Chapter 6 - The Poisoner’s Flight
The words hung in the air like an executioner's axe.
He gave me the tea.
Every single gaze in the chapel snapped from Clara’s emaciated, shivering frame to Arthur Pendelton.
Arthur stood at the base of the altar, his gray eyes wide, his mouth slightly open, looking at his living wife as if she were a demon summoned from the depths of hell. The color had not returned to his skin; he looked hollowed out, stripped of his cool, commanding arrogance in a single fraction of a second.
"Arthur..." Julian breathed, stepping away from the casket, his hands trembling as he looked at his brother. "What did you do? What did you do to her?!"
"She’s... she’s confused," Arthur stammered, his voice thin and high-pitched. "She was deprived of oxygen! She doesn't know what she’s saying!"
"I AM A DOCTOR, ARTHUR!" Dr. Vance roared, his hands holding Clara's pulse at her wrist. "Her heart rate is rapid, her pupils are dilated, and her skin exhibits classic signs of digitalis toxicity! You didn't call me when she collapsed three nights ago, did you?! You declared her dead yourself!"
Arthur took a step backward toward the main aisle. His eyes darted frantically from the doctor to the growing crowd of angry, horrified men stepping out from the pews.
"I didn't do anything!" Arthur screamed, his voice breaking into a panicked shriek.
He turned on his heel and ran.
Arthur sprinted down the central aisle of the chapel, his expensive leather dress shoes slipping slightly on the carpet, heading straight for the open double doors at the rear.
May you like
"STOP HIM!" someone shouted from the back row.
Two heavy-set men—local farmers who lived down the road from the Pendelton estate—stepped into the aisle to block his path, but Arthur drove his shoulders forward, shoving them violently aside. He burst through the double doors, plunging out into the freezing, torrential autumn rain.
