Page 46 of A Different Impression

“Anne cannot be mistress of Rosings!” Catherine cried. “She was incapable of managing it when she reached five-and-twenty, and she remains incapable now. Once she marries Darcy, she will reside at Pemberley, and Rosings will remain where it belongs—in my hands!”

For one stunned moment, Lord Matlock could only stare at his sister.

“Stop, Catherine. Did you just say that Anne became mistress of Rosings when she reached five-and-twenty?”

A faint voice came from the settee.

“I inherited Rosings?” Anne asked. “Uncle, what does she mean? I have never been told that the estate belonged to me.”

Catherine spluttered, “No, that is not what I said. Besides, Anne is much too weak to be in charge of such a large estate as Rosings. I am much better suited to be its mistress. Darcy will marry Anne and take her to Pemberley so that I will continue running Rosings.”

“Do you honestly believe Darcy would have allowed you to retain control of Rosings had he married Anne?” Lord Matlock regarded his sister in disbelief. “You are even more deluded than I realised.”

He summoned the butler and ordered several footmen to escort Catherine to a bedchamber and ensure that she remained there. She continued shouting as the servants led her away, but Lord Matlock paid little attention. His thoughts were fixed upon what she had inadvertently revealed.

Lady Matlock escorted Anne upstairs with her companion. Lord Matlock instructed the housekeeper to place his niece in a room well removed from Catherine’s and to take the physician to her immediately upon his arrival.

He watched Anne leave, troubled by how heavily she leant upon his wife’s arm. Catherine’s admission about Rosings was alarming enough, but the severity of Anne’s condition now struck him as something more than the unfortunate consequence of a delicate constitution.

It seemed an age before the physician entered Lord Matlock’s study. Lady Matlock had already returned from settling Anne upstairs and now sat opposite her husband, her concern evident in the tight clasp of her hands.

The physician closed the door behind him and approached the desk, carrying the unlabelled bottle Mrs Jenkinson had given him.

“My lord, I believe your niece will recover from today’s illness, although she may remain weak for some time. Miss de Bourgh informed me that she took her usual tonic before departing Rosings and a second dose when they stopped at Bromley to change horses. Her condition worsened considerably soon afterwards.”

Lord Matlock glanced at the bottle. “What is in it?”

“I cannot yet say. There is no label, and Miss de Bourgh knows only that an apothecary in Hunsford prepares it according to her mother’s instructions. I intend to request the receipt from him.” The physician placed the bottle upon the desk. “Until I know precisely what it contains, Miss de Bourgh must not take another dose.”

“You believe that is responsible for her illness?” Lady Matlock asked, her voice showing her alarm.

“I strongly suspect it,” the doctor replied. “Her irregular heartbeat, shortness of breath, chest pains, weakness, and stomach complaints are all consistent with the effects of prolonged arsenic exposure.”

Beside him, Lady Matlock went pale. “Those are the very symptoms I have observed in Anne.”

Lord Matlock’s hand tightened around the arm of his chair. For several moments, he could find no words.

“You believe my niece has been poisoned?”

“I fear so,” the physician replied. “The tonic may contain only a small quantity of the poison, but she has apparently taken it regularly for years. It affected her more severely today because she took a second dose, believing it would counteract the effects of the journey. Instead, she received a greater quantity of whatever is weakening her.”

Lady Matlock’s expression suddenly altered, and Lord Matlock knew that the same terrible thought had occurred to them both.

“Did not Sir Lewis suffer similar symptoms before he died?” she asked, her voice quiet. “I remember how drawn he looked towards the end. He complained frequently of a sore throat and pains in his stomach, and he often struggled to breathe.”

Lord Matlock looked towards the bottle upon his desk. Catherine’s determination to control Rosings—and her furious insistence that Anne was incapable of managing it—returned to him with dreadful clarity.

“Could Catherine have given this tonic to them both?” he asked, struggling to voice the possibility. “Would continued exposure have kept Anne weak enough for Catherine to retain control over her?”

“I cannot speak to Lady Catherine’s intentions,” the physician cautioned. “It is possible she did not understand what the tonic contained. I shall enquire of the apothecary, although if he knowingly included arsenic, he may be reluctant to provide a truthful account.”

Lord Matlock understood the difficulty. Unless Catherine had placed her instructions in writing, any accusation might rest upon the word of an apothecary against that of an earl’s daughter. Catherine’s rank would carry considerable weight, regardless of the truth.

“If Sir Lewis was given the same tonic, it is possible that he, like Miss de Bourgh, took an additional dose when he felt particularly unwell,” the physician explained. “A greater quantity might have caused his death even if the individual doses had previously been too small to prove fatal.”

Lord Matlock looked at his wife and saw his own horror reflected in her expression. He had known Catherine to be selfish, domineering, and vindictive, but he had never imagined her capable of anything so monstrous.

At last, he rose from his chair.