Capturing Sir Dunnicliffe (The Star Elite Series) (10 page)

“Oh, but really-”

“Mrs Partridge,” Harriett placed a hand on the older lady’s arm. “I work with plants that are grown in the ground. Mother Nature provides the water and the sunshine the plants need to grow. I really do very little. All my mother has done is show me which herbs to use for which ailment, and what works best with which herb. I really cannot charge for what nature provides so readily.” She didn’t add that most of the villagers paid her in goods, bringing her pies, vegetables and the like in exchange for her medicines.

“Then, if you would permit me, I should like to make you a little something,” Mrs Partridge
wheezed, clearly unwilling to give up completely.

Harriett began to wonder if her father was behind the sudden gratitude. Mrs Partridge hadn’t been the easiest patient she had ever treated, but she hadn’t been bad enough to warrant
the old woman venturing up the hill to the witch’s house while still recovering.

“You don’t need to-”

“Oh, but I must. It is only right that I do something in return. I see you have enough pies and such, but I should like to do something far more lasting. Unless you have any objections, I should like to make you a nice new shawl, and shall begin right away.”

“A shawl?” Harriett parroted, shocked that the lady would go to so much trouble for her.

“Yes, my dear. I think a lovely woollen one, just in time for winter,” Mrs Partridge replied with a firm nod. She froze at the loud hissing that came from the doorway.

Harriett fought the urge to roll her eyes as Harrold stalked haughtily into the room. His back was arched, and his huge round eyes fixed evilly on the stranger in his kitchen. Immediately he began to hiss and spit, leaning back on his haunches in preparation to strike.

“Stop it, Harrold,” Harriett snapped, swiftly placing herself between him and Mrs Partridge.

“I’m sorry,” she
said, watching, watching as Mrs Partridge backed warily toward the door. Harrold took advantage of Harriett’s attention being diverted and dodged around her legs, lunging across the kitchen. The loud screeching noise he made caused the woman to scurry to the door as though the hounds of hell were on her heels.

“
I’ll be back in the next few days, my dear, with the start of the shawl. Meantime, if there is anything Albert or I can do for you, then you only need to ask. Good bye!” she shouted, dodging through the door and closing it behind her with a firm click.

“But-” Harriett said, only to lapse into stunned silence. No sooner had the door closed behind Mrs Partridge that Harrold stopped screeching.
All traces of aggression had simply vanished, and he now stood purring loudly as he stared innocently at Harriett.

Harriett was still staring at the closed door when Hugo appeared out of the room beside her, a smile on his face.

“That is one determined lady,” he muttered ruefully, sliding the bolt closed. Harriett watched as Hugo walked around Harrold, barely giving him a second glance as he headed toward the hearth.

“I think I saw someone in the hedgerow at the far end of the garden when Mrs Partridge arrived.” She
said, dismissing Harrold with a warning glare.

She watched
as Hugo moved to the small gap in the shutters and peered through for several long moments before turning away with a sigh.

Harriett realised
that they hadn’t eaten and quickly set about loading two plates with a wide selection of Simon’s latest offerings.

“Simon’s cook really is very good,” Hugo
said several minutes later, eyeing his empty plate with satisfaction.

“
Would you like some apple pie?” Harriett asked, eyeing her favourite dish. Although she was full, she was certain she could squeeze in a small piece of the tart offering.

“That’s all yours
, Harriett, I hate apples,” Hugo said, settling back to enjoy the warmth of the fire.

Unable to resist the temptation, Harriett cut a small piece and settled down in the chair opposite. The buttery taste of the sweet pastry tantalised her taste buds. Her first bite of the apple filling was too sour
, however. She chewed thoughtfully, knowing instinctively that something was wrong. She couldn’t quite place what it was, but the apple didn’t taste right. Frowning, she placed what was left of the pie back on her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked, wa
tching her warily eyeing the treat.

“It doesn’t taste right,” she replied, placing her plate on the table.

“In what way?”

“It’s almost too sour, and has a strange aftertaste.” She scowled across at the pie, aware of Hugo’s close scrut
iny. “It’s nothing,” she sighed. “The apples might be off, that’s all. I’ll throw the rest away.”

Hugo nodded, watching her for several minutes.

“Where is the Manor?” he asked when silence settled between them.

She pointed to the rear of the property. “It is about two miles inland, that way. It is a huge Tudor manor house
that everyone in the area calls the Manor.”

“Do you go there often?” Hugo needed to know more about her relationship with her father, and a lot more about her father. He eyed the pie for a moment, wondering why the man was being so generous
to a daughter he hadn’t publicly claimed.

“I have only been there once,” she reluctantly admitted.

“Once?” Hugo’s brows shot skyward. He was expecting her to admit to only a few times, but once?

“Don’t you like it there?”

Harriett shook her head. “It isn’t the house itself. That is simply beautiful, but I have a stepsister, Romilla, who is anything but nice, and I try to avoid her as much as possible.”

“Strange name,” he replied, wondering who would name their child Romilla. “Doesn’t she like you being a witch?” He didn’t want to offend Harriett, but couldn’t see any way of skirting around the questions he needed to ask.

“I don’t know whether it is just me, and the fact that Simon is my father, or the fact that I am a witch – or both.” Harriett shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to resurrect old and painful memories, even for Hugo.

“How is your arm today?” she asked, needing to change the subject.

Hugo acceded to her discomfort, following her lead, while trying to think of another way of asking her what he wanted to know without causing her distress.

“It doesn’t hurt as bad
ly,” he replied, pleased that he had full movement back in his arm, even if it was a little weaker than before. “Do you think I will get full strength back in it soon?”

