"Call for the doctor immediately," Stefan ordered.
Willard merely stood there motionless before adding. "Your Grace, pardon my outspokenness, but we've been dealing with this cursed disease for the past few weeks. A doctor will not help. She will slowly go mad. I'm sure of it."
"I said…" Stefan clenched his fists. "Call for the doctor."
"Your Grace." Willard gave a curt bow and exited the room.
"Well, it appears my family has gone mad." Rosalind looked at her mother's motionless form.
"Rose, I hate to say this now, and I know my proposals haven't been the stuff of legends, but…"
A heavy weight of guilt descended onto her shoulders. Maybe they were right, she was being selfish. How morose of a thought — to know that she would surely die married to a man she was starting to care for. The thought that she was actually developing feelings for Stefan didn't aid her confusion. It caused her heart great pain. Even worse than his botched proposals was the fact that she was hiding the seriousness of her health issues from his very astute eyes. He knew nothing of the constant fear that plagued her. The horrible premonition that one day, she would simply fall asleep and never wake up.
"What are you saying, Stefan?"
"Rose, if it is the curse…" he didn't finish the sentence; he didn't need to. The house felt constricting and all at once frightening and cold. His eyes landed on her mother's frail form.
"Are you still in possession of the special license, Stefan?"
After a moment of silence, he said, "I am."
Rosalind closed her eyes. She had to make the decision without looking at her mother's still form and pale face. "Of course you are. Always dependable. We shall marry in two days. That will give me adequate time to make arrangements."
"As you wish." His voice was barely audible. Was he regretting the hastiness of their marriage? Or was he merely trying to be humble about her decision?
She would never know, for the next minute her world turned on its ear as a very pale woman ran into the room and announced. "They are both dead! The two maids, my friends… they are dead!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I am tainted whether of the flock,
Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground.
~ The Merchant of Venice — William Shakespeare ~
Stefan was already on his third snifter of brandy when the doctor was gathering his things to leave the house. He hadn't even been to see his own family, considering Rosalind's had already driven him to drink. He didn't feel the need to add to the mind-consuming madness that had taken place since his arrival in London.
"Your Grace?" The doctor poked his head into the library where Stefan was drowning his nerves.
"You may enter," he motioned. "And how is the dowager this evening?"
The doctor looked away, put up a hand, then walked to the door and closed it. "Your Grace, if I may speak plainly?"
"Please do so."
"How much do you know of the late earl and his wife?"
Stefan shifted uncomfortably in his seat before taking another sip of brandy. "I know that the late earl died of heart failure and that the entire family, as well as mine, believes some sort of curse is killing off our family trees one by one until I marry the eldest daughter."
"I cannot speak for the curse." The doctor swallowed slowly his eyes downcast, "but the late earl was a good man. A finer friend I could not ask for. What I find strange, Your Grace, is that we had an understanding. His health was declining, we were both aware that his heart was weak, but I had just seen him the day previous and he was healthier than I had seen him look in years."
"What, exactly are you saying?" Stefan leaned forward.
"I do not believe he died of natural causes, Your Grace."
"Have you any evidence or is this merely your opinion?" Stefan asked swirling the amber liquid around.
"He was drinking, Your Grace."
"And that proves your hypothesis how?" Stefan could not help the shudder that took over his body. Something was odd in this house. And the doctor's doubts only added to his own.
"He did not drink, Your Grace."
"Ever?"
"Not since his diagnosis. I would say he had not a drop of alcohol for at least two years."
"And how do you know he was drinking, doctor?"
The doctor began pacing. "When I arrived, he was already dead. And the scene before me was heartbreaking to say the least. There was so much commotion I almost missed it. But next to his chair by the fireplace I noticed a sniffer of brandy. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it was only half full and had been tipped over."
"That does not prove much." Stefan admitted.
"I am merely telling you what I've observed." The doctor stopped pacing. "Maybe my grief is talking. The good Lord knows only the daughters have grieved that loss."
Stefan didn't feel it was his place to ask what the doctor was referring to. He stored the information in the back of his mind as the doctor continued talking.
"As if things could not get any more peculiar. I find nothing wrong with the Dowager."
"Nothing?" Stefan asked aghast.
"Absolutely nothing. She's sleeping. Nothing more. Albeit, it is a strong sleep. Most likely drug induced, although I do not know why she would do such a thing."
"Thank you, doctor." Stefan rose from his seat and pumped the man's hand. "And I will think on what you've said."
"Thank you."
The doctor went to the door, but as he reached for it, it swung open wide revealing Willard. "Oh, good sir, I was just coming to fetch you. The hackney is here."
The doctor nodded and walked off, leaving Stefan alone with the alarming news of the doctor's discovery. Something was taking place in this household. And he was going to find out what.
Rosalind. She should at least know if her father was drinking brandy or behaving out of sorts. She had seen him in his last moments. Should he bring back those painful memories though?
It was decided for him as Rosalind entered the room minutes later searching for a book.
"Oh, Stefan. I'm sorry, I knew I would have trouble sleeping so I came in search of a book, but I can come back at another time."
"Wait." He stood nearly knocking the brandy in his hand over in all his haste. "Stay, please."
Rosalind looked towards the door then back at him. She must have decided she would rather spend time talking with him than tossing and turning in her bed, for she came near him and sat, tucking her feet beneath her.