Belladonna

BOTH SIGNA AND ELIJAH SAT AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE WELL BEFORE daylight, poring over theories and motives, neither of them willing to speak the truth aloud—that Marjorie couldn’t have been acting alone. That her reaction was too surprised. That her love for the Hawthorne children was too genuine.

But the stain of belladonna upon her fingertips and the entries in her journal didn’t lie. She had wanted Lillian gone, but that wasn’t enough. Hands could be washed and poisoned cups cleaned, so they needed proof. They needed answers. And thus, they had gathered to try and find them.

Signa was relieved that Elijah spoke frankly with her, and he listened to her suspicions with the utmost attentiveness. When she suggested Byron as Marjorie’s accomplice, he didn’t balk or tell her she was mad. He leaned his chin upon steepled fingers and said, “I’m sure we’ll have the chance to speak with my brother soon.”

He was right, though Signa didn’t ask how he knew Byron would appear. It was hardly sunrise when he hammered the knocker loud enough to rouse the dead.

“Let him in, Warwick,” Elijah called out to the butler. His throat was scratchy, voice on its last dregs. It felt like so long ago that he’d been a burst of starlight upon the ballroom floor, grinning and sober and happy. Before her now, Elijah had his slippered feet drawn up into a chair as he sipped on black tea he’d poured far too much milk into. The bags beneath his eyes were heavier than Signa had ever seen, and he did nothing to tame the disheveled hair that was strewn across his forehead and into his eyes. His facial hair had regrown, now a shadow across his face.

Breakfast had been brought out moments prior, and Signa took spoonfuls of porridge as she listened to the thunk-thunk-thunk of Byron’s cane against the hardwood. Byron didn’t wait for permission, or for Warwick to escort him into the dining room before he threw the door open, face flushed such a shade of crimson that he appeared close to bursting. He took one look at Signa and growled, “Get out of here, girl.”

Elijah held up a hand in her defense. “Signa will stay.” He motioned to a chair opposite her. “Sit, Byron.”

“If you think I’m going to—”

“I said sit.”

Signa looked to the corner of the room, in the darkest shadows, half expecting that Elijah had somehow summoned Death with that tone.

Byron smacked his tailcoat to the side and sat. His fists were clenched tight as he set his hands upon the white lace tablecloth. “What have you done, Elijah? A broker arrived at Grey’s this morning, rambling nonsense about the sale of the business.”

Elijah took a spoonful of porridge, scrunched up his nose, then added milk and a cube of sugar. “Of course there’s a broker. Did you expect I’d let my family starve?”

God help Byron and the man’s poor heart. He turned from red to purple, so angry that he’d forgotten to breathe. Signa thought he would pass out, or yell at the very least, but he drew in a breath and settled his mounting anger. “If you want to sell the business,” he began with an admirable level of calm, “let me purchase it. We can work out a payment plan, or a percentage of the monies for you to collect. You’ll never have to touch another ledger.”

Elijah requested Warwick to alert the kitchen staff they were in need of more tea. The silence was a weight around them. Signa felt as though her crawling skin might jump from her bones at any moment. Sitting silent in the midst of the two men’s bickering was a unique form of torture.

Byron seemed to think so as well. “Elijah.” The name struck like a hammer on a nail. “Is that offer agreeable to you? You know I would never let your family suffer.”

Elijah’s jaw screwed tight. “I never intended for my family to suffer, either. Which is why I’ll ask you just this once, Byron—were you working with Marjorie to harm my family?”

Signa didn’t dare blink for fear that she’d miss his reaction. Yet she didn’t know how to read Byron’s retracted neck and creasing brows as anything other than surprise.

“Have you been drinking again,” Byron demanded, “or have you gone mad? What are you raving about?”

Elijah raised a porcelain teacup to his lips and watched his brother through the billowing steam with an astounding level of calm. “Do you know what happened to my son?”

Byron slammed his teacup onto its saucer, splattering a few drops of tea onto the ivory tablecloth. “Elijah, no more games. What’s happened to Percy?”

Signa wanted Byron to be guilty. She wanted answers, or even to use her new abilities to follow him home and confirm for herself what his involvement was. But Byron’s concern appeared genuine, and while part of her was relieved, she couldn’t help but grit her teeth as her frustration mounted over the lack of information.

Elijah’s face hardened. “He fell ill moments after you left the party last night. We found Marjorie with poison, and I have reason to suspect the two of you may have been working together.”

“Poison?” As though his intent was to stand, Byron pushed from the table with his walking stick in hand. At the last moment he seemed to think better of it and settled back in his chair. In a smooth, cold voice, he said, “We have had our differences, Elijah, but why in God’s name would I hurt anyone in your family?”

