The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 29

M.

"How are you feeling?" Alexander came before me, crouching down, and brushing the hair from my eyes.

I yawned, looking around and finding myself once more on the couch. I missed most of the interrogation, but "She told me that if I were going to see her lamb give her, her love," echoed hollowly in my heart.

"How much did you hear?" Alexander asked with deceptive calm.

"Only the last of it," I swallowed, choking on a sob, "why they killed her. It was because of me."

"Margaret," Alexander began. He handed me a handkerchief embroidered with the initials, MKR.

Wiping my eyes, I moved to hand it back to Alexander. He shook his hand, closing mine over the handkerchief. Losing my balance, I fell into him. Alexander brought us to stand, his arms fully around me. My fingers scrunched around the back of his shirt, and I buried my face into his chest. He smelled warm if there was such a scent. His soft linen played against my wet cheek.

I squeezed my eyes shut, tightening my grip on Alexander's shirt. "Please, hold me."

"As you wish."

I breathed in his words, loosening my grip on his shirt and allowing myself to sink into him.

I let go first.

Alexander released me, tilting my head up. His amber eyes traced my face, a worry line between his brows. After a long moment, he must have decided I was all right because he released my chin.

"Perhaps, what Mrs. Kiles wanted to give you is still in the house," Alexander broke the silence.

"Should we look now?" I pulled the blanket from the crooks of my arms and folded it. Anything to not think about Lou, the Poisoner, or the Wellmonts.

"Are you able?"

"I have to be." I nodded.

"Did any of what you heard Mrs. Marchland say bring anything to mind?" Alexander took the blanket and placed it on the table.

"No." I rubbed my foot against a scuff on the wood floor.

My mind all at once filled with thoughts and memories of the real Mrs. Kiles. The thoughts I wanted to scream out to the world, remained stuck in my throat like a piece of stale bread.

"My father's men are guarding the house but stay close in case." Alexander stepped away from me, and a vast ocean filled the space he left behind. I wanted to reach out, but I had been the one to create the ocean within moments of being close. "I'll begin looking over here," Alexander indicated to the parlor we were previously.

"I'll look in the bedrooms." I floated away from Alexander, my mind filled with a bleak awareness.

Bright and airy, wallpapered with a yellow flower pattern, the first bedroom gave me little clues. A patchwork quilt covered the lofty bed that filled the room. The room smelled like pastry dough and cinnamon. I choked on the cloying scented memories and slammed the door shut. In the hallway, I noticed a tall narrowed hutch, shadowed in the corner. Glass panels lined the top front door. I peered into the hutch. At first, little knick-knacks: wax flowers, stuffed birds, trinket boxes, and China pulled my attention. Then, I noticed something out of place. Deep within the recess of the hutch was a hunched over, stuffed animal, that would be about ten inches when upright.

Pulling out the toy, I followed the path of fallen knickknacks, as if the lamb had been pushed hastily into the back corner. I remembered Mrs. Marchland's words or rather Mrs. Kiles. She said to "Give my lamb, my love." Mrs. Kiles or Louisa used to call me lamb when I was a child. Maybe, her words held some double entendre. My hands shook slightly as I weighed the lamb toy. Squeezing its belly, I found that hard edges protruded from its soft plush.

I held the toy to my chest and rushed into the parlor. "Alexander. Alexander, I think I found something."

Alexander peeked his head into the room from the kitchen, before his whole body came into view.

I held up the toy lamb proudly, only to receive a look of confusion from Alexander. I sighed setting the lamb on the table. "Do you have a knife?"

Alexander reached into his pocket, pulled out a pocketknife, and handed it to me. He came to stand behind my shoulder. With the knife, I cut a line straight down the lamb's front. From within the fine wood shavings, a swath of red velvet poked through. I felt as though I had grievously injured the lamb, and I promised myself I would sew it back up.

Past rough wood shavings, I pulled out a red velvet drawstring bag, about six inches in length and four in width. Aged and weathered, the velvet smelt of a Dowager of the Almanac's perfume. It was surprisingly weighty, and on the first inspection there seemed to be a few layers of content. Before I could pass the bag to Alexander for his inspection, one of the men in black entered the room. The man leaned toward Alexander and whispered something in his ear. Alexander tensed immediately. From the front door, heavy tread sounded.

Alexander grabbed my hand. I held the velvet bag and lamb in my other. "Margaret, we need to go, now."

The front door splintered as something crashed into it. The hinges on the door heaved as the door bowed. I looked at Alexander, memorizing his face.

He pushed me in front of him. Alexander and the men in black walked on either side of me as we escaped from the back door of the house. Two black carriages waited for us. Once we were outside, the first carriage left. After a few minutes had passed, Alexander helped me into the second and then we were off.

Alexander yanked the curtains closed. I leaned back into the squabs. "Where are we going?"

#

A.

"My father's for now." I removed one of the seat cushions and pulled out a pistol, before shutting the hidden compartment once more.

"Why?" she asked, white-knuckle gripping the seat.

"We won't stay for long." I avoided her gaze.

I rubbed my chest, so it might stop racing. So that I might regain control. Margaret stared out of the window, her lips just parted and the amber light creating a golden glow over her face. I wrenched my gaze away and clenched my hands at my sides. This was foolishness. This was nothing but a mission.

She means nothi—, but I could not even say it. Even though I needed to... Bring the evidence to father and finish this, I repeated as a mantra in my head. Finish this, before I made a fool of myself. Margaret wouldn't be another one of my casualties.

The carriage slowed and then came to a full stop. The door of the carriage swung open, and a footman waited with his hand out. Margaret took his hand and stepped down from the carriage. I followed behind her, my hand reaching to grab the ribbon that trailed from her dress, but I held it back. My feet were heavy. Everything told me to turn around, but I had long forgotten to listen.

She put her small hand in the crook of my arm and smiled hesitantly at me. In her other hand, she held the lamb and velvet bag. The footman led us up the steps. The tall double door swung open, without a creak. The grim Mr. Griggs bowed to us. All of the sudden, I felt like a small boy.