Mistress of Darkness: Dredthorne Hall Book 2 Page 9

  “Wine is not the sweetness that I’m thinking of,” she said, smiling a little as she looked into his eyes and reached for his hand.

  Just the thought of what awaited them upstairs had his shaft swelling again. He grinned at her and raised her hand to his lips. “The papers that my father’s steward sent,” he murmured against her soft skin, “I must at least assure myself that nothing needs my immediate attention.” He gazed at her, the candlelight shimmering in her eyes. “Once that is done, I can assure you that wine will be the last thing on my mind.”

  Chapter 12

  Gwen got into her bed in her sleeping shift, pulled the blankets up over her, and waited for Robert. It was a strange feeling, waiting for him in her bed. Her heart raced at the thought of seeing him, of feeling him beside her, on top of her, and in her. It was exciting and wanton but also not a little frustrating as she listened for his footsteps.

  His bundle of papers had been thick, but he’d said he would only attend to something important. She found herself rubbing the back of her hand where he’d kissed it, even as she replayed his words in her mind. Perhaps something had required his immediate action after all.

  As the minutes ticked slowly by, she started to wonder if he’d sought his own chamber. Had he changed his mind? But no, if he’d gone to his own bed chamber, she would have heard him pass by. Perhaps she should go check to see where he was, but the sheets were only now becoming warm. She stretched and tried to stifle a yawn. When had she become so sleepy?

  She woke with a sudden start and saw immediately that she was still alone. How long she’d been asleep she couldn’t tell, but as she sat up, a strange, faint scent tickled her nose.

  Quickly she donned her dressing gown and went out into the hall. She smelled smoke.

  “Fire,” she gasped. Something downstairs was on fire. “Fire!” she screamed as she dashed down the steps. “Fire! Robert, where are you?”

  At the bottom of the stairs, she could see that smoke was coming from his library. “Robert,” she screamed as she flew through the open doorway.

  He was slouched in his chair, head dangling off to the side. The curtains at the window behind him were on fire.

  “Miss!” Parks yelled behind her.

  “Parks, thank God!” She pointed behind him. “Bring the fire buckets from the living room hearth.”

  As the flames crept along the floor, Gwen ran to Robert. She screamed his name and shook him as hard as she could. “Wake up,” she pleaded. “Please, Robert!”

  Though he stirred, he didn’t wake.

  Parks dashed past her and flung the sand on the floor and then on the curtains, while she tugged Robert out of his chair and onto the rug in front of it. Grasping him under the shoulders, she hauled him backward with her. He was much heavier than she thought he would be, but every muscle in her body strained to pull him to safety. With each laborious tug, she gained another precious inch.

  When she spared a glance for the fire, all she could see was smoke. Had Parks managed to put it out? As if in answer to her question, he emerged from the thick cloud, coughing, only to run past her to the kitchens. He must be going to get water, she thought, tugging Robert’s leaden body along the ground. The fire must still be burning. It occurred to her then that she might have to drag him out of the house. Though her back ached, she redoubled her effort.

  “Gwen?” she heard Robert murmur, but his voice was thick and the words slurred. “What is happening?”

  “Thank God you’re alive,” she gasped, panting hard, still dragging him slowly to the door.

  Parks ran past again, with two pails of water. She heard the hiss of them hitting the fire and the sound of him stamping. But after a minute, he was at her side.

  “Is the fire out?” she gasped.

  “Yes,” Parks choked out. “But we must escape this smoke.” Coughing, he grasped the lapels of Robert’s coat and quickly dragged him into the hallway.

  Finally, well clear of the library, he let Robert back down and Gwen fell to her knees beside him. His eyes were closed and he had still not moved.

  “Robert,” she tried again, “please wake up.”

  “Hmmm?” she heard him murmur and his eyebrows lifted, though his eyes remained shut. “Is that you Gwen?”

  Why was his speech slurred? How could she rouse him? As a thought occurred to her, she whispered a brief apology, then slapped his face with the full force of her open hand.

