Sweet Poison by David Roberts Page A

?’ exclaimed Larmore.
    Edward was the first to understand the situation. He got up and stumbled round the table. He pushed Hermione to one side and tried to loosen the General’s tie, but the old man was now twisting and writhing so violently that Edward could not do anything; the General’s face was puce with the effort to breathe. With one convulsive jerk he pushed away his chair and fell on to the carpet where he lay twitching like a fish out of water. Edward flopped on to the floor beside him, ignoring an intense spasm of pain which began in his knee and travelled all the way up his spine. He tried to support Craig’s head and shoulders but he knew he could do nothing to ease his agony. ‘Get me some water, will you,’ he called to Hermione, but the girl was too horrified to do anything except shrink backwards, her hand at her throat as though she too were unable to breathe. Connie came rushing up with a glass in her hand but it was too late. As Edward tried to dribble the water into the General’s mouth he choked and the water dribbled down his chin. His eyes bulged as though some intense pressure behind them would propel them out of their sockets. The old man arched his back and then gave a long sigh and collapsed into Edward’s arms. His lips had turned blue and his mouth was fixed in a grin of agony.
    ‘He’s dead,’ said Edward unnecessarily, looking up at the frightened faces in a circle above him.
    There was a horrified silence before Hermione broke it with a scream. As her mother ran to comfort her, Connie said, ‘It was all so sudden. Was it a heart attack?’
    Edward looked at her strangely. ‘We must ring Dr Best and I’m afraid we must also inform the police. I’m almost certain General Craig has taken poison.’

3
    Saturday Night
    ‘He can’t be dead!’ the Duke said, clumsily getting on his knees beside his brother.
    ‘I’m afraid he is,’ said Edward, trying to sound calm. He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Connie, will you take everyone into the drawing-room. We ought not to touch anything until the police get here.’
    ‘Oh, this is too terrible! But poison, whatever do you mean, Ned?’ Connie exclaimed. ‘He must have had a heart attack or something. How could he have been poisoned?’
    ‘Yes,’ said the Duke angrily. ‘What do you mean saying he was poisoned? Isn’t it enough that the General should have a heart attack here without you . . . without you saying such things?’
    ‘To die here, in our house,’ said Connie, her hands to her mouth, unconsciously echoing Lady Macbeth, the Bishop noticed. He suppressed an urge to laugh.
    ‘I mean, it can’t be anything he has eaten. We have all eaten the same food,’ Connie insisted. She looked round her at her silent guests, who seemed to be considering her words and consulting their insides. The Bishop, remembering his duty, knelt beside the dead man, made the sign of the cross over his face and murmured a prayer.
    Lord Weaver, ever the man of action, had rung for Bates. ‘I’m sorry, Duke, but Lord Edward is right, we must call the police. Even if it is a heart attack it is better that the police satisfy themselves that it was . . . that it was a natural death.’ He looked at Edward. He was quite certain that the General had been poisoned as Edward had said but it was not for him to say so.
    The butler came into the room. ‘Bates,’ said Lord Weaver, ‘the General has had a heart attack, we think, and I am afraid he’s dead. Could you get something to cover his face – a tablecloth or –’
    ‘I really don’t think we should disturb –’ began Edward.
    ‘I am not leaving the poor man in this condition without something over his face,’ said the Duke fiercely.
    ‘Is there anything else I can do for the poor gentleman?’ asked the butler, coming over to where the Duke stood beside the body.
    ‘I am afraid not, Bates,’ said the Duke. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. I am going to telephone the Chief