“Wrexford . . .” Charlotte shot him a reproachful look.
Hawk’s face scrunched in thought. “Sorry, sir,” he said after several long moments had slid by. “I—wait! Idoremember one other thing! As I ducked down, I heard his shoe catch on the edge of a tile. He muttered a word under his breath—it might have been an oath, as he sounded wery angry.”
“Did you catch what he said?” asked Tyler.
“I’m not sure,” admitted Hawk. “It started with a T . . . it sounded like . . . t-toll . . . toll-patch.”
Wrexford looked at Tyler, who lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
“Does it help?” asked Hawk.
“Hard to say, lad,” replied Wrexford. “Until we know for sure whether a crime has been committed, we ought not create specters out of a mere puff of vapor.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire,”murmured Tyler.
“Be that as it may, I intend to ensure that all of us stay well out of reach of any flames.” He turned abruptly, causing the wrapped glass to hit up against his hip. “Come, there’s much to be done before this cursed night is over.”
CHAPTER 3
“Hold yer water, laddie,” muttered Basil Henning as he turned from the stone slab in response to Wrexford’s query about what the examination of the body had revealed. “My guest here only arrived a quarter hour ago. I’ve hardly had time to cut off his clothing, much less open his chest for a look at his heart, as per your request.”
Charlotte followed the earl into the surgery. They had made good time getting here, despite the stop to leave Hawk in the capable hands of McClellan, her housekeeper. She flinched as the surgeon sloshed his scalpel in a pan of water and turned back to Becton’s corpse. Though she had a strong stomach and had seen all manner of gruesome murders, there was something particularly unsettling about a mortuary slab, and the indignity of an individual being reduced to naught but a piece of meat.
“Before you get to his heart—and I do think it worth having a look, to ascertain whether it was damaged enough to be a threat to his life—did the driver pass on the other part of my message, which was to have a look at the corners of his mouth?”
“I may be getting old,” groused Henning, “but I’m not yet deaf.” There came another clatter of metal as the surgeon switched from a scalpel to an odd-shaped instrument that Charlotte didn’t recognize.
“Or blind,” he added. “Of course I noticed the white granules. My guess is, it will prove to be a potent distillation of foxglove. Most apothecaries offer it, as it’s often prescribed for a weak heart.”
“Could a large enough dose be fatal?” asked Wrexford.
Henning let out a rusty chuckle. “I daresay, a good many well-off country widows could answer that for you. From the gossip I hear among my colleagues, it’s more common than you might think for an elderly husband to be hastened to his grave by a wife with some knowledge in the plants that grow in a typical English garden. Especially if the fellow is a crotchety old devil.”
“I stand forewarned,” murmured the earl.
“Have no fear, Wrexford,” said Charlotte. She had backed up a few steps, finding the sharp scents of the dissecting room were making her stomach churn. “Gardening is far too ladylike a hobby for me.”
He smiled. “If you wish to put a period to my existence, I imagine you’ll simply pick up your penknife and cut out my liver.”
“Actually, I’d counsel using a longer blade, Lady Charlotte,” called Henning. “It would be a lot less messy.” He paused to roll up his sleeves. “Bloodstains are hell to remove from your cuffs.”
Charlotte didn’t dare try to identify the noxious streaks he had left on the none-too-pristine linen.
“Might we leave off discussingmydemise and return to that of the unfortunate Mr. Becton?” suggested Wrexford. He took the champagne glass from his pocket and set it on the crude table beside the surgeon. “This was found in the conservatory. I’ve reason to believe it contained whatever substance Becton drank just before his death.”
After inspecting the inside with his magnifying lens, Henning blew out his breath. “There are definitely the dregs of a foreign substance. I’ll perform a few chemical tests, but as I said before, I think we’ll find Mr. Becton was dosed with foxglove.”
“Hmmm.” The earl pursed his lips. “Given the company he was in, I’m surprised it wasn’t some more exotic poison.”
“Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one, laddie.”
Rarely with me,reflected Charlotte. Complexities seemed woven into the very fabric of her being. And the threads promised to begin stitching ever more intricate patterns as she made yet another elemental change in her life.
“Are you feeling unwell, my dear?” Wrexford fixed her with a searching look. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“I’m just a bit fatigued,” she replied.
The lamplight shivered as a draft rattled the glass globe, setting off a scudding of shadows. Still, his gaze held hers.
