On the Brink of a Chasm: A record of plot and passionMeade, L. T.
General
On the Brink of a Chasm: A record of plot and passion
Meade, L. T.
Conspiracies -- Fiction; Husband and wife -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Mesmerism -- Fiction; Revenge -- Fiction
“The room matters nothing,” said Mrs. Pelham. She untied her cloak as
she spoke and threw back the crêpe strings of her bonnet. Her crêpe veil
was up, her face looked pallid and her dark eyes full of apprehension.
“What is it, Luke? This mystery unnerves me.”
“I have some painful news to give you,” he said; “the best way is to
tell you quite simply what I have discovered.”
“What is that?”
“You remember that I asked you to let me have the bottle which contained
the medicine little Piers took just before he died?”
“I remember quite well, and you took all the medicine bottles away. You
said you wanted to work up your case. What is it, Luke, what is the
matter?”
“Something very grave has happened,” he replied. “I have hesitated for
some weeks to tell you. The fact is, I have known this for over a month;
my wife also knows it, for I had to confide in her. For a time I thought
I would keep the whole matter to myself, but I found that my conscience
would not rest. It seems to me you ought to know, that you are the one
to decide. The thing haunts me. I can bear it no longer. That is the
reason why I could not come to Pelham Towers to talk the matter over
with you, for it concerns—Richard Pelham.”
“But what is it, Luke? I wish you would speak out. I hate people to beat
about the bush. You have discovered something in the bottle of medicine.
By the way, Dick was very queer when he spoke about that medicine.”
“No wonder,” said Tarbot. “He came to you about it, then? Yes, I
remember, he told me so.”
“He did. He said he wanted to get the medicine analyzed. It was a
strange wish of his, and it puzzled me at the time. Just as if the dear
child had come by his death by foul means! Luke, what is it?”
Mrs. Pelham had been seated. Now she stood upright, for something in the
face of the doctor had overbalanced her self-control. Holding out both
her hands, she clasped those of Luke Tarbot.
“Sit down; control yourself,” he said. “I have bad news. I analyzed the
medicine. I found hyocene in it.”
“Hyocene? What is that?”
“A deadly poison.”
“Luke!”
Mrs. Pelham had a dim feeling that the curtain was going to be lifted
from something awful; the room seemed to go round. She raised her hand
and passed it across her brows.
“I cannot see,” she cried. “The room is very hot.”
“I will open the window wider; take this chair. You will understand what
I have told you in a moment.”
She did not speak, but, sinking back into the chair, closed her eyes.
Tarbot flung the window wide open, poured out a glass of water and
brought it to her.
“You will recover in a moment,” he said. “I knew it would be a terrible
shock, and I felt that it was best for you to see me here and alone.”
“Tell me again,” she said after a moment. “There was in that
medicine—what?”
“Hyocene.”
“And that is?”
“A deadly poison.”
“And the child took it?”
“Yes.”
“But who put it there, Luke; who put it there?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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