  “What?” he exclaimed, as his eyes flew open. They finally focused on her. “Gwen? What are you–” He saw Parks on his other side, and then his nostrils flared. “Fire,” he said, struggling to sit up. “There’s a fire.”

  “I’ve put it out, master,” Parks said, helping him.

  Relief surged through her. “It was in your library, Robert,” Gwen told him. “We only just managed to rescue you.”

  “Rescue me?” he muttered and shook his head as if to clear it. His voice was sounding more firm. “Yes. I heard you but I couldn’t rouse myself. It felt as if all of my limbs were made of lead.”

  Parks exchanged a look with her, before addressing Robert. “Perhaps too much whiskey, sir?”

  “I had no whiskey,” Robert said, his words less slurred, but still not right. “Help me up.”

  As he leaned on them, they helped him to stand. But it was clear he couldn’t stay upright without their help.

  “All right,” Gwen said. “Parks, help me get Mr. Sheraton to his bed. Then you must go for the doctor.” Both of them took one of his arms around their shoulders.

  “Doctor?” Robert said, as they helped him up the stairs. “Doctor?”

  “Yes, Robert,” Gwen said, panting again with the effort of supporting him. “I think you’ve been given some sort of drug.”

  * * *

  Dr. Thackery had come, huffing and puffing, in the small hours of the night. Gwen quickly introduced herself before leading him upstairs.

  “Parks tells me you suspect a drug,” the older man said, not bothering to take off his coat.

  “Yes, doctor,” she said, as they climbed. “Despite the fact that his library was on fire, he was very difficult to rouse.”

  “Right,” he said as they reached the top. “Parks told me what happened.”

  Robert lay on his bed where she and Parks had lain him. Though he was conscious, he was still drowsy and slow of movement. The doctor set his bag down on the bed and threw off his coat.

  “Mr. Sheraton,” he said, loudly, “do you know who I am?”

  “Dr. Thackery,” Robert responded. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Gwen had to smile a little. The last few hours had been harrowing. As she’d sat by his bedside, she’d watched for even the smallest indication that he might be fading. But his breathing had never faltered and he’d alternately woken and fallen asleep.

  “Bring me that candle,” he ordered Gwen, pointing at it.

  As she brought it to him, Thackery didn’t take it but leaned over Robert and motioned her to come closer. With a deft and practiced movement, the doctor thumbed Robert’s right eye open wide. Then he did the same to the left.

  “Mmm hmm,” he said nodding.

  “What is it?” Gwen asked.

  Ignoring her, he said to Robert, “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” As the doctor examined it, Gwen was relieved to see that it looked normal—at least she thought it did.

  As the doctor straightened, he shooed her back. “Out of my way.” He opened his bag and took out a stethoscope. Placing the earpieces in his ears, he put the listening end under Robert’s shirt and stood still, seeming to concentrate. “Mmm hmm,” he muttered again.

  Gwen rolled her eyes, almost beyond patience with the man. Why could he not just tell her his findings?

  “Send for Parks,” he told her.

  Quickly she set the candle back down on the nightstand and raced out the door—and nearly collided with the valet.

  “Yes, Miss,” he said a bit sheepishly. “I heard th
e doctor.”

  “And I hear you,” Thackery called to him. “Fetch me a bottle of brandy.” She and Parks exchanged puzzled looks. “Make sure it’s unopened,” Thackery added, more loudly. “And bring a glass.”

  When Gwen returned to the bed, Robert had closed his eyes again and the doctor was rummaging in his leather bag. From it he withdrew a dark brown bottle that rattled with the sound of tablets within.

  Obviously the man knew something, or at least suspected it. She could no longer contain herself. “Doctor, please, do you have any idea what has happened?”

  He paused, scowling his reproach at her. “Well you said it yourself, didn’t you? He’s been drugged, or more precisely, sedated.”

  Parks’ footsteps pounded up the steps but slowed to a walk as he entered the room, breathing hard. “Brandy, doctor.”

