Healing Miss Millworth: A Regency Romance by Isabella Thorne

Author:Isabella Thorne [Thorne, Isabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mikita Associates
Published: 2023-01-24T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Ellen narrowly restrained her gasp of horror at Miss Stanton’s off-handed statement, and she saw out of the corner of her eye that Arabella’s posture had gone suddenly tense and rigid. She did not dare look at her friend, and she was certain that her own manner must show the shock that she was feeling, but fortunately Miss Stanton did not seem to notice. She was gazing rather dreamily at the fire that danced in the parlor hearth, twisting her much-abused handkerchief idly, and reflecting on her great-aunt’s life in a soft voice.

Doctor Larkin had been perfectly certain that the poison had been concealed in the brandy that Lady Evans had taken, and Ellen knew he would not make a claim like that if there had been any doubt. Surely it could not be a coincidence that the magistrate had gifted Lady Evans with a bottle of brandy so soon before her death.

Indeed, she thought, the fact that he had given his long-time foe a gift and an apology was highly suspicious. Voluntarily admitting wrongdoing and making amends was so uncharacteristic of Mr. Marksham that Lady Evans really ought to have guessed at his ill intentions. And no wonder he had been so dismissive and stubborn about the deaths of the livestock. It all lined up so neatly in a row, and in such an unexpected, and yet logical manner, that Ellen felt as if she must jump up from her chair and rush to the village to demand the magistrate’s arrest without wasting another moment.

Rather than give into that impulse, however, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself, and spoke when she was certain that her voice would be steady and calm. It would not do to leap to conclusions and upset poor Miss Stanton with wild accusations, particularly if they happened to be unfounded. After all, the girl had said that her aunt hadn’t even tasted the brandy before her death, so perhaps the poison had been in a different bottle.

“Were you with your aunt when she took ill yesterday?” she asked gently as soon as there was a reasonable pause in Miss Stanton’s tearful ruminations.

“I? No, I wasn’t. Isn’t that terrible? She was all alone, the poor woman, and I was not even there to help or comfort her. Ordinarily she feels tired around midday and takes a rest, and my presence is not needed for at least an hour, so I have gotten into the habit of taking a walk on the grounds when she retires to her boudoir. I do not think I was gone any longer than usual, but by the time I returned the entire household was in an uproar and the doctor had already been sent for. She was quite beyond speech, and I will never even know if she was able to hear my pleading or my farewells.”

“I am sure that she still knew, in her heart, that you were there with her at the end, dear,” said Arabella, her voice also steady as she had recovered her own composure.

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