Chapter Seventeen
Poison. Duncan had been thinking it from the moment he heard Johnny say he didn’t like the taste of the porridge. Porridge was bland and the taste didn’t vary from day to day. He’d eaten more of Michaud’s porridge than he liked to remember. There was no reason this boy, who had probably been eating it since the age of one, should suddenly dislike it.
Unless someone had added something to it.
Something like poison. “We don’t want to alarm the household,” Duncan said. The last thing they needed was the culprit running away before they could determine who it had been.
Lucy nodded. “Say nothing of our suspicions but tell the prime minister to send a rider for the doctor posthaste.”
“I’ll come back after I speak to his lordship.” Duncan started away, but Lucy hissed, “Wait.” She ran to the table where she’d placed the salvaged cup and bowl. Take these with you. I don’t trust that they’ll still be here if I turn my back.”
Duncan took them without a word. They’d discuss this further, but it would have to wait. Right now they needed a doctor.
Lord and Lady John were still abed, according to Lady John’s maid, who tried to bar Duncan from their bed chamber. Duncan, who was aware one false word could alarm everyone, said the only thing he could think of in that moment. “Molly said half of Lady John’s laundry was stolen from the clothesline.”
“What?” The blood drained from the face of the lady’s maid, and her eyes went round.
“She’s trying to sort it out now. Something about her best calico?”
“Oh, dear.” The maid hiked up her skirts and ran down the stairs. Duncan waited until she was out of sight before tapping on the bed chamber door and entering. He kept his eyes down, just in case, but as nothing in the room stirred, it appeared the couple were still sleeping.
“My lord,” Duncan said.
“Eh?” came a sleepy voice from the bed. “Branson?”
“No, my lord. It’s Duncan Slor—Smith. I need you to send for a doctor.” Duncan didn’t wait for an answer. He crossed to the bellpull and yanked it. “Have McAlpin send the fastest rider.”
“Who is ill?” Lord John asked, sitting. Beside him, Lady John pulled the covers to her chin.
“Master John.”
Lady John bolted upright. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s no time for that. Send for the doctor and tell McAlpin the boy has a tummy ache. Nothing more.”
“But I need to know—” Lady John started.
“Shh,” her husband said as another knock sounded on the door before the valet entered. “Fetch McAlpin. Tell him we need a doctor. Now. My son has an upset stomach.”
“Yes, my lord.” The valet gave Duncan a long look then hurried back out.
Duncan made to follow. “I’ll be in the nursery.”
