“A Mary Poole, I believe, sir.”
He turned back to Sally.
“Yes, I know ’er.” Sally swallowed. “A little.”
“Did you not, in fact, see her yesterday?” he demanded.
“Only for a moment ... I’m sure she did not mean for it to happen. She told me it was quite harmless.”
“Did she? She claims the laudanum found on her person belongs to you.”
“’Tisn’t true!”
“Was it not in your possession?”
“Well, she did give it to me, but I gave it right back.”
“Did you bring it into this house?” Lady Katherine interjected.
She swallowed again, dread filling her, and nodded.
“Into the nursery?”
Sally nodded again, eyes downcast. “She told me it wouldn’t hurt him. Surgeons use it, you know. Well, I believed her.”
“I shall give you one chance to answer this question truthfully,” Mr. Harris said. “Did you or did you not give any to Edmund?”
She looked at him then, meeting his eyes directly. “No, sir, I did not. Not one drop.”
“How can we believe her?” his wife asked. “She had it with her. In this very room.”
“Aye, but then I ran down to the road and gave it back.”
Katherine turned toward the butler. “Call for the physician. He must come at once and examine poor Edmund.”
“Why did you?” Harris asked Sally.
“I don’t know. It’s a hard life sometimes, never getting an hour to yourself, never seeing people your own age ...”
“I meant, why did you not give it to him? You certainly intended to. You no doubt had plans to meet up with this Mary, to go to the inn with her, as she clearly had from the state of her, I gather. You brought it up here with the intention of drugging my child so you could have this ‘hour to yourself.’ But you want me to believe you didn’t follow through with it. And if you expect me to believe you, to not have the police come and haul you off straightaway, I need to know why.”
She looked at the man, the child’s father, obviously shaken and angry, yet trying so hard to control his emotions. Oddly, she thought fleetingly of other occasions when he had shown some kindness to her, and understood what a certain young lady had once seen in him.
She stared directly at him and said quietly, “For the sake of his mother.”
As dusk fell, Charlotte sat on a bench overlooking the sea. She held Anne on her lap, for the two had fled the cottage and the frenzy of preparations for company and Lizette Taylor’s shrill orders. Charlotte was sure Daniel’s wife did not mean to be demanding nor difficult. But it was clear she was tense and determined that everything about the place and the meal should be perfect. Anne’s fussing had only added strain to the woman’s agitated nerves, and Charlotte had been relieved when asked to “take the child away somewhere.”
The walk and the cool evening air had quickly calmed Anne, and now the two sat in peaceful silence, listening to the tumbling of the sea and the call of gulls.
She was surprised when Richard Kendall walked briskly up the slope from the sea path. She had not expected to see him—nor anyone—on this side of the cottage and felt disquieted to meet him again. She rose to greet him.
“Miss Charlotte Lamb,” he called. “How pleased I am to see you again.”
“And I you, Dr. Kendall.” The two bowed politely to one another.
“And this is Taylor’s daughter, I take it? I’d recognize that bit of strawberry hair anywhere.”
Charlotte smiled. “You have a keen eye, Dr. Kendall. Yes, this is Anne Taylor.”
