important. I don’t think you have a tumor or brain fever or any of those things.”

He frowned, watching her intently, but in a puzzled way.

“Someone is trying to kill you. You have to help me.” She took one of his hands between hers. “You understand? You have to hang on. Don’t give in, no matter how hard it is. Because I’m not going to let them have you.”

In the light of the lamp his eyes flashed with silver, and his hand tightened on hers.

chapter 16

“We need to get you out of here.” Even if she removed the pan from the bed, the fumes might linger. Opening the windows to air out the room wasn’t an option in a sick man’s room. It was spring, but the nights were still cool.

James nodded and pushed himself up and out of the bed. He had to grasp the bedpost to keep from wobbling, but his face was set in an expression Laura was coming to know well. All he said was, “Where?”

“My room. It’ll be easiest.” She slipped an arm around his waist and they started forward.

Demosthenes jumped up when she opened the door. Seeing James, his tail began to wag and he pressed against him. With the mastiff on one side and Laura on the other, they walked down the hall to Laura’s bedchamber. Their progress was slow and slightly weaving, but they made it to her door without running into anything along the way.

Laura left James on the chair just inside her door, Demosthenes beside him, while she returned to his bedroom to set up the scene. She intended to keep her discovery of the poison secret. If the would-be killer realized his trick had been discovered, he might try something else or get rid of evidence. But if he thought this was a temporary move and James would return, he would simply wait. He might even be complacent enough to give himself away.

She removed the evidence of the shattered bottle, wiping up the liquid and wrapping the broken glass in the towel with the mercury, but she left the pan hanging beneath the bed. She had a moment’s pause, concerned that others might be exposed to the fumes. But if James was no longer there, no one would go to his room except for the brief time maids might come in to dust.

Next she poured a cup of water from the jug and tossed the contents onto the bed, artfully leaving the cup on its side on the covers. It would be perfectly reasonable to move James if she had clumsily spilled a drink, soaking the mattress.

Casting a last glance around the room, she repacked her medical bag and carried it and the towel containing the ruined bottle back to her own room. Dog and man were waiting patiently by the door, James leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, and Dem sitting with his great head resting on James’s lap.

James levered himself up, and they made their halting way to the bed. As she reached out with one hand to whisk down the bedcovers, James said, “Dear Laura, if you wanted me in your bed, you had only to ask.”

She grimaced at him. “No doubt you’ll go to your maker with a smirk on your face. But I don’t intend for that to happen anytime soon.”