Rutland Place - Anne Perry [97]
The facts proved nothing. Anyone could have given her the bottle, at almost any time. Mina’s servants had not seen it before, or any like it, but then one does not always tell servants of cordial wine. It is not drunk at table. Anyone could have picked the nightshade and crushed the leaves. It required no skill, no special knowledge. It was well-known lore that the plant killed; every child was warned. Even its name told as much.
He was driven back again to motive, although you could not damn anyone on motive alone. One man will kill for sixpence, or because he feels he has been insulted. Another will lose reputation, fortune, and love—anything rather than commit murder.
He was still standing in the sun when a hansom cab swung around the far corner and clattered down the Place, jolting to a stop in front of the Lagardes’ entrance.
Pitt was close enough to see Dr. Mulgrew practically fall out, clutching his bag, and scramble up the steps. The door opened before he got to it, and Mulgrew disappeared inside.
Pitt hesitated. Natural instinct prompted him to wait there a while and see what should happen next. But then, since there was a man in desperate injury in the house, an emergency call for the doctor was not surprising and probably had nothing whatsoever to do with Mina’s death. If Pitt were honest, he would admit that he was using the doctor’s arrival as an excuse to put off the next round of questions.
When Pitt got to the Spencer-Browns’ Alston was out, which in a way was a relief, although it only postponed what would have to be done another time. He contented himself with talking to the servants again, going over endless recollections, impressions, opinions.
He was still there, sitting in the kitchen accepting with considerable pleasure the cook’s offer of luncheon with the rest of the servants, when the scullery door burst open, a maid ran in, and the smells of stew and puddings were dissipated by the scents of sharp wind and earthy vegetables.
“For goodness’ sake, Elsie, close that door!” the cook snapped. “Where were you brought up, girl?”
Elsie kicked at the door with one foot, obeying out of habit.
“Mr. Lagarde’s dead, Mrs. Abbotts!” she said, her eyes like saucers. “Just died this morning, so May from over the way says! Seen the doctor come, she did, and go again. A mercy, I says! Poor gentleman. So beautiful, he was. Reckon as he was destined to die. Some of us is. Shall I go and shut the blinds?”
“No, you will not!” the cook said tartly. “He didn’t die in this house. Mr. Lagarde’s passing is not our business. We’ve enough of our own griefs. You just get on with your work. And if you’re late for luncheon you’ll go hungry, my girl!”
Elsie scuttled off, and the cook sat down sharply.
“Dead.” She regarded Pitt sideways. “I suppose I shouldn’t say so, but perhaps it is as well, poor creature. You’ll excuse me, Mr. Pitt, but if he was as terrible hurt as they say, could be the Lord’s mercy he’s gone.” She mopped her brow with her apron.
Pitt looked at her, a buxom woman with thick graying hair and an agreeable face, now twisted with a mixture of relief and guilt.
“A nasty shock, all the same,” he said quietly. “On top of all else that has happened lately. Bound to upset you. You look a bit poorly. How about a drop of brandy? Do you keep any about the kitchen?”
She looked at him through narrow eyes, suspicion aroused.
“I’m used to such things,” he said, reading her thoughts perfectly. “But you aren’t. Let me get you some?”
She bridled a little, like a hen fluffing out her feathers.
“Well—if you think— On the top shelf over there, behind the split peas. Don’t you let that Mr. Jenkins see it, or he’ll have it back in his pantry before you can say ‘knife.’ ”
Pitt hid his smile and stood up to pour a generous measure into a cup and pass it to her.
“How about yourself?” she offered with a little squint.
“No, thank you,” he said, and put the bottle back, replacing the split peas.