Ruling with a New Frame novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Pinpoint Eyes

I did not waste a second of the housekeeper's ten minutes.

I took my grandfather's wrist in my small fingers and found the pulse.

It was slow and strong, forty-six beats to the minute.

I counted his breaths against the clock on the mantel.

Nine in a minute.

A healthy old man breathes fourteen.

His skin was cool and a little damp.

His mouth was dry as paper, and when I pulled his lip down, his gums were pale.

I lifted his eyelid and watched the black dot in the center refuse to move in the light.

I had seen this in the poisoned.

It is the look of a man who has been fed a gentle poison on purpose, every night, for a long time.

"What does he take?" I asked her.

She was standing against the door with her apron balled in both fists.

"Three amber bottles, there on the dresser," she whispered. "The doctor writes them."

"Madam hands me the tray at nine every night, and I put it by his bed."

I crossed to the dresser and read the labels.

A strong pain tablet.

A sleeping tablet.

A third one for his nerves.

All three were meant for short use, and the dates on the labels were two years old.

"For his heart, the doctor says," the housekeeper added. "And for his grief."

I turned around.

"His heart does not need a pain tablet. He has no pain."

"He has no heart trouble that I can find. I have just counted it."

The housekeeper's face crumpled.

"Child, how do you know such words?"

"Did you love my mother?" I asked.

The housekeeper pressed the apron to her mouth.

"She was the only one in this house who ever said thank you," she said through the cloth.

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