Hounds of Autumn (21 page)

Chapter 35

A
s the carriage pulled up
to the house, the door burst open and Mrs. Block flew out to meet them. She was wringing her nightcap. The light from the swinging lanterns on the front of the carriage made her look as if she had aged a decade. She said a few words to the driver and took Chloe’s arm the moment she opened the carriage door.

“We found Mr. Sullivan on the floor after you left. He had the basin, just as Josephine did. And he was in the same horrible condition. We got him into the bed and he’s asleep now.”

They rushed inside. The gaslights in the house were on, but dimly. A few servants were up, and there were noises from the kitchen.

“How is Josephine?” asked Mrs. Block.

“She’s fading in and out of consciousness, just as before,” Chloe said as they climbed the stairs. “She is still in terrible pain. But she had some medicine just before I left. The doctor suspects she ate something bad.”

Chloe couldn’t tell for certain in the low light of the upper hall, but the pink in Mrs. Block’s cheeks seemed to vanish and her hand flew to her mouth.

“They both had my soup and bread.”

Chloe moved past her and entered Ambrose’s room. The covers were pulled up to his chest and his body was relaxed in sleep. He looked peaceful, but the stench of vomit and excrement told a darker story.

“He was lying over by the window,” Mrs. Block said from behind her. “I had some of the girls clean up a bit in here, but we didn’t change him. We didn’t want to disturb him further and the doctor was sent for and we didn’t know if we ought to and—”

“We can change him in a little while.”

“We sent for the doctor as soon as we saw him. If Doctor Fleming is treating Josephine, he’ll send his assistant, young Doctor Michaels.”

If Doctor Fleming had sent for his assistant as she left, Chloe reflected, help could not be too far behind. She willed the man to ride fast.

She sat at the edge of the bed and took Ambrose’s hand. It was cool and limp, but after a minute, his fingers curled weakly around hers. His eyelids fluttered and he muttered something.

“What is it, love?” she said and leaned closer.

His lips moved, but she couldn’t make anything out. She wondered how much he could understand. Perhaps his mind was still alert.

“It looks like you ate something rotten and your body is expelling the toxin. A doctor is on his way.”

His eyes fluttered open and his face contorted in agony. He wrapped his arms around his middle and rolled onto his side, toward her. Chloe dropped to her knees beside the bed and pressed her cheek to his, putting her arm around his shoulder.

“I know it hurts,” she whispered. “The doctor will bring something. He’ll be here soon.”

“What was it?” Ambrose groaned. “What toxin?”

Even in such distress, he was a scientist.

“We don’t know. It was something in the soup.”

She felt his head nod against her cheek and he seemed to relax. She stayed there for a minute until his breathing slowed, and then she rose and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders.

Mrs. Block dragged a chair to the side of the bed. “I can stay with him if you want to get cleaned up.”

Chloe hesitated. Ambrose needed her and she did not want to leave him.

“There’s nothing you can do right now,” said Mrs. Block in a tone that she probably used with underlings. “And you are more use to him if you are out of those filthy clothes. I promise to yell for you if anything changes. And the doctor will be here any moment.”

Mrs. Block was right, of course. Chloe went into her room and threw the filthy clothing into a pile on the floor. One of the maids would collect it eventually, either for the laundry or, more likely, the refuse bin. Armed with a bar of soap, a basin and a jug of water, she cleaned herself up as best she could. Donning a simple dress that she could get on without Miss Haynes’s assistance, she pulled her hair into a messy knot and returned to her place by Ambrose’s side. He was still unconscious.

She heard the sturdy oak of the front door bang shut below, followed by hurried talking on the stairs. She rose and opened the bedroom door. A young man with a black physician’s bag nodded to her and went to Ambrose’s side. He introduced himself as Doctor Michaels and pulled back the covers to begin his examination.

“Would you mind opening the window a crack?” he said, absently.

She obliged. The night air was chilly and moist, but fresh. The doctor examined Ambrose’s throat and ears, took his pulse and temperature and listened to his breathing. Chloe tried not to hover. She always found such interruptions distracting when trying to diagnose a mechanical problem.

The doctor pulled the covers back over Ambrose and stepped back. “Please ring for a servant to bring some warm water, fresh sheets and fresh nightclothes. We need to get him cleaned up.”

“Of course.” Chloe rang for a servant. “Do you think he is likely to soil himself again?”

“Yes. But it will be less and less as time goes on, as his body rids itself of the toxin. That’s if my guess is right.”

