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“So it was not luck. Lady Trafford’s presence is a comfort, but I believe you would have done the same after witnessing what happened with your brother earlier in the day. What has happened to Madeline, and to your brother, is unspeakably evil, but you took decisive action when you were needed. For this, I thank you.”

Simon exhaled deeply, profoundly relieved that Eleanor Bigsby had always been a fair and just woman, one who had treated him without prejudice despite his father’s blackguard behavior during his childhood.

“However …”

Simon straightened up in alarm.

“Expect Henrietta to be rather more excitable than I. I believe she will arrive home soon.”

The perceptive mother was proven right. Henri arrived within minutes of her announcement, bursting into the bedchamber with a shriek. “What is this?”

Mrs. Bigsby quickly drew her out of the room to inform her of the day’s events out in the hall. Simon could hear the emotional replies from Henri, interspersed with Mrs. Bigsby’s low murmurs, for several minutes until Henri grew quieter. When they reentered, Henri scowled at him with an accusatory glare and took up the seat next to Madeline’s bed. She stared down at her twin in anguish, brushing Madeline’s hair aside as if to confirm with her own fingertips that she yet lived.

Simon watched in silence, the guilt that had dissipated during his conversation with Mrs. Bigsby returning to claw at his gut.

Henri exhaled sharply. “Will she be well?”

“It would seem so,” Mrs. Bigsby responded from the window. “Lady Trafford thinks Madeline is in good health and will make a full recovery.”

“Lady Trafford? The doctor’s daughter who married the Earl of Stirling’s heir?”

Mrs. Bigsby nodded. “She apprenticed at her father’s side. It was she who treated Madeline when she collapsed.”

Henri rubbed her face. “There are rumors she treated Lord Trafford, too. After some sort of attack that he suffered. Then he married her to abate the scandal.”

Simon raised his brows, but remained silent. He had seen how Trafford admired his wife, and he did not believe that deterring her ruin was the sole reason the buck had wed the intriguing healer who had saved both Simon’s brother and Madeline this day.

After a while, Henri left, shooting him another scathing glare as she departed the room with her mother. Simon resumed his vigil beside Madeline, wondering just how much Mrs. Bigsby had revealed during their conversation in the corridor.

A couple hours later, Madeline stirred from her fitful sleep. “Thirsty.”

Simon hastened to assist her, lifting her gently to help her drink the broth that had been left on a tray. Lady Trafford’s instructions had been clear: as much liquid as she could manage to replenish what had been lost. Madeline drank two cups before slipping back into slumber, her breathing steadier, her color a shade improved.

Mrs. Bigsby came to relieve him at dinner time, and he rushed home to complete the arrangements for the bodies and to check on John. The guards were still standing in the hall, but John’s rooms were no longer locked and Duncan was assisting Molly when he entered.

After Duncan left to collect broth from the kitchen, John beckoned for Simon to sit beside his bed as he struggled into a sitting position.

“Molly tells me the mystery has been solved.”

“My mother.”

“Do we know why?”

“To clear the way for me to inherit.”

His brother blinked profusely as he considered this. “Was Isla … mad?”

Simon huffed a humorless laugh. “My mother refused to allow an emotion to cross her face for decades. I think it is safe to assume that she was addled in the head. I shall read her journals to learn more, but I suppose we should have known something was amiss.”

John shook his head, and Simon was pleased to note his pallor had improved somewhat since his collapse that morning. “It will not help to mull on that. When you interact with someone on a daily basis … it would be difficult to notice a descent into gradual madness over a period of time. Not to mention, Isla being so undemonstrative.”

Simon stroked his beard, thinking about the horrors of the day. There was much to discuss with John, but for today, his brother must be allowed to rest. “I am so sorry, John.”

His brother frowned. “For what?”

“For bringing this upon our household.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You are my brother. Isla’s actions are her own. How were you to know she was a potential Bedlamite?”