Raven (Gentlemen of the Order #2) - Adele Clee Page 0,58
her with apologetic eyes before focusing his attention on Blent. “When a man loves a woman, he should be the light in the darkness, the guiding hand of support when the path is uncertain. He should ease her suffering, dry her tears. He should be the angel in the woods, offering a token to keep the devil at bay.”
Gracious!
Was Finlay implying Blent had given Jessica the bowl?
Surely not.
“Why fill Jessica’s head with stories of murdered witches and then give her a bowl as a means of protection?” Sophia blurted. It made no sense.
For courage, Blent swallowed a mouthful of whatever concoction Mr Sloane had mixed in the glass. The heat almost choked him, and he leant forward and coughed.
“Drink it down, my friend.” Mr Sloane chuckled. “The burn will pass.”
When Blent recovered, he thrust the glass at Mr Sloane, who gladly emptied the contents down his own throat without giving a gasp or a hiss.
“Well?” Sophia pressed. “You’ve not answered my question.”
Blent’s shoulders sagged. “The bowl belonged to my father. He brought it back from Persia during his travels. I gave Jessica the bowl, but told her to say she found it in the woods.”
“Yes, but why the frightening tales?”
“It has to do with Dr Goodwin,” Finlay said, prompting the man to confess. “You know he’s been giving her excessive doses of laudanum. Lord knows what’s in the paregoric vials. Hopefully, I shall discover the answer later today.”
“I spoke of witches, hoping she would be too scared to visit the woods.”
“And what of Mrs Friswell and her devil potions?”
Blent jumped to the housekeeper’s defence. “The restorative Mrs Friswell prepares is to counteract the effects of the doctor’s drugs.”
“She is in my employ.” Sophia could trust no one at Blackborne, it seemed. But that’s what came from having no permanent mistress in the house. Mrs Friswell had taken matters into her own hands. “If she had concerns about Dr Goodwin, she should have come to me. She has no right to administer herbal concoctions without my express permission.”
Blent shook his head. “I had no proof of the doctor’s guilt. He is treating a patient who’s considered unstable. Would you have taken my word over a professional man who has served you faithfully all these years?”
“But you don’t believe she is unstable,” Finlay interjected. “Do you?”
Blent straightened. “There’s nothing wrong with Miss Draper’s mind. I would stake my life on it.”
“I have to agree,” Mr Sloane offered. “Yes, she talks incessantly, fidgets, is forgetful, but beneath the haze of confusion is a logical woman.”
Sophia choked back a sob. Guilt formed the basis of her emotion. If she believed these men, then she had failed Jessica. She had given the trusted doctor free rein to administer his treatments—but only because she loved Jessica and wanted her well.
She swallowed past the pain in her throat and faced Blent. “Although you have no evidence against the doctor, do you know why he might want to drug her, want to keep her subdued? Do you know why Jessica’s manner is so erratic of late?”
Blent pursed his lips but seemed hesitant to reply.
“Only the truth will save Miss Draper and free her from this torment,” Mr Ashwood said.
Blent nodded. “Up until a few months ago, Goodwin has been giving her laudanum to quieten her mind. Mrs Friswell gives only half the dose and has done for years.”
Finlay folded his arms across his chest. “During which time you’ve forged a friendship with Miss Draper that has grown into something more.”
“Yes.”
“Dr Goodwin said the laudanum settles the volatile part of her mind,” Sophia said, cursing herself for being fool enough to believe him. “Without it, he said Jessica might behave as she had done in The Trout Inn that night.”
Oh, the doctor had seemed so convincing, seemed genuinely concerned. And to think she’d let him dine at her table.
Blent swore beneath his breath. “A few months ago, the doctor changed her medication and started putting thoughts into her head. I heard him tell her Mr Archer had returned from India and was waiting to speak to her in the woods.”
Mr D’Angelo cleared his throat. “I’ve checked the passenger records on every ship to dock from Calcutta during the last three months. There is no record of a Mr Bartholomew Archer aboard any vessel.”
“Many shipments of cloth from Calcutta dock in Lancashire,” Finlay said. “A man with devious intentions might board the ship and travel south by mail coach.”
A devious man might have made the journey more than three months