The Impossible Poisoning.

Chapter 7

The following morning, I realized my toothbrush suspicions couldn't be right. I felt hundreds of times worse. I must have looked worse too, as Hettie sent for the doctor again, a jolly, chatty old man with a beard like an elongated squirrel.

He checked me over again, and, again, deemed that it was just a simple fever, which would get better over the next week. I could just about sense Hettie's worry-I knew that out of all my friends, she was the weakest when it came to not listening to me. Isabel and I were both utterly headstrong, as was Newham, and whether Fisher was headstrong or not didn't matter, as I had upset my sister and that was bad enough for him. Broker just kept his distance.

I had been spending most of my time compiling a list of ways the poison could be getting into my system, and as of then was up to four. I knew I could only remove them one per day, though, since otherwise I wouldn't know which one it was that was actually doing the damage. Two of them were simple, the other slightly trickier, as it was the food and water, which meant I was going to have to go without both for a whole day. I was going to have to manage to eat and drink nothing that was put in front of me, and get away with it. What was worse was, I wasn't sure whether to try it sooner or later. Sooner could sap my strength, but later could kill me, or worse, I'd be too weak to carry it out. Tomorrow, I decided, should be alright.

I then turned my attention to the first item on my list of possible poisons; the scented candle burning brightly in the corner of the room. I needed rid of it. Stat. Granted, it did take me an hour, but I eventually found the strength to stagger across the room to blow it out, smothering the wick and kicking the whole thing under the bed. I then collapsed, exhausted by such a little effort. I was running out of time.

By the following morning, time wasn't the only thing I was running out of. It was clear to everyone around that I was worse again, and I had to put up with all their fussing and their poking and prodding and 'soothing' words like 'You'll be alright soon, Allie" and 'It's just a little fever' when it was plainly obvious to me that I was days away from being dead. I wasn't sure whether they were just trying to kid themselves into believing that I was fine, or whether they actually believed we were safe out here. Hettie, as the one with the closest analytical mind to mine, was the one who was most on edge-although she had never met Stephenson she had the good sense to trust my judgement on him. She was also the one who came to visit me most, although I never asked anything of her. It seemed the best way to stay in everyone's good books was to shut up and pretend to be getting better, which I disliked profusely.

That morning, after I had told Hanson the maid to leave me with my breakfast, I waited weakly until her footsteps had died away, before studying it closely. Two pieces of lightly buttered toast, a bowl of lumpy porridge and a cup of tea. I calmly began dipping the toast into the tea to turn it smushy and mixing it with the porridge. I poared a little extra tea in to make the mixture equally disgusting, before tipping the whole lot on the floor by the bed (it made a gorgeous splat) and putting a little in my mouth, for dramatic effect only. I then proceeded to spit the mixture out of my mouth just as Isabel came hurrying in. Hoping I looked pale enough, I gagged and coughed as she held my hand, rubbing my back like Mother used to do when I was ill as a girl.

"Oh, Allie" my sister sighed tiredly. She seemed to have cooled a little from the previous day, and was happy to look after me now I had apparently stopped thinking I was being poisoned.

"Lie back if you can" she told me soothingly. "I'll get a mop."

The one flaw in my plan, I realized, was that although this looked pretty convincing, it didn't smell so real, and I spent the whole day drifting in and out of consciousness, worrying about whether or not I had got away with my little charade with the breakfast. Nobody seemed to ask, so I didn't comment.

Day Three brought less time for me to carry out my schemes, as more and more of the day now, I was slipping in and out of consciousness. The food and water had drawn a blank, and I was beginning to run out of ideas, and panic, when I had the energy to. Hettie sat almost always by my side now, as my temperature spiralled and rocketed, and my body got weaker. I hoped perhaps she knew now. Knew that someone was very close to killing me. But she never said anything, never did anything to help. I didn't blame her. She was facing up to the fear that one of her oldest friends was a murderer, and frankly, if I had been in her situation I would have been just the same.

But somehow I had to get those bloody flowers out of here.

I wasn't entirely sure when they had arrived, but they had been sitting smirking at me from across the room whenever I'd opened my eyes. Now I was almost out of ideas, and time. They had to go.

"Aren't those flowers dried up now, Het?" I murmured. Hettie looked up, and over to the vase.

"They have been here for a while" she sighed. "Rebecca brought them for you. I could ask her to go and find you some fresh ones, perhaps?"

"Don't trouble her" I smiled faintly. "This is her house, after all."

"Right" Hettie nodded, seemingly pleased with my manners toward Felicity and Rebecca, standing up to take the vase from the room. "I'll be right back."

But when she did return, I had slipped away again.

Hanson brought a meal up to me on what I thought was the following day. Everything had slowly become blurry, days spun into one. I had awake-time, and asleep-time, and awake-time was becoming lesser. The food could have been lunch, it could have been breakfast, I didn't know, but as she set it down on my knee I weakly reached up to touch her arm.

"Ma'am?" she asked, puzzled.

"How often...do you launder sheets?" I slurred. She looked puzzled, but I gripped her arm until she replied.

"Frequent, ma'am. But I haven't done yours, sorry. Didn't want to disturb you."

"Thanks" I replied, before Hettie took over from her, spoonfeeding me whatever was on the plate like a child. I didn't even have the energy to do it myself.