We finish our toast just as mad Doctor Whittaker comes downstairs. 

“Has anyone seen my bottle of strychnine? It’s gone missing!” 

I choke on my swallow of wine. To think I drank to life.

The duke breaks the silence as his crystal glass explodes on the floor. The room is chaos.

Mariette charges the butler with a fury’s scream. 

“Murderous wretch! This is your doing!” 

In one go, she fragments her goblet and drives it home. 

His blood pours, darker than the vintage. 

“Wait, here it is, got it,” says the doctor, with a sheepish pat to his back pocket.