The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 27

A.

She sat up abruptly, vomiting into a metal bucket, as I reached to rub her back. She couldn't have eaten much that morning, as mainly dry heaves wracked her body. I wiped the bile from around her mouth. She waved the bucket away and I took it to the kitchen.

"I apologize, my lady." The doctor, a long wiry man, with steel grey hair and wire-rimmed spectacles, watched her.

"What happened?" her voice rasped out.

"You were poisoned with opium, or in this case, laudanum, I believe." The doctor wiped her brow with a cold cloth. "I administered an emetic. You'll also have a rather large bruise on the side of your face, but you didn't fracture it."

I brought the doctor a cup of coffee, while he unnecessarily thanked me. He saved her.

"How are you feeling, Margaret?"

"Like the River Thames, through Five Points, decided to leave my body," she groaned, resting her hand on her forehead.

She would be fine.

"In any case, my lady, I would have you drink this whole cup of coffee. It's known to do quite some good in cases such as these." The doctor handed her the cup. The coffee was pitch black and Margaret made a face. "Yes, it is black coffee, no sugar or milk, for the strongest effect."

I watched her take small sips of the bitter brew. "How did I get opium poisoning?" she asked.

"It was in the tea we were served by Mrs. Kiles." I could not quite face her. I should have warned her not to eat or drink anything.

"No. No." Margaret shook her head, rubbing her temples. "That's not Mrs. Kiles, it's someone pretending to be."

That's why there was a body—a woman rather, who looked a bit too much like Mrs. Kiles. My blood thrummed through my veins. I couldn't keep Margaret safe.

"Wait, you had the tea, too. I saw you. You were slumped over." Margaret took a sip of the coffee and grimaced.

"I pretended to drink it. Once I realized the effects it had on you, I imitated your symptoms, to see what the imposter's end game was. At that point, there wasn't any time to tell you not to drink it. If they wanted you dead, they would have tried already." My hand clenched at my side. "But, I should have told you not to drink anything anyway. I am sorry."

She watched me with sad eyes. "It is of no consequence. You did your best."

But I didn't.

The doctor stood. "Now, my lord, may I look at your arm?"

Momentarily, I had forgotten about my throbbing arm and my white shirtsleeve drenched in blood.

"What happened?" Margaret pulled herself up further, but I gently pushed her back down to rest.

"Margaret, I'm fine it's a graze, nothing more." I sat down for the doctor.

"You were shot," she protested, almost spilling her coffee.

"Yes." I could not help but laugh a little, as I took her coffee and moved it to the table. "I've had worse. It is you I am worried about."

"Either way, my lord, I would like to take a look." The doctor opened his black leather medical bag pulling out some scissors. "May I, my lord?" The doctor indicated toward my ruined sleeve, and I nodded.

Margaret weakly pushed herself up. She didn't flinch as the doctor began to clean my wound with water. The sharp burn of alcohol hit my nose only after it seared through my arm. I clenched my fist and let out a long hiss. Margaret's eyes widened with concern, and I did my best to smooth my expression.