Harriett nodded, “I don’t know what damage was done inside by the shot, but you should get
full movement back, and even full strength, as soon as you start to regain your health. At least you can move it now without pain, as long as you keep taking the tisane.”

“It just feels
a bit heavy.” Hugo scowled at the offending limb for a moment, and flexed it several times.

“Just keep moving it. A
s long as it doesn’t hurt, you shouldn’t do any harm to it,” she replied, knowing that with each day he was healing, he was a step closer to leaving. She quickly closed off the bitter sweet sense of loss that swept over her at the thought of being left alone in her cottage once again, and not seeing Hugo.

Eager to escape
her unpleasant thoughts, Harriett stood - and gasped in alarm as the world began to sway around her. She placed a hand on her stomach as a fierce pain lanced across her middle.

“Oh God,” she gasped, bending over in a desperate attempt to ease the discomfort. Sweat bead
ed her forehead, and she began to tremble violently. Her stomach roiled in protest at the movement and she knew she was going to be sick.

“What is it?” Hugo asked, watching in surprise as Harriett bolted from the room. The sound of
her retching in the bedroom propelled him into movement. 

Within moments he was standing beside her, holding her hair
back from her face while she lost the contents of her stomach into a bucket.

“Go away,” Harriett gasped, between violent spasms. The trembling in her limbs became worse and she sank to her knees on the cold stone floor
with a low moan.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Hugo
snapped, making no attempt to do as she asked.

Despite the pain and discomfort, Harriett felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over her at the thought of Hugo witnessing her humiliation. But any awkwardness was forgotten when it became apparent
that the retching wasn’t going to stop.

Over and over again, she heaved and coughed
, the pain in her stomach growing worse until she flopped down onto the floor in a tight curl of misery. Although she was still heaving, her stomach was undoubtedly empty, but the pains had increased tenfold.

“Tell me what to do
, Harriett,” Hugo demanded desperately.

Her face was so pale, she was almost transparent. Something was definitely wrong for her to be vomiting so
violently. He had never seen anyone be so violently ill for so long before, and cursed his own inability to help her.

“
I need some mint; that helps sickness,” Harriett gasped around the pain, moaning as the sensations grew so fierce that she was sure her stomach was on fire.

“I also need some valerian root,” Harriett tried to withhold he
r cry of pain as she began to retch again, her stomach muscles screaming in protest. “They are in the jars in the workroom.”

Hugo vanished, bursting into the workroom like a man possessed. It took far too long to scour the rows of neatly
labelled jars and bottles until he found the two she needed. Racing back through the cottage, he was unsurprised to find her exactly where he had left her, although she had now gone grey, her lips pinched with discomfort.

“Harriett, tell me what to do,” he pleaded. He had no idea whether she ate them, drank them or rubbed them in
, and stood with a jar uselessly in either hand while he waited for her to answer him.

“The valerian root
- make into a tea. Give me the mint,” she gasped, holding out a trembling hand.

He brushed it aside and placed both jars on the floor of the room before sweeping her into his arms. Ignoring the
dull ache in his injured arm, he shouldered his way out of the room and carried her through to her bedroom at the front of the house, placing her tenderly on the sheets. Within minutes he had returned with the jars, lifting the lid on the one marked ‘mint’ and giving her several of the fragrant leaves.

She began to chew and suck the juices from the green foliage, prompting Hugo to
hurry to the kitchen with the valerian root to do as she instructed. Minutes later he returned with a tepid cup of strange-looking tea. It didn’t smell all that nice but, if it worked, she was going to drink it.

He hated t
o see her so ill, and felt useless - simply giving her herbs didn’t seem enough. The curses that burst forth were the only sign of his deep frustration when Harriett began to retch again, over and over, until he wondered if she was strong enough to bear it.

“God
, Harriett, let me get the doctor,” he suggested, unable to think of anything else he could do.

“He won’t be able to do anything, trust me,” Harriett gasped, feeling the world swirl around her. Was this
how she was going to die? She glanced at Hugo, lost in a wave of pain.

“If the valerian and m
int don’t work, there is nothing the doctor can give me.” Her eyes met Hugo’s. She knew he understood her silent communication when he closed his eyes and cursed roundly.

“Go, Hugo.” H
er voice was as strong as she could make it. “I don’t want you here for this.” If she had been poisoned, as she suspected, it was going to get a lot worse before the lord removed her pain and discomfort. She didn’t want Hugo left not only watching her die, but having to explain to the locals what had happened.

“What do you think it is?” Hugo asked, ignoring her request. There was no way in hell he was going anywhere.

“I think I’ve been poisoned,” she gasped, moaning low in her throat as the burning pains in her stomach increased in another wave of spasms that made her cry aloud. Sweat beaded her brow; her limbs trembled violently. “Apple pie,” she panted, trying to think of anything else that could have poisoned her. Hugo had eaten everything else she had eaten, and he seemed fine. The only thing that was different was the apples. The strange bitter aftertaste was the clue that told her everything she needed to know. Although she didn’t know much about poisons, she knew enough about plants to know that mint and valerian root would ease the sickness and the cramps, but they couldn’t - and wouldn’t - stop the poison from spreading.

“
Are you sure?” Hugo asked, thinking of the vast amount of food they had consumed. He felt fine. Could the apple pie have poison in it?

“Why would it be poisoned?” Hugo snapped, fighting the desperation that gnawed at him.

“I don’t know,” Harriett gasped, fighting tears. “It’s the only thing I have eaten that you haven’t – and it tasted strange.” Her eyes locked with his. “Don’t touch it.”