The Poison Diaries. Maryrose Wood

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Название The Poison Diaries
Автор произведения Maryrose Wood
Жанр Детская проза
Серия
Издательство Детская проза
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007387045



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      The Poison Diaries

      By

      Maryrose Wood

      Based on a concept by the Duchess of Northumberland

      

       Copyright

      First published in paperback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2010

      HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

      Visit us on the web at www.harpercollins.co.uk www.poisondiaries.com

      Poison Diaries is a registered trademark of Poison Diaries Ltd.

      

      Text copyright © Poison Diaries Ltd 2010

      

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      

      Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780007387045

      Version: 2017-02-22

      FIRST EDITION

      

      Poison Diaries Ltd reserves the right to be identified as the author of the work.

      

      Conditions of Sale This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

      

      Find out more about HarperCollins and the environment at

      www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

       for Jane and her wonderful gardens

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

       15th March

      GREY SKIES; THE RAIN CAME AND WENT ALL MORNING.

       A cold wind blew in gusts, worsening as the day went on, until the lowest branch of the great chestnut tree in the courtyard splintered down the middle and crashed to the ground. If I had been standing underneath, I would have been crushed.

       Spun wool after breakfast. Read for a short while, but my eyes ached too much from sewing to continue long. Changed the soaking water for the belladonna seeds.

       Father is still not home; it has been two days.

      The berries of the belladonna plant are beautiful. I have always thought so. I would string the plump black pearls on silk thread and wear them around my neck if they were not so deadly.

      The seeds are nearly as poisonous as the berries; Father has warned me a thousand times. But I am careful. First I tie the seeds in clean muslin bags and drop them in a pail of cold water. Before they can be planted they must soak for at least two weeks, and I must change the water every day. That is how Mother Nature would do it: the snow would fall and melt and then fall again. And it would be too risky to leave the seeds in the ground during the cold months; they might get eaten by birds and carried away to grow in some distant field, where they could wreak their mischief without warning. Instead I make-believe a winter for them, to trick them into growing only when and where I wish.

      Even after all that care, only a few seeds will sprout, and of those half will soon shrivel back into the dirt. Are you so in love with death, lovely lady? I call you lovely lady, for that is what ‘belladonna’