They were only partially successful. Though some of their house remained standing, their home was gone forever once it was confirmed Charles Blackwell had not made it out.
Their father’s collection of journals was typically shelved behind the desk in his personal study next to his bedroom in the opposite wing from his lab. If the missing journals had been in his lab with him, they would be nothing more than dust. Another sad loss to add to the tragic consequences of that night.
Choked by the thick lump of grief and frustration that filled her throat, Katherine paused to take several deep breaths. Spending hours and days reading her father’s words—practically hearing his voice in her head—had made it feel almost as if he were still there. But her memories of that horrible night were still so vivid nearly a year later. Thinking about it now felt like losing him all over again.
Unfortunately, reading through the details of her father’s work had not yet resulted in the clarity she’d hoped for...only more questions. So far, there had been no indication of anything at all that could have triggered their current situation. She was beginning to think the task futile.
Though the volumes of scientific notation were missing, there were still three journals containing her father’s reflections during those last months of his life that she had yet to read. If they revealed nothing to help in their investigation into the motivation of the attacks against Frederick, she hoped that at least she might be assured she’d exhausted the possibility.
With a sigh and a determined roll of her shoulders, she picked up the next book.
After only a few pages, she came across something that sparked a moment of expectancy. It appeared the project Charles was working on wasn’t going particularly well.
From what she understood, her father had been studying the chemical and medicinal properties of a flowering plant newly discovered in the jungles of South America. The associate who requested the study was hoping to develop a potion to assist in calming medical patients during procedures.
The problems began almost right away in that the usual methods of determining a plant’s active elements proved ineffective. Instead, Charles had to use a method that proved to be rather delicate and volatile. Even then, the result was unstable and difficult to replicate. Eventually, however, he was able to isolate the necessary elements in order to create a potion with the hoped-for sedative properties.
The following entries noted some successful testing of the potion at significant dilution. Unfortunately, by adjusting the dilution only slightly, the potion became dangerously incapacitating. Charles documented symptoms such as a sort of temporary paralysis in which the mind was aware, though in a state of subtle confusion, while being incapable of directing physical movement. An even stronger solution caused a sort of dreamlike state of hallucinations that left a person utterly unsure of what was real and what wasn’t. And still, the subject would have no physical control of their body.
Katherine knew her father would have tested the drug on himself and she shuddered to think of him experiencing the side effects he described.
Reasonably so, Charles was wary of how dangerous the drug could be if used inexpertly or with impure intent. He believed the risks far outweighed the benefits. In his very last entry—dated the day before his death—he noted that he was going to destroy his work at the earliest opportunity and officially recommend that further development of the herb be discontinued.
Katherine closed the last journal and set it on top of the stack beside her. Rising to her feet, she rolled her head and arched her spine to dispel the tightness that had settled into her muscles. Recently, she’d begun to move her injured arm more and more as the stiffness of keeping it in the sling was getting more annoying than the dull pain that still remained in the joint. She hadn’t worn the sling all day and her injured shoulder only gave a slight twinge of discomfort.
With a sigh, she crossed to the wide windows that overlooked the back garden. All was in darkness beneath a moonless sky. The sun had set hours ago. She’d barely noticed it. Just as she’d barely noticed the supper that had been brought to her because she hadn’t wanted to take a break from her reading to join Frederick in the dining room.
Yet even after spending days diligently going over her father’s words, she’d gotten no closer to uncovering anything that might help them. She didn’t even know the name of the associate for whom he’d been running the experiments as Charles never used names in his journals. All she’d managed to do was confirm that the project he had been working on prior to his death had been unsuccessful.
Whoever had engaged Charles for the project would’ve undoubtedly been upset by the results, but it wasn’t clear if her father’d had a chance to inform them of his conclusions before the fire that took his life. Even if he had and they’d been furious about the failure...there was simply nothing to suggest a connection between Charles’s work and the current threats against Frederick.
It was frustrating and disheartening and she’d run out of ideas on where else to look. Maybe their cousin was somehow behind it after all. Perhaps Hale’s man would uncover some clue there...either to support or disprove Warfield’s possible involvement.
She glanced back at the journals strewn across her desk.
Had she missed something vital? Or had she just wasted several days on a fruitless endeavor?
Closing her eyes, she twisted and stretched her spine again, triggering a deep growl of hunger in her stomach. Unfortunately, she’d been too focused on her task to
