Page 43 of The Trouble With Titles
Trafford cleared his throat. “I may have misspoken. I mean to say … Lady Trafford is a skilled physician.”
“This is … your wife?”
“No time for this. I need to lift him.” The pragmatic tone of the viscountess brought Simon’s reeling senses back to the present priority. John was an alarming shade of gray mottled with red that spoke to the urgency of the moment as he wheezed in pained hysteria. Simon slid an arm under his brother’s back to lift him to a half-sitting position. Lady Trafford quickly pulled the coat and waistcoat off in sections with Simon adjusting his hold. Finally, she grabbed hold of John’s linen shirt and lifted it off in two stages as Simon moved his arm.
“Lower him.”
Simon complied, following her gaze to see she was noting large purple and dark brown splotches that marred John’s torso. He frowned at the discolorations, which appeared to be chronic. “What is it?”
The viscountess failed to respond, leaning down to sniff at John’s skin. “Lord Blackwood, it is rather early in the day. Did you consume garlic at breakfast?”
John’s eyes displayed his terror as he continued to wheeze, but he shook his head.
She turned her silver gaze to Simon. “Was dinner heavily seasoned with garlic?”
“No. John does not much care for it, so Cook only applies light quantities to our meals. What is it?”
She leaned down to peer into John’s eyes. “My lord, what medicines do you take?”
“Some … laudanum … Nothing …else.”
“Any skin creams?”
John shook his head, his confusion evident. Lady Trafford pulled back to address Simon.
“And, Mr. Scott, to your knowledge, does anyone else in your home suffer from the symptoms of his lordship? Chest pains, coughing, shortness of breath, the odor of garlic, changes in skin pigmentation on the front, back, limbs, soles, or palms?”
Simon shook his head. He was still in shock to see the state of John’s skin beneath his clothes and frantic that his brother had not informed him of how poor his health was.
“Pins and needles, abdominal pain, swelling or reddening of the skin, or white spots?”
“No ill health, to my knowledge. My younger brother has issues from old injuries, but nothing else.”
“And Lord Blackwood has a physician?”
Considering the emergency, Simon thought it would not be the time to mince words. “White is an ancient, drug-peddlingquack. I doubt he can diagnose an illness which requires any judgment.” It was true—the evidence was bared. Dr. White was useless if his brother was in this condition, and the physician had never asked such specific questions.
Lady Trafford cocked her head, staring down at the discoloration. “I am afraid we need to empty his lordship’s stomach with some urgency. It will not be … pleasant.”
John reached up to grab her wrist, staring up with terror in his eyes. “Wh … why?” he croaked out.
“You have been poisoned, Lord Blackwood. Gradually and for some time, by my estimation.”
Simon’s jaw dropped open as he leaned back on his heels to rake his hair in anguish. “What?”
“Lord Blackwood has consumed arsenic for some time. See how some of the discolorations appear older than others? If you lean down, you can smell the odor of garlic seeping from his pores. If no one else in the household has any of these symptoms, it would suggest that Lord Blackwood consumes something that the rest of the family does not. We will take him to his rooms, and he must drink large quantities of tepid water with egg white, sugar, and magnesia, which will cause him to … empty his stomach. Who can prepare it while I attend him?”
Simon shook his head in confusion. “One of the servants. I shall call for them.”
Lady Trafford stayed him from rising. “Nay, Mr. Scott.”
Trafford dropped down on his knees beside his wife. “You wish it to be someone who has not been in residence too long?”
Lady Trafford nodded.
“How long, Audrey?” Trafford asked.
“Less than six months.”