  “Inspect the seal,” he told Gwen then motioned to Parks. “Give me the glass.”

  Gwen took the bottle and examined the round cork and the thin strip of paper glued to it. Both appeared to be in perfect condition and untouched. “I don’t believe it’s ever been opened.”

  The doctor nodded and held out his hand for it. He wasted no time in opening the bottle, looking down inside, and then sniffing it. “Mmm hmm,” he said, and then poured a little in the glass. As Gwen watched, she realized that the glass held some sort of crystals, not tablets.

  He roused Robert and held the glass to his lips. “Drink this,” he ordered. “All of it.” As Robert opened his mouth, the doctor expertly tipped the contents of the glass in. “Swallow.”

  As Robert obeyed, his eyes opened wide and he coughed, sputtering. “What in God’s name?” He sat up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  Gwen went to his side. “Robert, be careful. Let me–”

  “Let him be,” the doctor said, as Robert coughed again. Thackery seemed to take no notice but instead added more crystals from the bottle and then some brandy. This time he handed him the glass.

  “Again,” he said. “All of it.”

  Though Robert gave him a baleful glare, he did as he was told, followed by another round of coughing. But when he could catch his breath, he said, “What is this vile concoction?”

  “Ammonium carbonate,” Thackery said, replacing the bottle’s stopper. He glanced at all of them, and apparently seeing their confusion added, “Smelling salts.”

  “Smelling salts?” Robert barked and put a hand to his throat. To Gwen’s astonishment—and great relief—he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you trying to poison me?”

  “Oh quite to the contrary,” the doctor assured him and fixed his gaze on Gwen. “He was indeed sedated. You were quite right to call for me. He’ll be fine now.”

  Her aching shoulders sagged at his reassurance.

  “I don’t understand,” Robert said, setting the glass down with a look of revulsion. “How does drinking smelling salts, of all things, help?”

  “Ammonia counteracts the laurel water,” the doctor said simply, as if everyone should know that fact.

  “Laurel water, sir?” Parks asked. “Begging your pardon, doctor, but how do you know it was laurel water?”

  “The smell on Mr. Sheraton’s breath,” the doctor said, packing his bag. “It was almonds.”

  “The port,” Robert whispered. He looked at Gwen. “While I was examining my father’s papers I poured a glass of port. I only took one sip.” He looked at the doctor. “It tasted…off.”

  The doctor snorted as he put on his coat. “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Do we keep this laurel water in the hall?” Gwen asked, looking between Parks and Robert.

  The valet nodded. “Cherry laurel water for coughs and insomnia. It’s in the medical closet.”

  The doctor picked up his bag and gave Robert a long look. “I cannot prove that you were sedated, Mr. Sheraton, not without proper tests. But I would stake my reputation on it.” He headed toward the door. “Parks, fetch my rig.”

  “Wait,” Gwen said, hurrying after him. “Dr. Thackery, do you know who treated Mrs. Thorne?”

  The doctor frowned, looking from her back to Robert. “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Thorne,” Gwen said, “the wife of the original owner of the hall. I believe she fell ill and died. What did she die from?”

  The doctor looked positively baffled. “The original owner of Dredthorne? I can assure you, Miss Archer, that despite my appearances, the founding of the hall was well before my time.” He took out his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, the hour is late and I have another appointment.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Robert said to Thackery’s back. “Send your bill directly.”

  The doctor snorted. “You can be sure of it.”

  Keeping one hand on the bed, Robert slowly stood. Gwen went to him and immediately found herself wrapped in his embrace. “Gwen,” he whispered into her hair. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” she said, hugging him fiercely, and the tension in her body finally released. Her eyes burning, she buried her face in his chest and quietly began to cry.

  Robert’s hand stroked her back as he said, “My poor, Gwen. It’s been awful for you. You must be exhausted.” She could only nod. “I have you to thank for my life,” he said quietly.

