His aunt nodded emphatically. “What did she eat? Anything that you didn't?”

“No, except for…”

“Except for what?”

“The custard, but I had a bite, too.”

“Hmph. And how do you feel?”

Charles stared at her for a long moment, his hand moving to his stomach. “Not very well, actually.”

“You see?”

“But it's nothing like what Ellie's been through. Just a little stabbing pain, as if I'd eaten something that had gone off. That's all.”

“And you ate only one bite?”

Charles nodded, and then the blood drained from his face. “She ate nearly the entire pot,” he whispered. “At least two-thirds.”

“She'd probably be dead if she'd finished it,” Cordelia stated. “Good thing she shared it with you.”

Charles could scarcely believe the lack of emotion in her voice. “It must be food poisoning. That's the only explanation.”

Cordelia shrugged. “My money is on the real thing.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “That's impossible. Who would want to do something like this to her?”

“It's that young girl Claire, if you ask me,” Cordelia replied. “Everyone knows what she did to the countess's hands.”

“But that was an accident,” Charles said, not wanting to believe his aunt's words. Claire could be mischievous, but she would never do something like this. “And Claire has made her peace with Ellie.”

Cordelia shrugged. “Has she?”

As if on cue, Helen reappeared, dragging Claire, who was crying.

Charles turned his eyes to his cousin, trying very hard to keep any sense of accusation from his gaze.

“I didn't do this,” Claire wailed. “I would never, ever. You know I wouldn't. I love Ellie now. I would never hurt her.”

Charles wanted to believe her. He truly did, but Claire had been the cause of so much mischief. “Perhaps this is something you set in motion last week, before you and Ellie worked out your differences,” he said gently. “Perhaps you forgot—”

“No!” Claire cried. “No, I didn't do this. I swear.”

Helen put her arm around her daughter's shoulder. “I believe her, Charles.”

Charles looked into Claire's red-rimmed eyes and realized that Helen was right. She was telling the truth and he felt like a heel for ever, even for a moment, considering otherwise. Claire might not be perfect, but she wouldn't poison anyone. He sighed. “It was probably just an accident. Perhaps Monsieur Belmont used bad milk in the custard.”

“Bad milk?” Cordelia echoed. “It would have had to be well past rancid to do what it did to her.”

Charles knew she had a valid point. Ellie had been violently, deathly ill. Could the convulsions that had shaken her small frame been caused by something as benign as bad milk? But what else could it be? Who would want to poison Ellie?

Helen stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Charles's arm. “Would you like me to stay with her?”

He didn't answer her for a moment, still lost in his own thoughts. “I'm sorry, what? No. No, I'll stay with her.”