If those bees attack my uncle one more time, the old keeper will be dragged away in chains for treason, my cousin whispered as we stood on the portico of Elmwood Manor.
Major Pryce’s stare felt like a physical weight, pinning me in place. I managed to slip the vial back into the coat pocket without him seeing its true nature.
“Major,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “General Montgomery’s coat needed airing. A bee sting, you understand. I was merely assisting.”
He took a slow step closer, his eyes narrowing. “General Montgomery has staff for such domestic duties, Nurse. Your priorities, I trust, lie with the wounded.”
I dipped my head, offering a deferential nod. “Of course, Major. My apologies.”
He lingered for a moment, his gaze sharp, before turning and continuing down the hall, the requisition folders tucked under his arm. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
Later that evening, after the last ward rounds were done, I crept towards General Silas Montgomery’s quarters. Julian had been spending an unusual amount of time there, attending to his brother.
The soft glow of a lamp filtered from under the door. I pushed it open just enough to peer inside.
Julian sat by the General’s bedside, a small kettle steaming on a silver tray. He was stirring a cup, his brow furrowed in concentration.
General Silas lay propped on his pillows, his face pale and drawn. He looked worse than I’d ever seen a man look who wasn’t already dying.
“Another dose, brother,” Julian said, his voice unusually gentle. “The doctor insisted on this lavender blend. For your nerves.”
He lifted a delicate china cup. I watched him spoon a greyish herbal tincture into it, stirring until it dissolved into the fragrant steam.
As the General reached for the cup, his fingers trembled violently, shaking the saucer. A low, rattling cough escaped his chest, shallow and hoarse.
This wasn’t war fatigue. His symptoms—the tremors, the labored breathing, the sudden dropsy-like swelling in his ankles I’d observed earlier—were disturbingly familiar from my medical texts. They mirrored aconite heart distress, exactly what I would expect from a slow poisoning.
My blood ran cold. He was being poisoned. Right here, right now.
Julian held the cup out to Silas. “Careful, brother. It’s warm.”
I pushed the door open slightly wider, stepping into the room. “Forgive my intrusion, Uncle Julian. General, I came to check on your comfort.”
Julian’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with irritation. He tried to hide the cup behind his hand.
“Nurse Albright,” he said, his voice strained. “The General is resting. Your presence is quite unnecessary.”
“Just checking the temperature, General,” I insisted, moving towards the bedside. I reached out, my fingers extending towards the fine china cup. “It might be too hot for you.”
Before my fingers could even brush the rim, Julian let out a guttural sound. He violently slammed his hand down, knocking the cup from Silas’s grasp.
The delicate porcelain shattered on the hearth with a sharp crack, sending pieces of white china and dark tea splashing across the polished brass.
Julian glared at me, his chest heaving. “Are you mad, Nurse?” he hissed. “You nearly burned my brother!”
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