  “And Parks,” she said with a sniff. “It took us both to pull you out of the library.” She paused and pulled back to look up at him. “Oh, your father’s papers. I don’t know if–”

  He pulled her back against his warm broad chest—not that she resisted for a moment. “The documents will wait,” he said. “Sleep will not. Let me close the door.”

  As he did, she removed her dressing gown. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d put it on in her room. He peeled back the covers for her and she gratefully slid in, the sheets still warm from his body lying on top. He snuffed out the candle, and she heard him disrobe.

  The same excitement that she’d felt when she’d waited for him in her bed returned, but the weariness of worry and exertion had sunk deep into her bones. When he got into bed, she instantly tucked herself against his side. As he wrapped his arm around her, she sighed deeply and smiled against his smooth skin, and then sleep claimed her before she could draw her next breath.

  Chapter 13

  As Gwen slowly opened her eyes, she almost had to squint. The morning sun had risen high above the horizon, its bright light spreading across the silk bed covering, over the wool rug, as it filled the room. She stretched, her muscles aching from the exertion of the previous night—not exactly the kind of exertion she’d been planning. Though the evening had been far from what she’d envisioned, today was a new day. A mischievous smile crept over her face as she rolled over, but her smile disappeared when she found the bed empty.

  She pushed herself upright and scanned about. The bedchamber was empty as well. “Robert?”

  He poked his head out of the dressing room. “Gwen, you’re awake.” His smile was radiant and his dark eyes sparkled, particularly in the warm sunlight. “Good morning.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her. “Good morning.”

  “I have the distinct feeling it’s going to be a good day,” he said, still looking at her from the dressing room. She realized with some disappointment that he was already dressed.

  She smiled a little quizzically at him before patting the bed next to her. “I’m sure you’re right,” she replied, but to her consternation, he didn’t move.

  Instead, he waggled his eyebrows and said, “I’ve found something.” Then he disappeared again into the dressing room.

  Found something? What could he have possibly found in–

  Gwen’s heart leapt to her throat as she threw the bedding aside and jumped to the floor. She only remembered to grab her dressing gown at the last moment.

  “What is it?” she said breathless, joining him in the small room.

  “Look for yourself,” he said, pointing with a pen knife. There was something stuck in the wood of
the wall’s paneling. “If you stand aside, the sunlight will come in.”

  As she did so, the object there positively glinted. “It couldn’t be a nail, could it? Perhaps one that’s bent on its side? It’s so shiny.”

  “We’re going to find out,” he said, his voice as excited as she felt. “But I had to fetch the pen knife. Whatever it is, it’s wedged in tightly.”

  Using the tip of the small blade, he began to chip away at the wood paneling around the object. She waited in suspense as he worked the knife in a tiny circle around it, moving so carefully he might have been a surgeon. As she watched, the tiny wood splinters fell to the floor, and a vague, if rough, outline began to form. She had not been far off the mark when she thought it might be a nail bent on its side. Finally he began to dig beneath it, using the blade as a lever. With a small pop, the shiny object sprang from the wall and landed on the floor at her feet.

  She picked it up. “Why, it’s an earring,” she said, astonished.

  Though the hook had been lost, there was no doubt it was an earring. It would have dangled from the ear, long and incredibly ornate. Perhaps two dozen small, circular stones were arranged in what appeared to be a cascade of flowers. She held it up to the sun, watching as small rainbows danced inside them. Now she could see that most of the stones were crystal clear, but some had yellowish and pink castes.

  “Heavens,” she said. “I do believe these might be diamonds.” She laid it in his outstretched hand.

  After a few moments examining it, he looked up at her grinning. “I believe you’re right. It is a diamond earring, and a rather elaborate one.” He glanced over his shoulder at the small divot he’d left in the paneling. “The question then becomes, how on earth did it get there?”

  “And who did it belong to?” she added as a new dread settled in her chest. “Robert, someone tried to kill you last night. I think the owner of this earring, whoever it may be, could be responsible.”