They had never found the person responsible for poisoning Blythe. The staff had been culled, and eventually she was able to make a full recovery, but… what if the culprit had moved on to Eliza?
“She’s still getting those?” Blythe was wading into unfamiliar waters, unused to this delicate extraction of information. She wanted to take Sorcha by the shoulders and demand answers, but the Wakefield family had always been so proper. One wrong move, and she was certain they’d enact some sort of polite protocol to toss her from the manor. “How long has she been having the headaches now? It seems like it’s been ages.”
“They started just before her uncle passed, though I swear on my late mother’s grave that they’ve been worse since that night.” The woman crossed herself. “I think it’s the stress. I’ve never seen her in such a state.”
Blythe pressed her trembling hands against her sides to keep them from being noticed. “Why don’t I bring her the tea? If Eliza is feeling as down as you say, I’m sure she could use the company.”
Sorcha’s grip held tight as Blythe tried to pry the serving tray away. Though it was clear she wanted to deny Blythe’s advance, a crash sounded from the kitchen. The maid squeezed her eyes shut, muttering words beneath her breath in a language Blythe didn’t recognize before she handed over the tray.
“Very well, Miss Hawthorne. You remember where her room is?”
“Down the hall, third door on the right.” Blythe flashed a smile she hoped was charming enough to keep Sorcha away before she hurried up the stairs. Only when certain she was alone did Blythe slump against the nearest corner, breathing in rasps. Her hands shook fiercely enough to clatter the teapot, and she had to sink down the wall and set it on the floor before the noise summoned anyone.
Blythe knew in her bones that she had no choice but to test the tea. Yet despite her efforts, her hammering heart had her pulling back each and every time she tried to pick up the teacup.
“Do you always hide in random halls of homes that are not yours, Miss Hawthorne?”
Blythe started at Aris’s voice, jerking upright so quickly that she nearly knocked over the teapot and had to quickly grab it by the spout. She winced when its heat seared her palms. “What are you doing here? Where’s the fox?”
“She’s asleep in the carriage. The driver didn’t wish to leave without you, so I waited ten minutes before I came to gather you myself. What are you doing?”
Blythe could see how badly she was shaking and knew there was no point in lying. If Aris had one redeeming quality, it was that he had not been in Celadon when she’d gotten sick, which meant that he couldn’t have been the one behind the poisoning. If she was going to safely confide in anyone, it may as well be him.
“Not long ago, I was unknowingly poisoned.” She curled in on herself, the very thought of poison resurfacing some forgotten trauma she’d buried deep in her body. “I’m worried the same thing is happening to Eliza.”
Aris pursed his lips. “If it is, would you be able to recognize the taste? Or perhaps even the smell?”
The very thought of smelling belladonna turned her stomach. She pressed a hand to it, fighting back her nausea. “I can’t even pick up the pot to pour it.”
“You’d be able to recognize it, though, if you tasted it?”
In any other moment, she might have laughed at the ridiculousness of such a question. “I don’t think I could ever forget it.”
Instead of a reply, the sound of pouring liquid had Blythe unfurling long enough to watch as Aris poured a swig’s worth of tea into the cup. He was careful to keep it at a distance from Blythe as he swirled it.
“You want to try it,” he whispered. “Don’t you?”
Needed was more accurate. Because if it was poison, Blythe didn’t want Eliza to suffer as she had. She tried again to reach for the cup, but still her hands refused to move. Observing her struggle, Aris asked, “If you didn’t have to drink it from a cup, do you think you could do it?”
She swallowed, imagining the idea. When her mind didn’t immediately reject it, she roused a little. “Perhaps? I’m not sure.”
Again he swirled the cup, lips pressed into a thin line. “If I said I had an idea that might help you, would you wish to try it?”
She had no need to think before responding, “I would.”
The answer had barely left her mouth before Aris tipped the cup to his lips and took the swig. Blythe bolted upright, about to demand that he spit it out when he took one side of her face in his hand and drew her into him. Blythe realized what was happening the second before he kissed her.