“What do you mean how? I have it. That should be enough for you.”
Phoebe jumped away from the stove when sizzling meat and butter spat at her again. She turned back to the skillet, grateful for the distraction, and dealt with browning the fillet. “Did you sell your jewelry?”
“Lord, no. All but a few pieces are paste anyway. I thought you knew.”
“How would I know that?”
“You went to that private school, didn’t you? How do you think I paid for that? How do you think I paid for any of the privileges we enjoyed? You cannot be so naïve, Phoebe. My wages as a performer would have barely kept us fed and clothed, so I accepted gifts. Why wouldn’t I? I had many generous admirers who could well afford to part with tokens of affection. And some of those tokens were worth a great deal. I sold pieces bit by bit as I needed the money. I had paste copies made—Mr. Meir was an excellent artisan and could keep a secret—and I used the excess of funds for incidentals.”
“Incidentals,” Phoebe repeated. She set down the fork she’d been using to turn the beef and pulled out a chair to sit beside Fiona. “My education was no incidental.”
Fiona shrugged again and did not look up from the cutting board. “Well, perhaps there was occasion to use the money for more than trifling things.”
“Fiona.”
“You are not going to become maudlin, are you? It’s done, and you know as well as I do that it was the very least I could do.”
“Does it seem to you that I have been ungrateful? I’m not, and I should have expressed it more often. I did. To others. I should have said it to you.” She laid a hand over Fiona’s to stop the rhythmic chopping. She waited until Fiona set down the knife and looked at her before she spoke. “And you were right that I knew about the jewelry, or at least that I suspected. I shouldn’t have lied. You caught me unawares.” She lightly squeezed Fiona’s hand. “Iamgrateful, Fiona, and I am sorry that I ever gave you reason to doubt it.”
Fiona’s response was a faint, watery smile. Her amethyst eyes glistened. “Onions,” she said in way of explanation for her weepy response, although she had yet to cut into a single one.
“If you like.” Phoebe removed her hand. “Tell me about this money you have. If not jewelry, then how?”
“Ellie.”
“What?”
“You should not frown so deeply, Phoebe. You will engrave your brow with creases and age well before your time.”
“Yes, because that is what is most important right now.” Still, she schooled her features because she knew Fiona would otherwise remain distracted. “Ellie. Tell me about that.”
“There is nothing to tell. Not really. She offered me money. I swear to you, I never asked her for it. Even if I suspected she had funds sufficient for my needs—which I absolutely did not—I would not have approached her.”
“But you took money from her.”
“Not exactly. I don’thaveit. She does, but it is mine if I want it. It will pain me some to tell her that I will accept her offer. I made it clear that if the time came, I would only take it on condition of a loan. I have every intention of repaying her. I will not be beholding to Ellie Madison.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
“Very nearly one thousand dollars.”
Phoebe found the amount unfathomable. “You must have misunderstood her.”
“I assure you, I did not. She showed me her savings book. She has the money in the bank; it is a matter of withdrawing it, which Ben can do without raising the least suspicion because they share the account.” She put up a hand to forestall Phoebe’s next question. “Her husband,” she said. “I knew he was a faithless drunk, but even faithless drunks can get lucky. He was a partner in a silver mine. When he died, the partners bought her out. She wanted the bird in hand, so she accepted their offer. She tells me that if she had stayed in, her housekeeper would have a housekeeper. She would be that well situated.”
“It seems to me that she was thinking of Ben’s future back then. Why would she want to give you any part of that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She wants me gone. She has from the first. I have often wondered why she has not poisoned mealready, and I can only imagine that it is because she does not have the stomach for murder. It certainly has crossed my mind to attempt the same with her, but then she doesn’t allow me in the kitchen long enough to see it through.”
“Fiona!”
“I am not serious, Phoebe. Truly. Besides, I have no idea where she keeps the arsenic.”
Phoebe slumped in her chair. “Lord, Fiona, if I age before my time, it will all be on your head.”
Chuckling, Fiona got up and took over at the stove. “If you trust yourself with the knife, finish the vegetables.”
Phoebe pulled the cutting board toward her and began to work. “I realize that you think I should know the answer to this, but I don’t. Why does Ellie want you gone?”
