“Not hardly worth bothering about with that crop of yours,” she muttered.
I ignored her and picked up a nail buffer. It was silver, one of a set. I inspected my nails, pink and healthy compared to Morag’s ridged grey ones. Without a thought, I handed her the second buffer.
“What is this?” she asked with a fair dollop of suspicion.
“A nail buffer. You haven’t one of your own, have you? I thought you might like it.”
I rose and went off to put on my loose morning gown. I knew Morag was desperate to question me, but she was careful to slip the buffer into her pocket first.
“There are colds going round,” she said with a doubtful look at me. “Are you feverish?”
I sighed as I wrapped the sash into a loose bow. “No, I am happy, that is all.”
And the surprising thing was, I was speaking the truth. I could not imagine why it should be so—I was mired in an investigation that I did not particularly want to continue. I had a partner I did not fully trust. And it could well be that the appointment I was to keep that afternoon would bring everything crashing down on my head.
But at least my head would be prettily hatted, I thought that afternoon as I tipped the rose-strewn chapeau at a rakish angle. I put my hand out for my plain black silk parasol and twirled it. I felt confident that whatever the news Doctor Bent would bring, whatever the answers Brisbane and I unearthed, all would be well.
If I have not said so before, let me say now—I was sometimes very stupid. My exhilaration that afternoon only proves it. Why did I have no inkling of the danger? I had seen all the signs—I could have put the thing together even then had I known how to read them. But how does one learn to read shadows? I think of that morning as the last truly innocent time of my life. I wonder sometimes if I would have trod another path had I known what lay in wait down the one I had chosen. It is painful to lose one’s illusions. I like to think I would have chosen to learn, even through extreme danger and despair, whatever lessons life has to teach. But every now and then, I wonder what my life would have been had I broken that appointment with Brisbane, had I never gone back to Chapel Street, had I never learned the truth about Edward’s death. It would have been quieter and simpler and more peaceful, I know that much. And I like to believe I would have scorned these placid virtues in favor of adventure, in favor of life itself. But even still, every now and then, I wonder…
I arrived on Brisbane’s doorstep at the same moment as Doctor Bent. He lifted his battered hat, smiling his charming, puppy-dog smile.
“Lady Julia. I hope you are well.”
“Very much so, Doctor. And you?”
He grimaced. “I am behindhand as usual. I sometimes despair of ever catching up with my work.”
I took him in from his unpolished shoes to the bit of jam that had dribbled down his shirtfront. Doubtless he had eaten on the fly and his clothes bore the unmistakable rumpled air of being slept in. He made an interesting contrast to Brisbane, I thought as the latter admitted us to his rooms.
There was no sign of Monk, for which I was mildly grateful. I had seen him just once since that unimaginable scene in Brisbane’s bedchamber, and the feeling between us had been strained. People often regret confidences given in a time of trouble, and I suspected that Monk might well resent me for receiving his.
Brisbane bade us be seated, offered us refreshment, and seemed pleased when it was rejected. I understood his satisfaction at this. He had on his bloodhound look and he was ready for the trail. Doctor Bent seemed aware of it, too, for he began without preamble.
“The powder was arsenic.”
I felt myself deflate, like a child’s pricked balloon. I had known it, of course. Magda had confirmed it herself. But I suppose somehow I had held out hope that Doctor Bent would find otherwise. Impossible, I knew, but still I had hoped.
Brisbane gave a little animal sound of satisfaction, something like a grunt. But Doctor Bent held up his hand.
“But it does not matter in any case. Sir Edward was not poisoned with arsenic.”
I could not speak. I felt a ferocious surge of joy. Magda had told the truth. She had not murdered Edward.
Brisbane had opened his mouth to remonstrate, but Doctor Bent was handily holding his own. “I am sorry, Nicholas, but it is a matter of scientific fact. I have compared your account of Sir Edward’s symptoms with her ladyship’s. They tally perfectly, yet they do not match any recorded case of arsenical poisoning that I can find. Sir Edward experienced symptoms that are inconsistent with arsenical poisoning, while the symptoms that are most indicative of arsenic were simply not present.”
Brisbane said nothing, but sat looking mightily displeased, the muscles of his jaw working furiously. Doctor Bent turned to me to explain.
“My lady, you described convulsions, vomiting. You say he had pains in his chest and that he was sweating freely.”
“So he was,” I agreed.
Doctor Bent plunged on. “You also told me that he complained of feeling cold, a sensation of iced water flowing in his veins, although the evening was warm.”
I nodded, confirming this as well.
“And you say he had difficulty in speaking, although he remained conscious.”
“As far as I know,” I reminded him. “My father sent me from the room shortly after Edward’s collapse.”
