The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 48

M.

I woke with a start, gripping silken fabric in my closed fists. My breath released through my clenched teeth, and I realized that I had been holding it for quite some time. Red wallpaper with thin gold vertical stripes covered the wall in front of me and above me a deep maroon canopy. I took a deep breath taking in the smell of roses. At the foot of my bed was a vase of yellow roses on a hutch. Miriam. I lay back against the pillows.

A shadow grew over me, and I reflectively flinched away, almost falling off the other side of the bed. "Margaret, good God. You're awake."

I opened my eyes and took in Alexander, willing my heart to slow in my chest. He smiled hesitantly, righting me on the bed and pushing back his tousled hair. "You were mumbling and shaking in your sleep."

I yawned and stretched, gathering my thoughts and trying to ignore the chill sweeping down my spine. "Was I?"

His expression shuttered, and he straightened his rumpled clothing. "How are you feeling?"

Sitting up and bringing the rest of the room into focus, I glared at Alexander. "Where are we? Where's Miriam?"

"Aunt Bita's home, in London. Miriam is safe. You'll see her yourself this evening." Alexander sat on the edge of my bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked again.

A warm surge of relief crashed over me. I had saved Miriam, myself, and even Alexander. Unless... "What happened after the gun blasted? Where's..."

"The Poisoner's dead." Alexander watched me with soft eyes. Eyes I didn't want. "Please, Margaret, are you all right?"

"Alexander, I am fine." I turned away from him. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days. You were out cold. The doctor who came in said you needed sleep. The maids dressed you in a nightgown and did their best to clean you up. I hope you don't mind?" Alexander took my hand.

"Two days." I shook my head in wonder. For two days, everything disappeared. "I don't mind. I wouldn't want to sleep in bloody clothes." I paused, thinking about the white thing. Its suffocating scent made me want to vomit. "I hope you burned that dress."

"I did." Alexander nodded a gleam of satisfaction in his gaze yet worry lined his face. "Do you need to talk about anything? Anything at all?" Alexander took my hand in his, but again I escaped its grasp.

I opened my mouth but instead shook my head. My mind swirled with images of the Poisoner's face, the duke's face, and finally Alexander's until they all became one

"If that is your wish." The worry didn't leave his face. "I am here for you, always."

I nodded hesitantly, without full compliance. A part of me wished he would leave me alone to my thoughts, while another part yearned to confide in him, even trust him again. Too much remained unsaid.

"Is there anything else you need?" Alexander asked. "I can send up a tray of food."

"A real bath. I would like a bath," I whispered. My skin crawled and I could almost imagine blood staining my hands—viciously, unmistakably red.

Alexander stood and sidled awkwardly back and forth, something clearly troubling his mind. "I'll leave you and send the maids in with a bath." He paused again, a thought poised on his lips. "You'll need to eat," he finally said.

"I'd like to eat at a table I think. What time is it?" I asked, knowing I should have been hungry.

"Past 1300 hours, I mean, one o'clock." Alexander headed to the door, watching me carefully. I ignored his gaze and he finally left.

I threw off the covers, my legs shaking from their prolonged inactivity. I splashed water on my face and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I should look different somehow. I killed a man after all. I pulled at my face, but still, I stared back. Grey eyes, dark hair, straight nose.

A stream of light splashed across my eyes and I turned to the window. The closed velvet curtains suffocated me with the imprint of imprisonment. Freedom. I looked at my hands, stretching them out before me. My own hands saved my life. With surety in my step, I threw open the curtains. The sun broke through the shadowed bedroom. I pressed my cheek into the warmed window which saturated my person.

The window faced the street, and just in front of the house, I noticed two men dressed in black looking up at me. They were out of place in their stillness, and their gazes were fixated upon my window. A chill crawled up my spine, and I held onto the velvet curtain for support. A sad smile spread across one of the men's faces, and he tipped his hat to me. The other man waved leisurely before both men turned away slowly walking down the street.

A knock, quick and professional, sounded at my door.

"Come in," I responded, gripping my nightgown.

The door to my room opened with little sound. I turned around and plastered a smile on my face. A young maid entered, her face hidden behind a bouquet of brilliant red poppies. She set them on the sideboard, before curtseying to me and leaving. Trembling, my fingers traced the delicate petals. Within the sea of red, I noticed a white card.

"It is not the man who eats the opium, but the opium that eats the man."

- The Crimson Crown Society

I leaned against the sideboard, speared to my place. My thoughts scurried through the alcoves of my mind, and I ground my teeth to together. Breathing out through my nose, I pushed away and moved back to the window. On the street, I couldn't see the men, but I knew they had sent the message. My fingers clenched the window ledge as a blistering hum of determination shot through me. If I was going to hell anyway, I wanted answers.

THE END

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