Chapter 282: It Bears Your Hand
"I did not write that letter." Theodora said.
"It bears your hand."
"It is forged."
"Is it?" Geoffrey demanded. "How interesting. Forged handwriting seems to have become a fashionable entertainment in Whitehall."
Theodora’s lips thinned.
"Mistress Joan will be questioned," he said. "Her testimony will be placed before the council. If she received instructions, she will say from whom. Unlike your charming habit of issuing death by implication, I intend to use facts."
"You self-righteous fool."
Geoffrey stared at her with open disgust. "I cannot believe your stupidity, Your Grace. Do you realise the position you have put the Crown in? Do you understand even half of what you risked? Do you have any sense at all?"
"She is dangerous to my son."
"So are you."
"You will regret this," she said softly. "You will regret this, Lord Langford. I will make certain of it."
"Theodora," he said, dropping every courtesy for one blistering moment, "do your worst. But I will not let you sully the throne of England." Geoffrey turned to the guards. "Take her away from here at once."
The guards moved forward then stopped. The look Theodora gave them was enough to remind both men that titles had weight.
"Your Grace..." one of them pleaded.
Theodora gave Geoffrey one last look. In that one look, there was a promise, a curse. Lesser men would have withered beneath it. She turned and swept out of the chamber with enough fury to make the guards step back without being told. They simply followed.
The door closed behind her. The chamber occupants went back to Livia. The physician bent over her with his sleeves rolled back, his hands steady, his face grim.
Soon, bowls of darkened water stood nearby. Cloths had been used and discarded. A bitter smell filled the chamber.
Tabitha stood beside the bed as if she had been carved there. She watched every movement the physician made.
The physician worked for what felt like forever. At last, he straightened. "She lives...But it will be a while before she wakes. Her body has been badly shaken, her organs were already beginning to shut down. She must be kept warm, and under constant watch. No food or drink is to touch her lips unless I prepare it or approve it."
"Thank you," Geoffrey said.
The physician accepted the gratitude with a tired nod. "I will need a room attached to her chambers, or as close as one can be arranged. I must stay near her to prepare her medicines, observe her pulse, and watch for fever."
"You shall have it," Geoffrey said. "Immediately."
"I will also require fresh water, clean linen, a brazier, a mortar and pestle, and access to my own stores."
"I will assign guards to the chamber," Geoffrey continued. "You will also have maids to assist you."
"I will do it," Tabitha said at once even while not moving from Livia’s side. "I will do it."
"Mrs Crowe," Geoffrey began carefully.
"I will not have strange hands on her. I will do it."
"No," Geoffrey said quietly. "You cannot be everywhere at once."
Tabitha turned to him, eyes fierce. "Watch me."
"I do not doubt your determination," Geoffrey said softening his voice. "I promise you, I will bring maids from my own household. Women whose families I know, whose loyalties I trust, and whose names I will place before you. You may approve or reject them. My own guards will stand outside this door."
Tabitha looked back at Livia. "She is not safe here," she whispered.
"But she is safer than she was an hour ago."
That answer seemed to steady her a little. She nodded once, not in trust exactly, but in acceptance of necessity.
Geoffrey turned towards the outer chamber. He needed orders sent. A simple morning’s work, really. He had taken only a few steps towards the outer door when it opened.
The man standing there came with such a breath of fresh air that even Geoffrey sighed in relief. Henry stood at the threshold.
His cloak was dark from the road, his boots marked with mud, and fatigue sat beneath his eyes. Behind him hovered Stephen.
"Your Majesty!" everyone said at once, bowing or curtsying.
Henry did not seem to notice. His gaze moved through the outer chamber, taking in faces, the physician, Tabitha’s strained expression, and the smell of sickness hanging in the air. "What is happening?" he asked.
No one answered fast enough.
His voice changed. "Where is Livia?"
Geoffrey stepped forward, then stopped. He suddenly found no clean words for telling a king that his mother had nearly killed the woman he loved. "Your Majesty," Geoffrey muttered.
Henry’s eyes sharpened. Then his gaze caught the parted curtains leading into the inner chamber. He moved past Geoffrey. Even the physician stepped aside. Henry reached the curtains and opened them fully.
Livia lay upon the bed, small, her face bloodless, her breathing shallow. Her gown had been loosened and covered, her hair spread over the pillow.
Henry stared down at her. Then he turned his head slowly towards the room, his expression darkening. "What in the hell happened?"
"She will live, Your Majesty," the physician said quickly. "But she swallowed poison."
"Poi—" Henry could not finish the word.
It broke somewhere in his throat, torn apart by disbelief before it became sound. He bent over Livia, one hand braced against the bed, the other hovering near her face. His eyes searched her features with naked desperation.
"Are you done with her?"
The physician hesitated. "For the moment, yes. I have expelled what I can and given her what may counter the worst of it, but I must supervise her closely. Fever may come. Her breathing must be watched. Her pulse—"
Henry slid his arms beneath Livia and lifted her from the bed. "She will be moved to my chambers." He held Livia close against his chest.
She looked impossibly small in his arms. Everything broke him. How light she felt, how easily her body yielded to his strength, how her head rested against his shoulder without the stubborn lift of her chin he knew too well. Her arm hung limp.