Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [46]
“I’ll give some to Dickon,” Roger said. He wasn’t holding his nose, but his face was rather greenish.
“If the ingredients are wrong, it won’t kill him, will it?”
“It shouldn’t; none of the ingredients are harmful.”
“Other than the smell,” she quipped.
“This should simmer overnight,” she went on, indicating her pot. “I need some fresh air.”
“Agreed,” Roger said.
They both stumbled out of the stillroom and took great gulps of laundry-scented air in the adjacent drying room. When the potion had cooled, Roger went back into the still-room and poured it into a glass for Dickon.
“Will he drink it?”
“I’ll tell him it’s Lady Ella’s favorite tea,” Roger said.
Poppy laughed, and was still laughing when they went into the library. Dickon was awash in crumpled paper, and looked up with a dazed expression as they came in.
“Can you think of a rhyme for ‘Ella’ other than ‘fella’?” he asked.
Poppy put one hand over her eyes. She could think of a number of things, like “yella,” that would rhyme, but none of them made for good poetry. She didn’t even want to know what was on the crumpled papers littering the table and floor.
“Poetry isn’t really my strong suit,” Roger said blandly. “Have a drink to refresh yourself, why don’t you?”
“Ah, yes! Just the thing!”
Dickon reached for the tumbler eagerly enough, but when the odor reached his nostrils he recoiled, nearly spilling it. Roger grabbed the glass back just in time.
“I say! It smells like an old boot!”
Roger started to say something about Lady Ella, but Poppy stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.
“Dickon,” she said with a smile, “it’s a love potion.”
“Pardon?” the brothers said together.
“It will make you irresistible to Lady Ella.”
“Really?” Dickon licked his lips, then shuddered. “Do you think I need it? I would much rather woo her with my poems.”
Poppy felt her nostrils flare and she bit back a giggle. “Well, in case you can’t find a rhyme for ‘Ella’…” She took the glass from Roger and held it out to Dickon.
“Are you certain it will work?” He stopped with one hand outstretched. “Why does it smell so ghastly?”
“Because it only works on Lady Ella,” Poppy improvised. “We strained it through one of her stockings.”
“How did you get one of Lady Ella’s stockings?”
“We bribed her maid. Now drink!”
Dickon hesitated only a second more, then he snatched the glass, gulped it down, and gagged. He fumbled the glass to the tabletop, holding his throat with his free hand.
“Oh! You’ve poisoned me!”
“Nonsense,” Roger said in a worried voice. “You just have to, um, twist the glass.” He made a wringing motion.
“Twist the glass?” Now it was Poppy and Dickon who spoke at the same time. Dickon, still retching, obediently turned the glass around on the table.
“That’s doing nothing,” Poppy reported, twisting her own hands in the skirt of her gown.
“Din yun, din yun … ?” Roger pulled at his lower lip. “Oh!” He shook his head. “Throw the glass!”
“With pleasure,” Dickon choked, and tossed the tumbler into the hearth.
The glass shattered into tiny diamonds, which smoked and disappeared with a gentle chiming sound. Poppy closed her mouth, and looked to Dickon, who all at once sat up in his chair and looked around as if he’d just awakened.
“What was that for?”
“So you’d stop making a fool of yourself with Lady Ella,” Poppy said, carefully watching for his reaction.
“Lady Ella? That strange girl who kept hitting Christian with her fan?” Dickon shook his head and turned back to his papers and pen. “Don’t know what you mean. Now kindly leave me in peace while I compose a letter to Marianne. Her birthday is tomorrow, you know.”
Roger and Poppy fled to the hallway where they stood, looking stunned, for a moment.
“Goodness,” Poppy said at last. “That seemed too easy.”
Dreamer
Poppy stood up in the middle of her bed, just to make sure she didn’t fall back asleep and continue her wretched, wretched nightmare. Why she had to endlessly