“And what is your guess?”

“Something rotten in the soup. Not in the bread, as the whole family ate that. But only Mr. Sullivan and the little girl ate the soup, correct?”

“As far as I know. But what in the soup would cause this?”

“I don’t know. I asked Mrs. Block to tell me everything that was in it. She’s in the kitchen right now, gathering everything so I can have a look. After we get your husband tended to, I will speak to her and learn what I can.”

While Chloe gave instructions to a housemaid, the doctor checked Ambrose again. She caught a look at the side of Doctor Michaels’ face, and saw his deep concern as well as a flash of something darker. It was gone when he turned to her and gave a reassuring nod. Her insides twisted. He was trying not to worry her, to give her comfort and hope. Though she appreciated the gesture, it terrified her.

“What is it? Is he going to be all right?”

“I expect so,” he said and pulled three bottles from his black bag, two with white tablets and one with a liquid. “I’m going to wake him and see that he gets some medicine. Then we will get him cleaned and he can sleep.”

Chloe nodded and woke her husband. When the doctor tried to open Ambrose’s mouth, he moaned and turned his head away, but with Chloe’s encouragement, he eventually took the tablets and liquid. He muttered some more.

“The doctor gave you medicine to help,” said Chloe. “We’re going to clean you up and then you can rest.” She turned to Doctor Michaels. “Do you think he can understand me?”

“Perhaps. It can’t hurt to talk to him. It might help him be less frightened.”

She hadn’t thought of Ambrose being frightened, only in pain. But if the situation were reversed, she knew she would be afraid. She wanted to crawl under the blankets with him and reassure him. She wanted to be reassured herself. She took a deep breath. Ambrose needed her to keep her head.

“What next?” she asked.

“He needs to be cleaned. Do you want to assist, or call someone to do it?”

She pushed back the sleeves on her dress and helped move, wash and dress her husband. Servants came and stripped the bed and removed all the soiled items. A maid placed folded blankets over the sheet as a makeshift absorbent pad and once Ambrose was back in bed, Chloe spread fresh blankets over him.

“That’s all we can do for now. I need to speak with Mrs. Block,” said the doctor.

Chloe examined the bottles. One of the tablets was laudanum, for pain, and the other was a strong sleeping drug. The liquid tonic was to settle the stomach.

“Doctor, wait. What about something to cure him? To absorb the toxin or get it out of him somehow?”

“His body has already expelled the toxin, or most of it. Now we need him to keep down broth or tea and to rest.”

“But, there has to be something you can do. He’s in pain.”

The doctor sighed. “I know. The medicines will help the pain and help him sleep. While he’s unconscious, he isn’t suffering and it’s the best we can do for him at this time. After I speak with Mrs. Block, I hope to know more. I will come back to check on him.”

He took his bag and left. Maybe he planned to collect samples of the soup or the ingredients into little vials in his bag. Did he have some medical laboratory in which he could study them under a microscope? She imagined the doctor testing samples and isolating the toxic agent, then devising a cure. But she knew that was a fantasy.

She dropped into the bedside chair and studied Ambrose. The lines of his face were relaxed in sleep, but his skin was yellowish. His lips had a slightly bluish cast, as did his fingers.

A mechanical brought a tea tray. There were two cups, and she filled one for Ambrose, setting it aside to let it cool. When in doubt, drink tea, she thought ruefully as she raised her cup to her lips.

An hour later, the doctor returned and gave her written instructions on how often Ambrose was to take each drug. Then he checked on Ambrose again. Ambrose stirred as the doctor opened his nightshirt to listen to his heart.

“Baxter,” Ambrose muttered. “Met with him.”

“No darling,” said Chloe. “You had Mr. Frick send word that you were going to meet him another day. Don’t fret about it. When you are well you can see him.”

“Doctor,” he whispered.

“I’m here,” Doctor Michaels said.

Ambrose looked at him as if confirming something and nodded. He sighed and his eyes closed.

The doctor left, telling her that he would be back in the morning and to send word if Ambrose showed any change. He was going to consult with Doctor Fleming.

“We can’t do anything unless we know the nature of the toxin,” he said.

Chloe could not have agreed more. If they knew the cause, they could look up a cure or purgative. As Ambrose slept, she went into his temporary study and browsed through his books. She pulled out any and all that could relate to botanical poisons. She brought a stack of books to his room and went through them.

