Chapter Thirty-Nine

By the time we reached the hotel again, I thought my heart was going to burst, the relentless hammering of my pulse the only sound I could hear. Helene and Lucy were right behind me as I ran through the doors into the opulent lobby, heads turning in our direction as we flew past, unheeding.

A thousand images flickered in my mind. Oliver, lying on the floor, a shattered coffee cup beside him. Dead. Dead and gone. The pain of it was so sharp that I felt my vision turn white at the edges. I had to remind myself to breathe, breathe, breathe, as we sprinted down the hallway towards my room.

I flung the door open, and it smashed against the wall with a tremendous bang. Inside the room, five astonished faces turned in my direction.

Oliver. He was alive. He was standing there, alive. Then I noticed the coffee cup in his hand.

"Bloom!" he exclaimed. "What—" The words died on his lips and his eyes widened as he took in the women crashing into the sitting room behind me. "Ellen!"

But before he had a chance to move forward, I was charging into him, smashing the cup from his hand, knocking him to the ground, where I tumbled on top of him.

"Oof!" Oliver made a breathless, winded sound.

I peered down at him, our faces so close together that I could count every one of his ridiculously thick eyelashes. I scanned his face in concern, as his arms came up round my waist, holding me steady. His eyes, so dark that they were almost black, looked into mine, and his mouth softened, pulling up into a half-smile. For a tiny moment I melted into him, felt the blissful warmth of his body sink into my bones.

"Bloom?" He arced a brow at me. "Not that I'm not enjoying myself, but may I ask … is there any particular reason why you have tackled me to the ground?"

"How much coffee did you drink?" I asked urgently.

Oliver frowned. "Have you suffered some sort of head injury?"

I clambered off him, barely taking in the baffled expressions on the faces of my friends. I ran to the coffee cup, which had spilled on the floor, a small pool of liquid already soaking into the plush carpet. I grabbed the pot. Half of it was gone.

"How much did you drink?" I asked again frantically.

But Oliver wasn't paying attention to me; instead he had struggled to his feet and was slowly approaching Helene. "Ellen," he said softly. "It is really you."

"Yes." Helene took a step towards him. "Oliver… I…"

"OLIVER! HOW MUCH COFFEE DID YOU DRINK?" I yelled then.

Oliver turned to me slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Bloom, I do not know what your obsession is with my coffee-drinking habits, but is this really the time?" He gestured towards his sister. "There are more important things happening, you know."

If the coffee didn't kill him, I might. Fortunately, Mrs Finch stepped forward. "He drank about half a cup," she said quite calmly. "I suppose it is poisoned?"

"Poisoned?!" Oliver exclaimed.

"With what?" Winnie's voice held mild interest.

I ran to the bedroom and reappeared with my leather case. "I don't know." I began desperately grabbing at the glass jars. "Lucy didn't hear that part."

All eyes swung to Lucy.

"And what did Lucy hear exactly?" Sylla enquired, piercing Lucy with an interrogative glare.

"They… They only said they had something from the chemist," Lucy stammered. "That you couldn't taste in coffee."

"Strychnine?" Winnie mused.

"Maybe cyanide?" Maud suggested.

"My money is on arsenic," Sylla said dispassionately.

"I'm sorry," Oliver said acidly, "are you about to start taking bets on how I have been poisoned?"

Sylla shrugged. "Who among us hasn't ingested a little poison here and there?"

"The fact that you are still alive is a good sign," Mrs Finch said reassuringly. "You hardly drank any of the coffee."

"You're all mad," Oliver snapped. "Thankfully, I feel fine." On that note, he suddenly staggered, grabbing on to the side of the table. "Just dizzy." He looked at me, and I saw alarm flare in his eyes.

"Drink this now." I thrust a glass of water at him. I had emptied the entire jar of dried barberry into it.

Thankfully, he didn't question me, only knocked the water back, then sat heavily on the sofa. "What now?" he asked.

"You're not going to like it." I summoned a quavering smile for him.

Mrs Finch emptied the heavy gold coal scuttle into the fireplace and brought it over, holding it out to Oliver.

"What's that for?" he said suspiciously.

"It's for your vomit," Winnie said, peering into the coffee pot with interest. "I should take a sample of this for later," she said.

"For my—" Oliver didn't get any further with that outraged exclamation because he was too busy retching into the coal scuttle.

"So, you're the sister, I take it," Sylla said, as we all politely ignored him.

"Yes, I'm Helene Lavigne," Helene said. She and Lucy looked rather dazed. "Um. Nice to meet you."

I poured Oliver a glass of water, as Sylla performed a round of introductions, and then I helped him lie back on the sofa. He was pale, but I put my fingers to his wrist and felt the strong, reassuring flutter of his pulse.

"Well, will I live?" he asked me, dry as sand.

I sank to the floor beside him, my knees well and truly giving out, and gently brushed a lock of dark hair away from his forehead. "I think you should be fine. You didn't drink much of the coffee, and now that you've purged so quickly…"

"Purged!" Oliver groaned. "Let's not talk about purging any more."

"I'm so sorry, Mr Lockhart." Lucy appeared at my side, looking down at him, her eyes wide. "This is all my fault – my parents and I…"

"Yes, Miss Brown." Oliver's eyes narrowed. "I'd be very interested to hear about your parents."

"Oliver, don't be angry with Lucy," Helene said softly, rounding the sofa herself to take the other woman's hand. "If anyone knows how difficult it is to live with parents who are far less than we deserve, it is you and me."

