“And you know how to find this Mrs. Birch?”
“I should think so. She is on the charity list for Grey House.”
“The charity list?”
I waved a hand. “Yes, of course. There are a number of people within the parish who are what the vicar calls the ‘deserving poor,’ you know, people who work, but who still half starve. Those of us who have the means send along blankets, meat, soup, clothes for the children, that sort of thing. Mrs. Birch has been receiving baskets from Grey House for years.”
Brisbane stubbed his cigar out slowly. “Then we shall call upon her at once. Well done, madam.”
I preened a little. Doctor Bent rose, a trifle uncertainly. “I suppose I had better be off, then. I’ve left a clinic full of patients. They’ll not thank me if I stay away longer.”
I rose and extended my hand. “Doctor Bent, I know you are quite busy, but I wonder if you could perhaps see your way to taking on another patient? I am in need of a doctor, my own has proven unsatisfactory.”
He patted his coat, finally extracting a creased, grimy card. “There is the address of my rooms,” he said, flushing a deep, becoming red. “I know you will not wish to go there, but if you will send for me, I will come.”
I smiled. “You are very kind.”
The blush deepened and he stammered a little as he let himself out. Brisbane sat, regarding me thoughtfully.
“I rather think you’ve made a conquest of poor old Mordecai,” he said finally. “Pity you are not a daughter of Leah. You might have made him a rather fine wife.”
“Do not be nasty, Brisbane,” I returned, refusing to rise to the bait. “It does not suit you.” I rummaged in my reticule. “Here is the completed inventory of Grey House. It is the only copy.”
He took it from me and scanned it quickly, thumbing through the pages. “Good. Not that I think it will lead us to anything, but one never knows.”
I felt a rush of irritation. That inventory had taken hours to complete, dreary, dull hours of copying out endless lists of what Aquinas and I had found in every room. To have those interminable hours referred to so lightly was more than I could stand. I would not be made to feel like his pet clerk.
“Brisbane, you are being churlish. Now, if you mean to call upon Mrs. Birch, get your coat. I will wait.”
He arched an imperious brow at me, but obeyed. I had not liked his little jest about Doctor Bent. I knew it was intended flippantly, but why then had I felt a thorn beneath the smooth words?
He returned a moment later, shooting his cuffs. “My lady?” He lifted his hand, indicating the door. I preceded him out and into the hansom that he hailed. I gave him the address to give to the driver and we proceeded in silence, the air thick with questions that went unasked. Brisbane said not a word, but sat like a great black bird of prey, watching out the window of the cab. His pose was relaxed, but his hands were tensile, clenching his walking stick until the knuckles went white.
In the end, I could not bear the silence.
“You are angry.”
He sighed. “I am not. I am intensely irritated. If a quantity of poison is discovered amongst the private possessions of a suspect, it should bloody well be the murder weapon, don’t you think?”
It was a symptom of his mood that he swore. Brisbane had frequently been quite rude, but he rarely cursed in my presence. Most ladies would doubtless have been horrified by such a breach in manners. I did not mind. It made me feel more of a comrade-in-arms. “Don’t be peevish. I know you wanted Magda to swing, but you will simply have to knock your arrow in someone else’s direction.”
He flicked me a cool, almost dismissive look.
“Your metaphors are deplorable, my lady. I assure you I had no evil intentions toward your laundress.”
“Former laundress,” I said without thinking.
His gaze sharpened, and I spoke quickly to extricate myself.
“She left Grey House. So it is just as well that she is not the murderer,” I said lightly. “As a Roma, I imagine she could hide herself quite handily. I would not have relished smoking her out once she’s run to ground.”
“Indeed not,” he said finally. “Were you planning to keep that little nugget of information to yourself?”
“Of course not,” I said sharply. “Had the arsenic been the cause of Edward’s death, I would have told you instantly. But it is all very much moot, as Doctor Bent has just informed us.”
He was silent a long minute, and I began to feel uncomfortably warm in my new finery. He was staring out of the window again, but I felt quite certain he was not seeing the streets outside. When he spoke, he kept his face turned toward the glass.
“If I find that you have hidden anything else from me, hindered me in any way,” he said softly, “I will not be responsible for my actions.”