“You likely have more reasons to harm me than I can count,” Elijah began, ticking them off on his fingers. “It’s no secret you want Grey’s, but perhaps it goes deeper than that. Perhaps it’s because of what Lillian meant to you. Perhaps you killed her because you were tired of seeing her with me. Or perhaps you wanted me to feel the same hurt that you did when she chose me. Or perhaps—”

“Enough!” Byron gripped the edge of the table, knuckles bone white. Signa sank low in her seat, wishing to disappear. Family arguments were a new experience, and certainly not her forte.

“The fact that you would even suggest…” Byron’s words trailed off with the shake of his head. “It’s true I loved Lillian, as it’s true that I want Grey’s. But that’s because you’re running it into the ground, Elijah. Did you know that Percy came to my home last summer, begging me to speak with you? For you to believe that I would harm your family is ridiculous. I love those children, you fool.” He did not have the same passion or fervor that Elijah had, yet Signa found herself believing every word.

“It’s unlikely I will ever marry or have children of my own,” Byron continued. “To me, Percy and Blythe are as close as I will ever get to that. Percy and I especially have grown close, as you’d see if only you opened your eyes. When you dismissed him, it was me he confided in. I want him to succeed. I want to see him take over Grey’s, to marry, to be happy. I would never lay a hand on him.”

“But you would lay a hand on a woman.” Signa wanted to pinch herself for speaking.

Byron’s attention snapped to her, as if noticing her for the first time.

Elijah’s jaw ticked. “You were the one who hurt Marjorie?” Signa hadn’t realized that he’d noticed. “Why?”

Byron set his walking stick to the side. “You’ve been alone for too long, Elijah. I know you had feelings for the woman once. I thought that perhaps you might still.”

Elijah’s laugh was bitter. “You thought what? That if I bedded her, I might forget the death of my wife? That I might revert back to my old behaviors and begin to work at Grey’s once more? It’s you who’s the fool, brother.”

“There’s a lady at the table, Elijah—”

“Then she can cover her delicate ears if I offend her. You’re too old-fashioned, Byron. It’s no wonder Lillian never loved—”

“Finish that sentence,” Byron hissed, leaning forward to wag his finger at Elijah, “and you’ll be sorry.”

“Will I? Heavens, how I tremble to think—”

“Oh for the love of God, I’ve heard enough from you both.” Signa slammed her chair back and stood, unable to withstand a moment longer of them squealing like pigs. “You are behaving like children. If you can’t have a civil conversation, then sip your tea and I’ll ask the questions.”

So similar were the two men with their blanched faces and owlish eyes. Signa could see their resemblance now, in a way she never had before. The same stern brows and cut jawline. Tawny skin, a few shades darker on Elijah. Byron was more severe, like Percy, with a longer nose and sharper angles, though they were remarkably alike.

“We don’t know if Marjorie was acting alone, and we need proof of her involvement,” Signa began, keeping her words snappy and precise. “Poison upon her fingers isn’t enough. Byron, if you know why she’d poison the Hawthornes, you must tell us.”

Byron’s bark of laughter was the last thing Signa expected. “You truly think Marjorie would make them ill? You’re a fool, girl. That woman would never harm Percy.”

Elijah brushed two fingers down both sides of his lips, smoothing his returning scruff. “Tell me about the journal you found, Signa. The one you confronted her with.”

“She wrote about a time she found you in the stables,” Signa answered. “She wrote that she told you of her feelings, and you rejected—”

“Whatever you’re speaking of did not happen.” Of this, Elijah was firm. “Are you certain it was me she named?”

“Of course I am! She said she wanted to have the family she was always meant to have. She said… She said…” Signa realized then that, no, Marjorie had never once referred to Elijah by name as the one that she loved. But she’d seen the way the woman touched him, and how freely she spoke while in his presence. So if not him…“Was there someone else? Someone else here that she loved, and felt she owed the truth to?”

Elijah’s pallor was so apparent that Signa feared his soul had already departed his body before she could get an answer. Byron’s face followed suit, and the two shared a look that Signa could not for the life of her interpret.

The night before, she’d been so sure of what she’d read. So certain that she’d started to piece the puzzle together. But from the expression on their faces, she was more doubtful than ever.

“There’s someone else she might have been referring to,” Elijah finally answered.

“Elijah—” It was the first time, in her memory, that Signa had heard a protective edge in Byron’s voice as he watched his brother.

“It’s fine, Byron. Though I’m not certain whether this girl is an angel or the devil himself, she has saved my children more times than I can count. Besides, if what she says is true, it’s not like he doesn’t already know.”

“Know what?” Signa pressed fingers to her temples. She thought her head might explode if she didn’t get answers soon. Fortunately, the Hawthorne men took pity on her.

