“Now I do not understand you. One minute you are passionately attacking me for my cold heart, the next you are craving my pardon.”
I lifted my shoulder in a genteel shrug I copied from Fleur. “A lady’s prerogative. We are widely believed to be the less logical sex.”
“Not you,” he said. “I am suspicious of you now.”
I smiled guilelessly. “You have no reason to be.”
“That I do not believe.”
I did not reply and he moved on, rather reluctantly, I thought.
“Is there anything else I should know about Magda?”
I thought, then shook my head. “I have told you everything, as far as I remember. If I recall anything else, I shall write to you.”
He rose and walked me to the door. “I will send the ars—powder,” he amended hastily, “to Mordecai in the morning. As soon as he sends word I will let you know.”
He paused, his hand curved around the knob.
“I am very impressed, my lady,” he said quietly. “You turned up a piece of evidence that makes a needle in a haystack seem like a winning proposition. And you did not permit sentiment to dictate your actions. I know how easy it would have been for you to conceal this from me.”
“It would not have been easy at all,” I remarked, pulling on my gloves. “As you observed, I have the advantage of a clean conscience. I should like to keep it that way.”
THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER
They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee, though I wish him dead.
—William Shakespeare
Richard II
The next day my spirits were low. I could not bring myself to question Val about the second bloody shirt or even scold him for failing to get rid of the stolen raven. I cringed every time Henry came near me, remembering his foul collection of French pornography. And I had a ferocious headache, the result of spending several hours copying my observations during the search into legible form for Brisbane’s records. After my surprising success in Magda’s rooms, he had sent word that he would require a full list of the contents of the house, particularly personal possessions. It was tedious stuff, and I strongly suspected he had requested it simply to keep me occupied with something dull while he had the more interesting task of taking the grey powder to Doctor Bent’s for analysis.
After three hours of writing, painstakingly listing the contents of every room I searched, I threw down my pen, spattering the page with a temperamental spray of ink. I had been cooped up in the study long enough. It was time for some physical labor to stretch my limbs and clear the cobwebs from my mind.
I instructed Aquinas to send boxes and tissue to Edward’s room and give me the loan of one of the servants—anyone except Henry. I had no desire to be alone with the mad pornographer. To my surprise it was Magda who came, clinking her gold bracelets and swishing her taffeta petticoats. I cringed a little—it was the same red petticoat that I had found wrapped around the box of powder.
“Magda, I have decided to clear out Sir Edward’s clothes and personal effects. I would like to box them all up and send them along to Lady Hermia’s refuge. They should be able to make quite good use of them.”
I was chattering, but Magda did not seem to notice. She simply shrugged and began shifting the stacks of shirts from the wardrobe. Without being told, Magda wrapped the garments into neat parcels, putting a shirt, collar and cuffs with each suit of clothes to make a complete ensemble. After a long moment of watching her, I remembered something I had meant to ask her for several days.
“Magda, what does it mean when there is a serpent in the tea leaves?”
Her inky eyes narrowed. “You have let another Gypsy read the leaves for you?”
“No, of course not. I was just wondering.”
She regarded me a long moment, then shrugged.
“Sickness. Bad luck. Spiteful enemies.”
“Oh,” I said feebly.
The dark gaze narrowed still further. “Are you certain the leaves were not yours?” she demanded.
I gave her a thin smile as I lied. “Of course. But, I wonder, speaking of fortunes, why could you not tell Mr. Brisbane his fortune?”
