“I wonder if Isherwood himself gave me the dose,” I said, mostly to distract myself from my disquiet.
“Possibly, but I’d wonder at his purpose.” Denis neatly pushed his notes aside, his tone suggesting he was finished with the conversation. “Determining who had such an opium solution and the opportunity to feed it to you will no doubt reveal the killer and why they wished you to be accused of the crime.”
“Must be driving them spare that you ran off,” Brewster put in. “And that the dead colonel’s son won’t tell anyone he was murdered.”
“Indeed.” Thoughts began to turn in my head—I was a slow thinker but my advantage was that I never let my thoughts cease. “I wonder what would happen if the murderer believed Ihadregained the memories?”
“Disaster,” Brewster said, full of gloom. “That’s what. And me having to come behind to pick up the pieces.”
* * *
The sky was darkeningto evening by the time I returned home. Gabriella had returned from her day out with Lady Aline, but she intercepted me before I could enter the drawing room for a much needed coffee.
“Stepmamma is in there,” she whispered. “She said she needed to compose herself.”
I raised my brows, foreboding chilling my blood. “Compose herself for what?”
“She had callers while you were out, and she sent me away so she could speak to them alone.” Her brown eyes held worry. “I did not know them. Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons?”
I turned abruptly on my heel, thanking Gabriella, who was too polite to ask more questions. I quickly entered the drawing room and shut its door behind me.
Donata reposed on a sofa, her feet on an ottoman she’d drawn to it, her legs crossed at the ankle. A lit cigarillo wafted smoke from a bowl on a nearby table, and Donata held a glass of brandy she was in the act of finishing.
“You could have put them off,” I said before she could speak. “The Gibbonses. I’d have interviewed them. There was no need for you to.”
“Therewasneed.” Donata spoke calmly, but I saw the brandy glass trembler. “It is not often a lady can interrogate her husband’s former mistress.”
I made for the brandy decanter and poured myself a measure. I drank it in one go, the smooth liquid burning to my stomach. “At least you could see that she is happy, living with her husband, her old life behind her.”
“Happy in her marriage, yes,” Donata said. “Unnerved of course by Isherwood’s murder, but not unduly so, I think. Do sit down, Gabriel. You make me nervous when you hover.”
I poured more brandy and folded myself onto the sofa next to her.
“That’s better,” she said. “I wished Mrs. Gibbons had come alone so I could quiz her more pointedly, but that would hardly do, would it? They expected to findyouhere, not me, and Mrs. Gibbons would never embarrass her husband by calling on you on her own.” Donata plucked her cigarillo from the bowl, thin smoke rising. “By the way—I was correct. Marguerite Gibbons wasnotthe woman who accosted you outside the public house on Monday night.”
I sipped my second glass of brandy more slowly. “You believe her?”
“It is not a question of believing her. Mrs. Gibbons and her husband were still in Portsmouth at the time you were in the public house—she has many witnesses who will swear the Gibbonses did not leave home until Tuesday afternoon. They arrived in Brighton late Tuesday night.”
I deflated. “I suppose that is easily checked.”
“I do not intend to take her at her word, of course, and I have sent a note to Mr. Quimby that he should find out. But it is highly unlikely the woman outside the public house was Mrs. Gibbons. She could not be in two places at once.”
“Then who was the woman?” I said half to myself.
“What does Mr. Denis say about it? He has many resources—he needs to use them.”
“Mmm. He has hinted that he intends to help me out of this dilemma only so he can use my services for something else. He has not told me what.”
Donata took a pull of her cigarillo, her eyes narrowing. “Well, we will have to take care of that problem when we come to it. What did he want today?”
My injured knee was unhappy so I lifted my foot to join hers on the large ottoman. “To have his pet surgeon ask me about my inebriation.”
Donata listened with interest as I related the surgeon’s speculations. I ended with my plan to put it about that I was beginning to clearly remember events of the night.
“That will be exceedingly dangerous,” Donata said, worry entering her eyes. “If the murderer believes you know his identity …”
“He will confront me, and then we will have him,” I said firmly. “I do not intend to meet him alone in a dark lane, unarmed. I will have Brewster, Quimby, and other stout fellows with me to arrest him.” I quieted. “It may be that there will be no murderer to find but me.”
