“Oh, not at dinner. On the boat on the way over. She took a deep drink of it and made a sort of face. It must be terribly bitter, but medicines often are, aren’t they?”
I caught my breath. This then was how the poison had been introduced. Stoker, I reflected with an emotion very like glee, had been entirely incorrect.
I waited until Merry’s footsteps receded. I was still crouched inthe shadow of the pineapple when J. J.’s voice came, clear as a bell, through the open windows.
“Did you hear anything of use, Veronica?”
She peered around the window, smiling broadly.
“From that angle, you resemble nothing so much as that fiendish cat of Lewis Carroll’s,” I told her. “Nothing but a smug smile and an air of self-satisfaction that is deeply unattractive.”
“Now, now. You needn’t be nasty just because I managed to coax some information from the young parson.”
“Coax! You told him you wanted to make Confession,” I protested.
“I did. I confessed to being here under false pretences.”
“You did not tell him you are a reporter,” I retorted. “You are a journalist, J. J. One of that most reprehensible and parasitical fraternity.”
“I am a teller of truth. I am an upholder of justice. I am—”
“Do spare me the moral righteousness. It was very wrong of you to use young Merryweather in that fashion.”
Her small hands curled into fists and her bottom lip was slightly outthrust.
She was clearly sulking and I took a deep breath. “You are still angry about what happened earlier. And I am sorry. I ought not to have implied you would sell a story about Julien to further your career.”
“Bloody right I wouldn’t.” She sighed. “Veronica, do you know how exhausting it is? Trying to make something of myself? This world belongs to men and yet I am just as clever and just as canny and just as good as any man on any newspaper in the country.”
“Better,” I told her. “And I do know. I know you have looked out for your friends, and I ought to give you more credit for your loyalty. Again, I am sorry.”
She seemed taken aback by the frankness of my apology. Finally, she gave a grudging nod. “Accepted. And I wouldn’t have had to investigate on my own if you hadn’t changed your mind about workingtogether. You seemed to be having second thoughts last night even. Why did you come over all cold at the dinner? It couldn’t just have been about making certain Stoker didn’t find out I was here. He is annoyed, but his temper is nothing to be afraid of.”
She was quite correct in that regard. Stoker’s eruptions were volcanic, sudden and full of loud fury, but seldom significant. I enjoyed them as a prelude to other activities, largely because I knew, in my marrow, that Stoker was incapable of harming a woman.
“I was annoyed that you took it upon yourself to search the Salviatis’ suite after I specifically told you not to,” I admitted.
She furrowed her brow. “When?”
“Yesterday. Just before the dressing bell. I saw you leaving their room.”
“You did not,” she said roundly.
“I saw the back of a maid, and she had a black dress. All of the staff maids wear blue.”
“It was not I,” she insisted. “I did as you asked and stayed well clear of the guest rooms.” She paused, folding her arms over her chest. “You really do think the worst of me, don’t you? I was not in the Salviatis’ suite, but what if I had been? Did it never occur to you I might have had a good reason for it? No, you presumed to know best and expect me to fall in line. I have my own life to lead, you know. Not everything in the whole of the universe revolves around you. You are not theEarth, Veronica.”
“If by ‘universe’ you mean ‘solar system,’ then I feel I ought to point out that ours is heliocentric.”
She let out a little shriek of rage and stamped her foot as she left me, demonstrating a considerable fluency in profanity as she went.
“Botheration,” I said again, to no one in particular.
CHAPTER
32
I left the folly in a state of agitation. I was not pleased to have quit things in such a state with J. J. I had, if I am honest, as I have sworn to be within these pages, few women upon whom I would bestow the appellation “friend,” and fewer still to whom I would entrust my most confidential thoughts. J. J. had been admitted to the former, and it was a signal failure upon my part that she had not yet been admitted to the latter. She had proven herself, time and again, a faithful friend. She had upon occasion behaved with understandable deceit; my own hands were not clean upon that score. I had misled, lied, manipulated, and from time to time committed modest crimes in the pursuit of justice. How could I blame her for doing much the same in the cause of earning her bread? For, let us be clear, that was her aim. She invoked the principles of truth and justice, but as much for practicality as for ideals. She had to buy her crust, the same as the rest of us, and it was to her credit that she chose to do so in as difficult a manner as she had. She aimed high, she aimed true.
