dinner. The idea of helping Ash strengthened her resolve to continue down the hallway.
Lady Charolois’ room was next. When Gwyneth turned the handle, the click echoed down the hallway and thundered in Gwyneth’s ears. Her heart beat at breakneck speed.
The fire in the grate and the burning candle on the bedside stand created an eerie glow in the room. She closed the door behind her and walked toward the lady’s wardrobe. She held the candle in her left hand as she carefully searched the closet. She opened the bottom drawers looking for letters. Tucked into one of the lady’s boots, the same ones Lady Charolois had worn to gather the greens, was a pocket pistol. Interesting. Exceptional for a lady to have a pistol, but not proof that she was a collaborator.
Gwyneth found only that the lady owned an incredible amount of blue clothing. Lady Charolois definitely recognized that blue flattered her coloring and her eyes.
Gwyneth walked to the dressing table. She placed the candle on the table between the assortment of jars, glass bottles, and ceramic pots filled with a lady’s beauty regime—a wonderful place to hide poisons. She sat on the stuffed lady’s chair and picked up the largest jar and sniffed the contents.
The familiar smell of cherry laurel oil arrested her nose. Cherry laurel oil was used by ladies to make their skin supple and fresh, particularly around the eyes. Cherry laurel seeds were very poisonous. But Ash hadn’t experienced the fever, rash, or worst of all, death that came from cherry laurel poisoning.
She examined a smaller jar before smelling the contents. She recognized the pungent scent immediately. Belladonna was highly poisonous and known to anyone who resided in the country. Ladies also used it to dilate their pupils to give them the wide-eyed appearance that gentlemen considered attractive. Ash hadn’t been poisoned with belladonna since he didn’t exhibit the associated hallucinations or mania or death coma. This search hadn’t uncovered anything questionable and she had no evidence against Lady Charolois except that the lady was a very vain woman.
Gwyneth examined and smelled the rest of the jars and containers—beeswax, rice powder, and evergreen bugloss, all used to make a lady’s skin and lips beautiful, but nothing highly toxic.
At this point, she was forced to conclude that the conspirator hadn’t planned to kill Ash, since there were more deadly poisons available. They had wanted to make him ill enough not to interrupt their real mission—the Prince of Wales. If Lady Charolois had used either belladonna or cherry laurel, Ash would’ve died.
His symptoms matched poisoning by holly berries. She needed to get to the stillroom and retrieve the mortar and pestle as proof of deliberate sabotage.
* * *
Kneeling on the cold brick floor, Gwyneth searched in the dark for the mortar and pestle. She couldn’t risk lighting a candle. The stillroom was easily seen from the kitchen windows. At this time of night, the kitchen was a hive of activity. The servants were cleaning up from the evening’s dinner. She had avoided the kitchen by walking through the snow-covered garden.
She pushed against the heavy crock filled with pickles to probe for the mortar and pestle. The scent of dill hung in the air.
The clatter of dishes and bits of conversation from the kitchen were easily audible through the closed door. The chill running through her body heightened her awareness, making her highly-strung nerves tighten up.
Her fingers rubbed against the worn mortar and pestle. They hadn’t been moved. Exultation rushed through her as she slid them out of their hiding place. Gathering the evidence of his poisoning was the best way to help Ash.
“Mon Dieu! What are you doing?”
Gwyneth startled and dropped the mortar on the ground. The harsh noise of the instrument hitting the brick floor reverberated in the silent room.
The muscular cook stood over her with a heavy candlestick in hand.