A sigh moved through Oliver's body. "I suppose so," he said grudgingly. He looked at his sister. "I am sorry that we are reuniting like this. Ever since I found out you were still alive, I imagined it would be … well, different."

"Different from you being poisoned and then vomiting repeatedly into a coal scuttle?" Helene said, and when her mouth pulled up at the corners, I saw the resemblance between her and her brother.

Helene held out her hand, and after a moment Oliver took it in his own. They only looked at each other for a long while.

"There is much we need to talk about," Helene said finally.

"We have time," Oliver replied softly.

My eyes filled, and Oliver's gaze shifted to me. "Good grief, Bloom. Don't go telling me you need my handkerchief again. For someone who claims not to cry very often, you are a veritable watering pot."

"Don't worry," I sniffled, reaching into my sleeve. "I have one." I dabbed at my eyes with the handkerchief that Oliver had given me on the moors. When I looked back at him, he was watching me with a reluctant fondness.

Mrs Finch cleared her throat. "While Oliver and his sister may have all the time in the world to catch up, I'm afraid the issue of the Browns is a touch more urgent. Marigold, I assume that with this turn of events the Browns have managed to get their hands on more forged documents?"

I stared at her, stunned. "Yes! But how on earth did you know that?"

"I followed your lead to Ménilmontant. One of my contacts there knows of a very good forger – I have even used his services myself a time or two – and she had heard whisperings about a job that he had taken on." Mrs Finch nodded her head towards Winnie and Maud. "These two followed the Browns all day and saw them stop in at the watchmaker's, which is a front for his more illegal practices. The Browns must have worried that being in France would soon lead to the discovery of their deception, so such a step makes perfect sense. Oliver had already presented Lucy to all the guests at his party as his sister. If he suffered a tragic accident, then who would question Lucy's right to inherit everything if she also held a new will drawn up in her favour?" Mrs Finch hummed with something close to approval. "Quite a tidy plan, actually."

"Oh yes, very tidy," Oliver scoffed. "Especially the part where I am got rid of."

"Thankfully they did not reckon with Marigold Bloom." Mrs Finch smiled.

"Thankfully they did not reckon with the Aviary," I corrected her.

"I'm sorry," Helene jumped in. "But if the Browns have, in fact, attempted to poison my brother and presumably believe him to have keeled over by now" – Oliver gave a muttered protest here – "then … where are they?"

The question hung in the air.

"I suppose," said Sylla, "that they are in their hotel room, waiting for the tragic news to be delivered."

"Then, by all means," I said, getting to my feet and dusting off my skirts, "let us go and give it to them. I for one have several things I should like to say to them before the police cart them away."

"Wait." Mrs Finch held up her hand. "We do not all need to go. Winnie, Maud, you split up and find Celeste, the head housekeeper. Tell her that I sent you. Tell her we will need some of those muscular henchmen the hotel employs. Miss Lavigne…" she began, but Helene cut her off.

"I am going," she said. "After what they did to Lucy? To my brother? I want them to see me."

Mrs Finch smiled. "I was going to suggest you stay here with Miss Brown, but as you feel so strongly about the matter…"

"I can come with you…" Lucy started, but Helene took her hands gently between her own.

"She is quite right, Lucy. You must stay here. You don't need to go near those two again. I won't have it." Her voice was firm.

Lucy bit her lip, nodded. "I – I suppose. If you think it best."

"You must call a doctor to check on Mr Lockhart," I said to Mrs Finch.

Oliver sat up at this. "Absolutely not." His feet hit the carpet. "I am coming with you."

"Don't be absurd," I snapped. "Five minutes ago you were almost dead."

Oliver waved an airy hand. "Who among us hasn't ingested a little poison here and there?"

Sylla made a sound of approval.

"This is ridiculous," I said as he struggled to his feet, teeth clearly gritted. "You are green."

Oliver reached out and took my hand. The look he gave me was heart-melting. "Bloom, didn't you promise me that we were going to take turns punching David Brown in the face?"

"So romantic," I heard Winnie murmur dreamily to Maud.

"Fine," I bit off, flustered and annoyed. "But if you fall over and knock yourself unconscious, don't expect me to rescue you. Again."

"And I shall accompany you three in a supervisory capacity," Sylla said primly. "After all, Mari still hasn't technically completed her training. This will be her first time confronting the villain."

On that note, we all filed out into the hallway. Sylla, Helene, a queasy-looking Oliver and I made a strange party to confront the Browns, but we certainly had the element of surprise on our side.

When we reached their door, I didn't knock, only turned the handle and walked inside.

Mr Brown stood by the fireplace with a drink, his wife sat in an armchair, leafing through a periodical. My blood ran cold at the fact that they believed Oliver was dying downstairs by their hands, and they somehow managed to give the appearance of an illustration in a domestic magazine.

When Mrs Brown glanced up and caught sight of us, her face paled. Mr Brown took one look at Oliver and his brandy glass fell to the hearth and shattered.

"M-Mr Lockhart," he managed.

Oliver's smile was terrifying. "Mr Brown," he murmured. "I don't believe you've met … my sister?"

Helene took a step forward, and I heard Mrs Brown's breath catch.

My eyes locked on her and she in turn was staring at Oliver. "I thought you were … you were supposed to be…"

"Dead?" Oliver said. "I'm afraid not."

"Oh, Mr Lockhart," Mr Brown's voice held a smile, and I heard a chilling and familiar click. "I wouldn't be so certain about that. The night is still young." In his hand was a gun, and it was pointed straight at my head.