Read Online The Governess Club: Bonnie by Ellie Macdonald - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ellie Macdonald
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where several maids and footmen stood watching. “Clean this up,” he instructed the servants. While they were distracted with following his orders, he scooped up the biscuit from the floor and snatched two more from the plate and pocketed them.
He stood, taking Miss Hodges with him and lifted her into his arms. He strode out of the nursery, holding her limp body close.
C HAPTER T WELVE
----
S he had regained consciousness briefly but was sleeping now. The doctor had said she was going to be fine. He had wanted to bleed the poison from her, but Stephen had been adamant, so the compromise was laudanum to help her sleep.
Stephen squinted against the sun reflecting off the lake. A few ducks remained, having grown fat and used to being fed by the members of the household. He tossed some more crumbs onto the water, waiting for them to stop resisting temptation.
Henry and Arthur were with her, once again refusing to leave her side. Newly hired servants were whispering of leaving, according to Renard. The air of distrust was growing, the more superstitious muttering of curses.
Stephen had interrogated Mrs. Dabbs. Renard had been in the kitchen when he arrived, holding the middle-aged woman as she cried, kissing her on the forehead in unmistakable intimate comfort.
Renard had refused to leave. “We were keeping it quiet, sir,” he said. “I see no point in doing so now. Mrs. Dabbs and I have been stepping out for some months now. We intend to marry.”
“I will save my good wishes for a more appropriate time,” Stephen replied.
“Sylvester—Mr. Renard was with me while I was making the biscuits.” Her eyes swam with tears. “I swear I didn’t do anything to them. I baked them just as the masters like. I would never harm them.”
Renard had confirmed that. “I didn’t see her or anyone put anything unusual in the biscuits.”
Stephen threw more crumbs on the water, the ducks losing their initial shyness and enjoying the food.
Questioning the maid who carried the tray had resulted in nothing as well. All Stephen had was another crying female on his hands and no information.
Stephen watched the ducks eat. One began to cough, followed by the others. Some tried to fly, to escape what they sensed as danger, but could not get off the water. Sounds he had never heard before came from their convulsing bodies. The whole process took less than two minutes before the first duck died. He remained dispassionate as the rest succumbed. There was no doubt in his mind.
Poison.
B onnie grimaced. Every bone in her body ached. Her eyelids were heavy, her mouth bitter and dry like it was full of cotton and she couldn’t move her left arm and hip. She could hear breathing. Was it hers? No, there were several types of breaths.
She tried to open her eyes. All she saw was darkness in that brief moment. Had she gone blind? No, another attempt to open her eyes caught the faint light of a nearly depleted candle.
She tried to sit up, but still couldn’t move her left side. Bonnie finally managed to keep her eyes open and shifted her head to look down. The movement sent shards of lightning through her head and she let out a moan.
There was movement to the side of the bed. “Miss Hodges?” The deep voice came to her.
“I can’t move my left side,” she whispered.
“That would be Arthur weighin’ you down.” The Scottish accent was more pronounced than usual.
“My mouth is fuzzy.”
“Have some water.” His large hand slipped behind her head, his warm, calloused fingers cradling it gently and brought a glass to her lips. She winced at the movement but relished the clean feeling in her mouth. She drank more, feeling more refreshed with every swallow.
“Better?” he asked.
Bonnie nodded. “Henry?”
“In the trundle bed. He’s asleep.”
“How are they?”
He sighed. “Upset. But fine.”
“What happened?”
“You don’t recall?” Bonnie shook her head. “The biscuit you ate had been poisoned.
He stood, taking Miss Hodges with him and lifted her into his arms. He strode out of the nursery, holding her limp body close.
C HAPTER T WELVE
----
S he had regained consciousness briefly but was sleeping now. The doctor had said she was going to be fine. He had wanted to bleed the poison from her, but Stephen had been adamant, so the compromise was laudanum to help her sleep.
Stephen squinted against the sun reflecting off the lake. A few ducks remained, having grown fat and used to being fed by the members of the household. He tossed some more crumbs onto the water, waiting for them to stop resisting temptation.
Henry and Arthur were with her, once again refusing to leave her side. Newly hired servants were whispering of leaving, according to Renard. The air of distrust was growing, the more superstitious muttering of curses.
Stephen had interrogated Mrs. Dabbs. Renard had been in the kitchen when he arrived, holding the middle-aged woman as she cried, kissing her on the forehead in unmistakable intimate comfort.
Renard had refused to leave. “We were keeping it quiet, sir,” he said. “I see no point in doing so now. Mrs. Dabbs and I have been stepping out for some months now. We intend to marry.”
“I will save my good wishes for a more appropriate time,” Stephen replied.
“Sylvester—Mr. Renard was with me while I was making the biscuits.” Her eyes swam with tears. “I swear I didn’t do anything to them. I baked them just as the masters like. I would never harm them.”
Renard had confirmed that. “I didn’t see her or anyone put anything unusual in the biscuits.”
Stephen threw more crumbs on the water, the ducks losing their initial shyness and enjoying the food.
Questioning the maid who carried the tray had resulted in nothing as well. All Stephen had was another crying female on his hands and no information.
Stephen watched the ducks eat. One began to cough, followed by the others. Some tried to fly, to escape what they sensed as danger, but could not get off the water. Sounds he had never heard before came from their convulsing bodies. The whole process took less than two minutes before the first duck died. He remained dispassionate as the rest succumbed. There was no doubt in his mind.
Poison.
B onnie grimaced. Every bone in her body ached. Her eyelids were heavy, her mouth bitter and dry like it was full of cotton and she couldn’t move her left arm and hip. She could hear breathing. Was it hers? No, there were several types of breaths.
She tried to open her eyes. All she saw was darkness in that brief moment. Had she gone blind? No, another attempt to open her eyes caught the faint light of a nearly depleted candle.
She tried to sit up, but still couldn’t move her left side. Bonnie finally managed to keep her eyes open and shifted her head to look down. The movement sent shards of lightning through her head and she let out a moan.
There was movement to the side of the bed. “Miss Hodges?” The deep voice came to her.
“I can’t move my left side,” she whispered.
“That would be Arthur weighin’ you down.” The Scottish accent was more pronounced than usual.
“My mouth is fuzzy.”
“Have some water.” His large hand slipped behind her head, his warm, calloused fingers cradling it gently and brought a glass to her lips. She winced at the movement but relished the clean feeling in her mouth. She drank more, feeling more refreshed with every swallow.
“Better?” he asked.
Bonnie nodded. “Henry?”
“In the trundle bed. He’s asleep.”
“How are they?”
He sighed. “Upset. But fine.”
“What happened?”
“You don’t recall?” Bonnie shook her head. “The biscuit you ate had been poisoned.
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