Belladonna
: Chapter 27

PERCY DREW THE CURTAINS SHUT THE MOMENT THEY WERE IN THE carriage, exhaling as he sank low into the seat. “I can’t believe we were almost seen in that apothecary.” His lips pinched tight, he appeared so much sterner than he’d been minutes prior. The severity of the quick change in his demeanor gave Signa whiplash. “Especially in front of the duke’s son.”

Signa wished the carriage would go faster. “Does it truly matter if they saw us?” she asked. “I’d expect anyone with half a heart might understand our desperation and be open to considering alternative remedies for Blythe.”

“I’d hope that, too,” he said. “But it may also make them suspicious.”

Her defenses were rising. “What do you mean, suspicious?”

“I mean that the longer I think about it, the stranger I find the convenience of you just happening to know what’s ailing my sister, let alone finding an alleged antidote.” His green eyes narrowed. “I want to trust you, cousin, but I must admit that I find your sudden interest in Blythe quite odd. She’s been worse ever since you arrived, and I’m finding it difficult to deny that you might be the reason.”

It was dread that Signa felt then. Cold, icy dread leaking into her stomach. The look in Percy’s eyes wasn’t one she’d seen before; it was distant, venomous. But she understood it, for Blythe was his sister, and Signa had no doubt that she’d be willing to do whatever it took to protect her own sister, too, had she had one.

But she didn’t know how to convince him of that. The Calabar bean itself was, technically, poison. It would do her no favors if he found out. “I’ll sample the antidote myself, should you need proof,” she said at last. “Would that satisfy your concerns?”

Percy stilled at Signa’s declaration, leaning back against the leather seat as he considered her. When he’d gathered his wits enough to consider her proposal, he nodded—for as far as he knew, there was perhaps no better proof in this world. “Very well.”

“Then consider it done.” Signa set her hands upon her lap and counted the passing minutes. She didn’t want to care about his hesitancy; Thorn Grove, odd as it was, was the best place she’d ever lived, and its people were growing on her. She also didn’t want him to see how much his negativity about the apothecary had affected her, for Percy was the symbol of high society through and through. His reaction, as well as her own discomfort at tea, was a clear acknowledgment of how poorly Signa fit into that milieu.

She could become like clay and mold herself. She could wear the gowns and pin up her hair and pat rouge upon her cheeks—she could even feign interests if she had to. From the time she was a young girl, this had always been the road she’d been meant to take. Her grandmother had told her as much. Had told her to marry, and of the parties she’d attend. Had told her she’d be like her mother, and Signa had believed her because it was all she ever knew to want. But there was something else now. A curiosity. A darkness that had been brewing within her all these years that was perhaps not so dark as she’d once believed. She’d felt power. She’d felt the heat of her skin beneath a man’s touch. She’d felt what it was like to sneak out and ride horseback beneath the moon.

And she liked that darkness more than she cared to admit.

She stewed in the silence of her thoughts for the entirety of the ride, then while in the kitchen as she ground up the Calabar bean, and then on her journey up the stairs, through the hall, and into Blythe’s room with Percy at her side.

The moment the door opened, it felt as though someone punched her square in the chest. Death hung like smog in the air, suffocating.

The sole relief was that he was not yet present. He didn’t stalk the shadows, waiting for her, and Signa understood that the feeling of his lingering presence in this room was a warning. If she was to save Blythe, she needed to move fast. Percy must have felt the urgency, too, for he barely glanced at his sister before his steps faltered.

Blythe was flat on the bed, as lifeless as Signa had ever seen her. Her breath slipped from her lips in tiny gasps. When Blythe heard them enter, her eyelids fluttered open, though she was unable to keep them that way for long.

Signa took a seat beside her without waiting for permission. She picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and stirred in the ground Calabar bean until the liquid turned a milky white.

Before she could make another move, Percy got hold of her arm. There was fire in his eyes. “You first,” he said.

Her stare locked with his, Signa lifted the glass to her lips and took a swallow.

It wouldn’t be long until her stomach protested the drink, so she steeled herself and didn’t waste another moment on Percy.

She slipped her arm under Blythe’s neck to help her sit up. Only when the drink was to her lips did Signa hesitate. Blythe was as weightless as a feather, her head lolling against Signa’s arm. Whether she would be able to handle the substance was a mystery. The life was draining from her fast, and the Calabar bean was another poison; it would make her throw up, though it was also meant to counter the effects of belladonna.

“This will be hard,” Signa warned her, “but you must fight. If you feel yourself about to vomit, let it happen. It will help.”

Blythe said nothing, but the fluttering of her eyelids led Signa to believe that she understood.

Percy stood beside them, eyes anxious. “Will she be all right?”

Signa could have killed him for that question, and she flashed a look that warned as much. Blythe was sick, but she could still hear them. “This should help her tremendously,” Signa said without adding: Should her system tolerate it.

She goaded Blythe into drinking half the glass, then took a basin from the floor for when the moment arrived that they’d need it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, sitting close, smoothing the damp, stringy strands of Blythe’s pale blond hair off her forehead. “I must have missed something. I thought only the medicine was poisoned, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Or perhaps one of us slipped up and gave away too much information to the wrong person.” A hint of accusation lingered in Percy’s whisper.

Signa had told someone, admittedly far more easily than she should have. But Sylas had helped her; he’d shown her the library and taken her to Grey’s. If he wanted Blythe dead, surely he wouldn’t have been so helpful. “No one slipped up.” She spoke with confidence. “I must have made a miscalculation. We’ll have to monitor what she consumes more carefully.”

“And what of your remedy?” He nodded to the remnants of the milky-white drink. “Will you have enough, should this happen again?”

Signa nodded. “For one more dose, yes. Though let us hope she won’t need it.”

