Page 78 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
“Then a typical Thursday morning for you?” Heinrich had evidently been invited to far too many of my parties. He stroked his beard. “It’s my understanding that he gave you an emetic, followed by charcoal. But it does not explain your swift recovery. I’ve spoken with him at length, and there’s no medical reason for it. At least none I can fathom. The man truly is an extraordinarily gifted healer.”
“Yes, I’ve firsthand experience it seems.”
He laughed again. “I can tell. Unfortunately, I believe you and Miss Smythe were destined to be the killer’s next victims.”
I shifted on the mattress, body stiff from being in one spot too long. “Why is that?”
“You both seemed to have ingested water dropwort.”
I blinked and shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
He paused and clarified. “Water hemlock. In quantity enough, it ought to have killed the both of you straight off. There is no reason on this earth either of you ladies should be alive today. The fact Mr. Kivell found you on the moor is a miracle. That he managed to save you out there, now that is… quite remarkable.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. Water hemlock… “You mean like Mr. Martin’s cow?”
“So Mr. Kivell tells me. It appears you and Miss Smythe are two extraordinarily lucky young women. I did some reading on it as well. I also have reason to believe that it’s the same poison as killed your baronet.”
“How can you tell?”
“You see, one of the side effects of the poison is that itcontorts the face into a sardonic smile. I asked Mr. Kivell after he mentioned the dropwort and he described a very similar expression on the baronet.”
I nodded numbly. “It doesn’t make sense. None. The two failed attempts, and one… whatever it was that happened with the boys… they don’t match any of the others. What I don’t understand is why would someone want to kill me? And what does Miss Smythe have to do with this?”
His mustache twitched in amusement. “My dear Miss Vaughn, I think the real question is whoherewould want to kill you?”
I shot him a cross look, but he wasn’t incorrect in his assessment. I’d lived rather freely after the war, of that I’d admit, and while I had my share of detractors, I hadn’t quite made any enemies. Oh, fine. A few. But none who would bother killing me. “Parsnips…” I murmured. “Doesn’t the root look like parsnips?”
“Of water hemlock? Yes, why do you ask?”
“Sir Edward had parsnips for supper the night I arrived. I only recall because Tamsyn cannot abide them. And the way he bit into it.” I shuddered at the memory, which came back in a flash. “And then he felt ill… it all fits perfectly. I think you must be correct. But how would it get into his food? You can’t think Mrs. Penrose did it. The poor woman was white as a ghost the morning she found him.”
“It’s an easy enough mistake to be made, someone slips the root in with the other vegetables. The person who prepared the dish might not be any the wiser.”
“But then that would mean the killer didn’t care who they killed…” I sank heavily back into the pillows and inhaled. The room smelled sweetly of sage and mint. I closed my eyes as my head was beginning to ache again. “When is Ruan returning?”
“I’m not his keeper. But speaking of the fellow, I did learn something curious about him while you were asleep. Did you know that you and he are exactly the same age?”
“Is that so? Did you sit down and spend your afternoons chitchatting over tea while waiting on me to die?”
He chuckled low and reached into his pocket, pulling out Dr. Quick’s old notebook. “You were born November fourth, were you not? I seem to recall you telling me that.”
I wasn’t certain how I felt about Dr. Heinrich recalling such minutiae of my life.
“I was bored while you were asleep, thought I’d read the rest of the journal. It seemed there were several births around the same time in the village. It appears, if Quick’s records are correct, that you and Mr. Kivell were born on a full moon. Granted on opposite sides of the world.”
“I had no idea. Mother never kept up with astronomy. Though she did say I was born in the cowl, whatever that is supposed to mean.”
Heinrich made a startled sound, then schooled his expression, setting the journal down on the bedside. “Now, that is curious. It’s rather unusual for a baby to be born that way.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I picked up the book, flipping to November. “You said several births…”
“Four. Which for a village of this size seems a remarkable number. Dr. Quick had quite the busy week.”
And that’s when I found it, barely six hours from my would-be deathbed, with the brilliant August light streaming in the window and birdsong filtering through my still-clouded thoughts. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. The connection I’d been seeking had been there all along, I just hadn’t read far enough in the journal to know. Because two pages after the doctor noted the healthy birth of one Ruan Kivell, seventh son of Arthur and Elizabeth Kivell, was a very curious note.
Went to Penryth Hall. Pt. delivered of a boy. No complications. Ordinary presentation.
A simple line of text. I had likely skimmed over it in the past, not paying any note at all, aside from the fact that a nameless child was delivered to a nameless woman at Penryth Hall some eight days after Ruan was born.