As the dawn sun lightened the sky, a mechanical brought coffee, buttered bread and two poached eggs. But she was too anxious and sick to her stomach to have any appetite. And she was no closer to an answer. As mid-morning daylight flooded through the window, she turned off the gaslight beside the bed and moved her seat under the window so Ambrose could be in as much darkness as possible. He had not regained consciousness, and she considered that a blessing.

Mrs. Block came to check on Ambrose and stood at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands. “I don’t know what it could have been. I’ve made that soup a hundred times.”

She glanced at the books scattered around the room before leaving. Robert knocked on the door a few minutes later.

“Mrs. Block said you were looking up things on herbs and toxins?”

“I am, not that it will do any good. But I can’t just sit here doing nothing. The thing is, I don’t understand half of what is in these books.”

“Mrs. Block thought I could maybe help. There is so much I don’t understand either, but maybe …” he shrugged.

“I could use all the help I can get.”

Robert squatted down and collected the books, placing them in a few organized piles.

“What was in the soup?” he asked.

“Carrots, potatoes, leeks, spinach, garlic, beets and beef broth,” she said, consulting a list Mrs. Block had written for her. “Also these herbs and salt.” She handed him the list.

“Good.”

“Pardon?”

“There was no meat in the soup, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“And the beef broth would have to be simmered for hours, killing any bacteria. That means it’s a botanical poison for certain.”

She was not certain, and it was little comfort. She imagined a cloaked villain emptying a vial of poison into the soup pot as it cooked on the stove. But she said nothing. She did not want to dampen Robert’s optimism. She needed his sharp mind, as hers was dulled by exhaustion, and only getting worse by the minute. She had read the same paragraph in Koch’s
Postulates on Bacillus Anthracis
three times, absorbing nothing. She slapped the cover closed and tossed the book onto the nearest pile.

Robert frowned. “The thing is, most toxins are killed with the heat of cooking. I wonder if there are heat resistant bacteria.” He dug through the stacks of books until he found the one he wanted.

“I wish Ambrose could help us. He would know what to look for. He would figure it out in a minute.” Chloe rubbed her eyes.

Robert glanced at his uncle, then at her. “You should sleep. I can keep looking. I’ll have your maid fetch you if he wakes up.”

“No, I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.”

He did not try to convince her but started to page through a book. She tore out a few blank pages from her notebook and gave them to him along with a pencil.

In the late morning, Doctor Michaels returned. He examined Ambrose with a careful eye and administered another dose of drugs. Then he glanced at the stack of books between Chloe and Robert. He scanned the titles.

“Where did you get those?”

“They belong to my husband. He’s a naturalist.”

He took in the sheets of notes and he gave a little nod. Chloe suspected that he thought she was just keeping herself busy so she did not feel helpless and hysterical. Perhaps she was.

“I will be downstairs if you need me. I will check on Mr. Sullivan every hour, but call me immediately if he shows any change.”

“How is Josephine?” asked Robert.

The young doctor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked miserable. “I’m sorry, but she passed about two hours ago. There was nothing we could do.”

“Child …” moaned Ambrose.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Chloe shot a look at the doctor. He should have known not to say such a thing at a man’s sickbed.

“Graves. The girl,” he murmured.

“You aren’t going to die. You’re going to recover and be just fine.” She got him to take a few sips of tea before he fell back into merciful oblivion.

Chloe took her husband’s purplish hand and sat watching him. The sweet little girl was dead. God had taken her, and she was with her mother, just as she wished.

Robert got up and stood alone in Ambrose’s sitting area for a long while. Chloe knew he had liked the little girl. He returned without a word and picked up his book with a new sternness in the set of his shoulders and jaw.

At midday, Mrs. Block brought up a tray with mutton sandwiches and pickles. Robert tore into his, but Chloe had to force herself to eat a few bites.

Mrs. Block looked at the sheets of scribbled notes and the books lying open around them.

“Are you having any luck?”

“No,” said Chloe. “None.”

Mrs. Block picked up some papers and flipped through. Chloe wanted to snatch them from her hands, but stopped herself. Mrs. Block knew herbs and plants. Perhaps she could see some kind of pattern, some hint. The housekeeper came to the list of soup ingredients and stopped.

“You’ve added something to my list. There were no mushrooms in my soup.”

“Yes there were. Chopped fine.”

“No, I’m certain there weren’t.”

Robert and Mrs. Block locked eyes in horror.

“What is it? Do you think it was bad mushrooms?” asked Chloe. “But how can that be? The people at the market in town would never sell poisonous ones. It makes no sense.”