“You are trying to kill Max,” Eugenia snapped, terrified and angry in her turn. “Why? Why would you kill him? He is your son, Lord Wilmot’s own brother.”
“He isnotmy son,” Duchess Augusta retorted, furious. “As for why, that should be obvious. With him dead, my true son inherits the titles and wealth of the Bromenville estates. With him out of the way, the Whitingtons will consent to marry Lady Helena to Wilmot.”
“No,” Eugenia gasped, horrified. “You cannot.”
The Duchess smiled. “I can and I will. By right of blood, as next in line, Wilmot will be the Duke of Bromenville.”
Eugenia turned her face toward Wilmot. “You would murder your ownbrother?”
For a moment, Wilmot’s expression appeared torn between guilt and anguish. “I – I do what she says,” he whispered.
“You can stop this, My Lord,” Eugenia said, desperate, struggling to get out of his grip. “Do not do this, it is not too late.”
“It is too late, my dear,” Duchess Augusta replied, sneering. “Wilmot, lock her in a storage closet. We will deal with her later.” She laughed. “Perhaps we will pin the blame of Maximilian’s death on her. Would that not be a treat? Then we can watch her hang.”
Eugenia, still kicking and protesting, was dragged by Wilmot down the corridor, hoping someone would happen by to stop this from happening. Even a footman on an errand might be enough of a witness to alarm Wilmot into letting her go. “Surely you do not want my death on your conscience, too,” she said, as he opened the door to a small closet and shoved her inside.
She caught a quick glimpse of his face, devoid of all expression, before he shut the door. “I do what she tells me,” he said, then slammed it closed.
“No,” she screamed, beating her hands on the stout wood. “Let me out. Let me go.”
Ceasing her ineffectual struggles to get the door opened, Eugenia pressed her ear against the wood to listen. Wilmot’s footsteps echoed on the stone as he walked down the corridor.
Where the hell is Mr. Oldman?
Though he must have been delayed in catching up to her, she knew he should be searching for her by now.
Please look for me down here. Do not assume I have gone back upstairs to Lady Helena.
Beating her hands against the door, Eugenia’s fear grew. Why were no servants around to hear her? Where was Mr. Oldman? Panic filled her as she realized she might not be found and released from this room before Maximilian was poisoned. Monkshood. A deadly poison. The Duchess would put it in his tea, and Maximilian would die in agony in front of witnesses who would absolve the Duchess and her son of all blame. She had no fear for her own safety at the wicked hands of mother and son. Only the fear for Maximilian consumed her.
Long minutes passed. How long had she been in there? Eugenia did not know but realized that with every one of them that passed, Maximilian’s life drew closer to death. There was no handle on the inside of the door, but she inspected the hinges, hoping to find a way to open the door that way. Unfortunately, without tools, she could not take it off the hinges. Beating on the door again, she screamed, “Let me out!”
Surely Mr. Oldman has gone to Lady Helena’s rooms and not found me by now. Come back looking for me, please.
“Let me out,” she yelled. “Somebody, let me out of here.”
“Miss Betham?”
Mr. Oldman!“In here,” she screamed. “Open the door, hurry.”
Hearing trotting footsteps draw closer, Eugenia felt blessed relief wash through her as the door swung open.
“Miss Betham,” Mr. Oldman said, “what happened?”
Rushing out, Eugenia gasped over her shoulder, running, “It is the Duchess and Lord Wilmot. They plan to poison the Duke.”
“What?”
“I will explain later. Come on.”
Hoping and praying she was not too late, Eugenia, with Mr. Oldman at her side, ran down the corridor toward the dining hall. The doors were closed, indicating that the meal had begun. Near tears, frightened out of her mind that she was too late, she threw the doors open. Maximilian, a teacup in his hand, glanced up in surprise as she rushed across the wide hall toward him. Only the sight of him with that horrible cup filled her view. She saw nothing else.
“What –” he began.
Eugenia slapped the cup from his hand. “Do not touch it,” she screamed. “Did you drink from it? Did you?”
“No, Euge – Miss Betham –”
