Celeste eased the door closed. What the gentry did was truly none of her affair. Although why a husband would send his valet to check on his wife instead of coming to see her himself was more than she could say.
Feeling quite weary from all the excitement and work, and more than a little nauseated from the cleanup, Celeste headed down the stairs to do what she could for the floral arrangement. Martha and Betty in the hall, cleaning when she came down into the entry foyer.
“How is she?” Betty blurted out.
“Well enough. The barley tisane stayed down. His Grace has sent Warner to inquire about her, and I am no longer needed.”
“Sent Warner.” Martha frowned. “That doesn’t seem a likely thing.”
“Be it far from me to worry about what the gentry do.” Celeste began to pluck the dead leaves and blossoms out of a dying bouquet. With any luck, she would be able to coax it into a semblance of life for another day or two.
She was absorbed in her work when Benny and Brodie came running up to her, yapping ferociously. “What has gotten into you, silly beasts.”
Brodie took hold of Celeste’s skirt and began tugging on it, while Benny made a tremendous racket with his barking. He then dashed part way up the stair, then back down it, alternately whining and barking.
“Whatever is all that about?” Miss Sedgewick asked.
“I don’t know. He certainly is excited. They seem to want something.”
As soon as Celeste started moving, the dogs dashed ahead of her, then back, making sure she was following. Miss Sedgewick and Betty followed as well. The terriers ran through the library, and then started barking and scratching at the door of the Duke’s sleeping chamber.
“Your Grace! Your Grace! Jonathan!” Celeste called.
There was a hoarse strangled cry and a muffled thump. She tried the handle, but it was locked.
Miss Sedgewick said, “Allow me!” Selecting a key from a bundle at her waist, she unlocked and opened the door.
The Duke was sprawled the side of the bed. He was still dressed in the clothing he had worn the day before. Bits of vegetable matter clung to the side of his face and his clothing. Some of it was in his hair. He tried to rise, to speak, but one side of his face and body seemed to be paralyzed.
Celeste rushed to his side, but he feebly tried to wave her off. When she touched one of the vegetable bits, her finger tingled, then went numb. “Poison!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to get him up out of this.” She tugged at him, but he was much too heavy for her slender strength.
“I’ll get the footman and send for Mr. McAhmladhson,” Betty said.
Miss Sedgewick pulled on her white housekeeping gloves and began picking the bits of bloom and stem off the Duke’s face. “Put your gloves on, Celeste. If it is what I think it is, we haven’t a moment to lose.”
Celeste pulled on her gloves, and helped push the Duke up into a sort of sitting position, getting his exposed skin away from the clinging bits of plant. They had just gotten all of it off his face, and Celeste was picking it out of his hair, when Mr. McAhmladhson appeared at the door. Understanding almost at once what was needed, the steward picked the Duke up, moving him out of the scattered petals.
“It’s monkshood,” he said. “Send for Gran’ther Tim, Dr. Dermott and Sister Agatha. The Duke is being poisoned.” Miss Sedgewick moved to the door of the bed chamber, and shortly there could be the sound of running footsteps.
“I think he must have slept in it,” Celeste said. “It doesn’t look as if he even undressed last night.”
“That tired, I suspect, and that worthless valet never anywhere to be found when needed. He only keeps him on to please the Duchess, although it is beyond me why she wants to keep the lout on staff.”
Mr. McAhmladhson staggered a little as he tried to pick up the Duke, for the two men were nearly the same size. He was able to get him upright. The Duke managed to rest most of his weight on the leg that was not yet affected. Celeste nipped in under the bad arm, draping it about her and helping Mr. McAhmladhson support the Duke’s weight.
Then David Hammonds came dashing in, followed by two more footmen. They managed to get the Duke into a chair carry, and took him into the library.
As they laid him on the leather sofa, the Duke’s body spasmed, seeming to try to curl toward the side that was paralyzed. “Miss Singer!” Mr. McAhmladhson said, “Go meet the doctor and the others. Mr. Hammonds is too slow, we have not a moment to lose.”
“We’ll have to undress him,” David said. “He has bits of it down his collar, and it has probably worked its way into his clothing.
Celeste hastened down the broad front staircase to meet the doctor, Sister Agatha, and Gran’ther Tim. She was surprised to see that the party was increased by the addition of Inspector Ravensgard, Constable McHenry, and two young men whom she had never seen before.
She did not waste time asking for introductions, however. She hurried them toward the library. Mr. Hammonds fell in at the rear of the party, making as much as he could.
As soon as they entered the library, one of the unknown young men took a pair of pigskin gloves out of his pocket and began helping Mr. McAhmladhson and David undress the Duke.
Constable McHenry touched Celeste’s arm. “Best to wait outside, Miss. He’ll not want you to see him like this.”
