Anne retreated and watched as he listened for a heartbeat and felt for breathing and a pulse. His deepening frown confirmed the unavoidable truth. He slowly pulled the sheet over her face.
Lady Celia was dead. Her worst fear realized.
Anne’s newfound confidence came crashing down around her. In its place all the old feelings of defeat came rushing back. Another patient had died on her watch. She decided then and there she would never serve as nurse again. She was incompetent. A fraud. A failure.
And the way Dr. Marsland seemed to be avoiding her gaze, and Mr. Dalby’s scowl, confirmed every one of her self-doubts.
Mr. Dalby said, “When I came in, Miss Loveday was about to pour this down her throat.” He lifted the bottle.
“It’s an emetic,” Anne defended.
“Well, apparently that isn’t all you gave her. You said there were signs of an overdose.”
“I have given her no laudanum today.”
“Do you expect us to believe that?” Mr. Dalby demanded.
“Yes. And I can prove it.”
Anne retrieved the bottle with the tiny number markings and her notebook. “After the incident with the digitalis, I started marking and recording amounts of each by date. And I’ve been having Rosa verify and initial the levels. See? The level of this bottle was at eleven last night, and it’s still at eleven. Look for yourself. And I distinctly smelled nutmeg and cloves on her breath, likely used to disguise the bitter taste of whatever she was given. While this tincture contains opium and alcohol only.”
Mr. Dalby said, “You might have used a different bottle.”
“You are free to search my case, my room, and all of my belongings.”
“You could have disposed of it before we arrived.”
“Why would I do so? Especially knowing I would be the first to be blamed?”
“Then who are you accusing?”
“I accuse no one. I don’t know who did it.”
Katherine spoke up. “Miss Loveday was trying to help Mamma when we came in. Surely if she had meant to harm her, she would not have done so.”
Mr. Dalby crossed his arms. “Except to try to make herself look innocent.”
“I am innocent!”
Dr. Marsland’s voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly gentle. “Miss Fitzjohn is right. Let’s all calm down. Lady Celia has been ill for some time. Her heart increasingly compromised and weak. She may have simply died of natural causes.”
Anne protested, “But—”
“Now, come,” Dr. Marsland said. “Let us show some respect for the dearly departed woman as well as her daughter.” He turned to Katherine. “Miss Fitzjohn, if you would like to take some time alone with your mother, we will await you downstairs and continue our discussion then.”
They went down to wait in the parlour. Katherine joined them several minutes later, wadded handkerchief in hand, eyes red and damp. Rosa returned with Dr. Finch in tow. When the two entered the parlour, their gazes went directly to Anne.
Anne shook her head, unable to say the words over the burning lump in her throat.
“Oh no,” Rosa breathed, hands covering her mouth.
Dr. Finch winced. “I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner.”
No accusation in his tone, Dr. Marsland asked, “Where were you?”
“Miss Cox summoned me to Damsell’s again to see her mother. I came as soon as I could, but apparently I’m too late to be of any help?”
“Yes. Most unfortunate,” Dr. Marsland replied. “Though I don’t know if there was anything either of us could have done.”
