“Did you see anyone else near the stillroom? Before or after?”
“No. The house was dark. I used a candle. I was in and out in less than a minute.”
“Did Sarah ask you to go to the stillroom?”
Mrs Garrick blinked. “Ask me?”
“Did she suggest you fetch the sage?”
The cook’s eyes widened then her face crumpled. “She—she told me the day before that the larder sage was old. She said you were not happy with the breakfast the day before. She said the stillroom had a fresh jar. She was being helpful, Your Grace. She is always helpful.”
Violet sat motionless, digesting what Mrs Garrick said. The cook’s desperate voice brought her attention back to her. “You must believe me, Your Grace. I would never hurt anyone on purpose. Especially His Grace. He has always been good to me, to all of us. He is a fair employer. I would never—” She broke out in sobs again.
Violet’s heart went out to the poor woman. She grasped the woman’s hand lightly. “Mrs Garrick, I do not believe you poisoned anyone.”
The cook’s breath came out in a shudder that shook her whole body. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.”
“But I need you to remain in the house until the matter is resolved. If I put you somewhere more comfortable with a meal and a fire, will you give me your word you will not leave?”
“I promise, Your Grace. On my life. I will not set a foot outside this house.”
“Good.” Violet stood. “You will want to send word to your family. Inform Mr Patten of the message and the address.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Violet gave instructions to Mrs Greer and made her way back up through the servant’s stairs. When she reached the top, Cranbrook was waiting, her arms folded.
“The message is sent. Your husband is holding steady,” the older woman said. “Is the cook involved?”
“No. Sarah used her. Sent her to the stillroom to contaminate the evidence or frame her depending on which way you look at it.”
Cranbrook’s mouth thinned. “A woman of considerable resource.”
“Fatally so.”
“So do you believe she killed the previous duchesses?”
Violet hesitated. “I do not have the full story yet, but I believe she did.”
Cranbrook’s hand went to her heart. Violet reached for her hand and the older woman pulled her in for an embrace. Violet stiffened momentarily then leaned into the embrace, exhaling slowly. “There, there,” Cranbrook said, petting her back, “you cannot be strong all the time for everyone. Rest. I see how much he means to you, lucky man. He will recover. He is not going anywhere.”
In her arms, Violet cried, blew her nose, and cried some more because she had given her permission to.
Chapter thirty-four
The Runners
Violet
Henry’s fingers tightened around hers.
She had come upstairs expecting the worst and found him the same. He was pale, breathing shallowly, the charcoal poultice dark against his chest. But when she took his hand, his fingers closed. A faint, involuntary grip, like a man reaching for something in his sleep.
“His pulse is ninety-six. Down from one hundred and four,” her mother said from the plush chair with the other three ladies. They had trays of tea and sandwiches in front of them.
Violet pressed her lips to his knuckles. His skin was still too warm but the mottling on his forearms had faded.
“Has he opened his eyes?”