“Let’s pray that you’re right.” Percy’s brows were severe as he watched Signa work with the caraway, preparing it for after Blythe lost her guts, which didn’t take long.

“I’ll stay with her,” Signa said, thankful for quick reflexes as she got the basin to Blythe just in time, helping again to smooth the girl’s hair back from her face. Her own stomach was cramping, nausea rolling over her as cold sweat prickled her skin. She refused to let on in front of Percy; the nausea would pass soon enough. “We’ll need water,” she told him with stern authority. “Go ask the kitchen staff for some bread. She needs to eat something easy on her stomach once we’ve gotten through the worst of this. And please, be discreet.”

Percy nodded and cast one last look at his sister. She’d never seen his cheeks so hollowed out, or his eyes so empty. He turned on his heel without so much as another word, the sound of his boots clicking as he disappeared down the hall.

It was late into the evening when Blythe began to settle. Signa hadn’t been certain that her cousin would make it when Blythe’s labored breathing tightened and her skin became feverish. But somewhere during those long hours, there’d been a turning point. Blythe’s flushed cheeks cooled, and her stomach was no longer so eager to empty itself. She lay back in the bed, her hair pulled into a loose braid Signa had woven between emptying the basin and fetching Blythe more water.

Blythe’s breathing was deep now, and her eyes were finally managing to stay open.

“Are you with me?” Signa asked, easing her shoulders when Blythe nodded. Picking up a loaf of sourdough from the tray Percy had brought them, Signa tore off a small piece and handed it to Blythe. “Try to eat this. You’re going to feel weak for a while, but I think you’re going to be all right. We’re just going to have to be careful with whatever you put into your body.”

The bread slipped from Blythe’s fingers; she was too weak to hold it. She faltered at the realization, tears welling, but Signa would have none of that. She picked up the loaf, broke it into even smaller bites, then set a small piece in Blythe’s mouth. Piece after piece Signa fed her, letting Blythe’s head fall upon her shoulder, letting the girl’s tears flow freely until she became too exhausted to eat another bite or cry another tear, and she fell asleep.

As Blythe slept, Signa smoothed a hand over her cousin’s hair, willing strength into her. “Don’t worry,” Signa whispered. “I’ll find whoever did this to you. I promise.”

From the threshold, a quiet voice said, “How were you able to help her?” Marjorie was watching them with glistening eyes.

She looked to the glass on the bedside table, the evidence still there. “Just an old remedy I found in the library,” Signa whispered, not knowing what else to say.

Signa understood Marjorie could likely banish her if she wanted to. She could deem Signa a witch and throw her out of Thorn Grove. But instead, her eyes softened. “You should get some rest, too.”

Signa’s skin prickled at the mere suggestion of leaving Blythe alone, or in the hands of another. But for now, Death’s presence had dissipated from the room, his warning retracted. Again, Blythe had been spared.

Whether Signa had been able to save her one final time, they could only hope.

Signa eased Blythe’s head down upon the pillows before slipping from the bed. On the bedside table she’d left small pieces of bread and two glasses of water. In one of the glasses she’d added ground caraway seeds to help settle Blythe’s stomach. For now, it was all she could do.

“The best thing we can do for her is let her sleep,” Marjorie told her, and Signa knew it was not her place to argue. Even if she’d helped Blythe, Signa was still little more than a stranger to the Hawthornes. She was also a woman, and a young one at that. No matter how much she wanted to hole up in Blythe’s room to watch over her at all hours, such a thing would never be allowed when the family had proper doctors employed.

So for now she took her skirts in hand and followed Marjorie out the door, letting the woman lead her through the candlelit hall and back to her own room.

Marjorie slowed, forcing them to linger in the hallway. “You are fitting into Thorn Grove better than I ever expected,” she said. The darkness of the night covered the memory of Marjorie’s injury well. In the dim glow of the iron sconces, all Signa could make out was a fading bruise upon her bottom lip.

“Thank you,” Signa said before she allowed herself to relive the memory of seeing that bruise inflicted. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“It’s been a pleasure to see you getting along well with other ladies your age.” The heels of Marjorie’s boots tapped loudly against the hardwood floors. “You wish to debut this season, don’t you?”

It was perhaps a strange time to be talking about such a thing, but Death’s presence in Thorn Grove had been long and tedious, and Signa had learned that when Death claimed your every waking moment, mundane conversations felt like a reprieve. Perhaps Marjorie felt the same.

“I don’t mean to bother anyone with it,” Signa said. “I’ll be leaving Thorn Grove for a home of my own around the same time. I can debut once I’m gone—”

“There’s no need to apologize, Signa. You’ve been doing a wonderful job with your lessons, and I think having your season this spring is a good idea. Besides, no one will stand for you debuting yourself without any proper chaperone. It’s unheard of.”

Signa sucked in her cheeks. “You think it’s a good idea?”

“I do. And I’ll speak to Elijah about it tomorrow.” Signa did not miss the casual use of his name. “In the meantime, we’ll be having a ball this Christmas, and you will attend. It’ll be a good experience for you.”

Blood rushed to Signa’s cheeks. All day she’d spent caring for Blythe. Her back ached, her eyes kept trying to shut on their own, and she was certain she smelled sour. Yet despite all that, Marjorie’s words had her buzzing with excitement. This was her chance to prove to herself as much as anyone else that she was fit for a life outside the shadows. For the life she’d always been meant to have. To be like her mother, or like Lillian—someone everyone told stories about and adored. Someone whose name alone could soften a voice.

“I… would love that.”

Marjorie smiled. “Then I will arrange all the details. It’s about time Thorn Grove started hosting proper parties again—perhaps this will be exactly what everyone needs.”

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