“Marjorie didn’t remain at Thorn Grove because she loved me.” Though they were alone in the room, Elijah spoke so quietly that Signa strained to hear him. “She stayed because she had a child.”

The puzzle snapped together.

In the eyes of society, I was already ruined. Marjorie had warned Signa to be careful with men. She’d had a child out of wedlock, and because of it, society brushed their hands of her.

Blythe looked so much like Lillian. They had the same sunburst hair, the same small features. Yet with two blond parents, Percy’s harvest-orange hair and freckled skin had always seemed out of place. How had she not seen it sooner?

“Percy is your and Marjorie’s son,” Signa said, head in her hands, “isn’t he?”

Elijah didn’t hesitate. “We kept it quiet, as much for Marjorie’s sake as Percy’s. I’d just gotten engaged when she found out, and I had no idea she was pregnant until she appeared on our doorstep with him one day. Marjorie had been disowned by her family and left with nothing. No money, no prospects, and no one who would so much as look at her twice if they knew she’d birthed a child out of wedlock. So she asked Lillian and me to raise Percy as our own, and I said yes. Of course I said yes. He’s my son, and I wanted him to have the world, not a life on the streets.”

“And Lillian was fine with that?”

“Lillian never treated Percy as anything other than her own son,” Byron said with startling conviction.

Elijah nodded. “We struggled to have a child of our own for some time, and while explaining to my new wife that there was a child I had known nothing about is not an experience I wish to ever relive, I think she viewed Percy as a blessing. From the moment she saw Percy, she loved him.”

It was as though someone had dumped an entirely new puzzle across the table. Signa pressed a hand to her temples again, sorting the pieces. “And what about Marjorie?” she asked. “Was she fine with this arrangement?”

“As fine as she could be, I suppose.” Elijah stirred his tea, recalling the memories. “I gave her a respectable job, a home to live in, and the chance to watch her son grow up. But Percy couldn’t know the truth of his lineage. There was too much I wanted for him, too much that he’d not be able to get, were it discovered that he was born a bastard. Marjorie and Lillian, too, would have been gossiped about wherever they went.”

“He’d be no more ridiculed than he is now,” Byron interrupted with a scowl. “You’re making a mockery of him and the entire Hawthorne family by ruining his prospects.”

Never had she seen such a snarl as the one Elijah flashed at his brother. “I’m not trying to make a mockery of my son; I’m trying to protect him. Just as I’m trying to protect you, you fool. For years we gave ourselves to our jobs, missing sleep, missing birthdays, missing memories. And for what? To miss my wife’s final days so that overly entitled men might spend their days gambling and drinking? For the money to afford me a lonely house that grows quieter with each passing day? My son deserves to be better than I was.

“You are not married, Byron, because you put too much of yourself into a job that means nothing, just as I did. I had to learn that lesson the hard way, brother. I believed the doctors would make my wife better, and so I continued to spend day after day at the club. I could’ve been there to help her. I could have made things easier for her, and yet I chose my work. I won’t have my son making the same choice. He will not inherit Grey’s, nor will I sell it to you and damn you for the rest of your existence. Let some other poor soul have it. We’ll keep a percentage, and we will need for nothing.”

Signa wished Percy were awake to hear his father. She hoped he’d be relieved to know that it wasn’t Elijah’s hate or mistrust keeping him away from the family business. It was love. And perhaps if Percy knew that, they could begin to repair the fraying seam between them.

If Byron was any indicator, however, there was far more to repair.

“Don’t you understand what this will do to your reputation?” Byron asked. “The moment you sign those papers, it disappears.”

“Then call me a magician.” Elijah waved away the worry. “I have all I need. The rest is a game I wish to play no longer.”

Byron slid listless fingers through his hair and tugged at the strands. “Perhaps you no longer wish to play, but that is not a choice you get to make for all of us. I’m set enough in my life that I know what I want, and it’s Grey’s.”

They would, undoubtedly, argue their point until both were blue in the face, but Signa was distracted by her memories of Marjorie’s tenderness toward Percy. Of the adoration and fondness in her eyes, and how easily she gave in to him.

She could understand Marjorie wanting Lillian out of the picture. Blythe’s poisoning, too, she could understand, for the girl likely didn’t fit with Marjorie’s idea of the family she was meant to have. But why had Percy fallen ill?

There was still one piece missing. One final piece, and the puzzle would finally be solved.

Signa. The brush of cold against her skin was so sudden she gasped, though in their bickering, neither of the Hawthorne men noticed. Come quick. Something’s happening with Percy.

Signa pushed up from her chair without hesitation and sprinted toward the door. The Hawthorne men abruptly ceased their arguing and Elijah called out, “Where are you going?”

“To Percy’s room!” she called back. She didn’t turn around, but she heard the legs of their chairs screech against the floor and knew that they followed.