The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [130]
“A very practical arrangement. She took the prescription with her, of course?”
“Aye, sir.”
“So there was no anxiety if she ran out?”
“N-no …”
Gilfeather stirred restlessly in his seat. He was impatient, and had his adversary been a lesser man, he would have dismissed the line of questioning as time-wasting.
“Mr. Argyll,” the judge said irritably, “have you some purpose in mind? If you have, it is more than time you arrived at it.”
“Yes, my lord,” Argyll said smoothly. He turned back to the witness stand. “Miss McDermot, would it have mattered had you been a little hasty in your care for Mrs. Farraline and, instead of sending her off with a full complement of vials, used one to give her her morning dose on the day she traveled, rather than make one up. I simply ask if it would have mattered, not if you did so.”
She stared at him as if she had suddenly seen a snake.
“Miss McDermot?”
“You must answer,” the judge informed her.
She swallowed. “N-no. No sir, it would not really have mattered.”
“It would not have placed her in any danger?”
“No sir. None at all.”
“I see.” He smiled at her as if he were totally satisfied with the answer. “Thank you, Miss McDermot. That is all.”
Gilfeather rose rapidly. There was a stir of excitement around the room like a ripple of wind through a cornfield. Gilfeather opened his mouth.
Miss McDermot stared at him.
Gilfeather looked at Argyll.
Argyll’s smile did not change in the slightest.
Rathbone sat with his hands clenched so hard his nails scarred his palms. Would Gilfeather dare to ask if she had used the first vial? If she admitted it, his case was damaged, severely damaged. Rathbone held his breath.
Gilfeather did not dare. She might have used it. She might not have the nerve to deny it on oath. He sat down again.
There was a sigh of breath around the room, a rustle of fabric as everyone relaxed, disappointed. One juror swore under his breath, mouthing the words.
Miss McDermot had to be assisted at the bottom of the steps when she stumbled in sheer unbearable relief.
Argyll’s lips still curved in the same smile.
Rathbone offered up a prayer of thanks.
Gilfeather’s next witness was the doctor whom Connal Murdoch had called, a rotund man with black hair and a fine black mustache.
“Dr. Ormorod,” he began smoothly, as soon as the doctor’s credentials had been thoroughly established, “you were called by Mr. Connal Murdoch to attend the deceased, Mrs. Mary Farraline, is that correct?”
“Yes sir, it is. At half past ten in the morning of October the seventh, of this year of our Lord,” the doctor replied.
“Did you respond immediately?”
“No sir. I was in attendance upon a child who was seriously ill with whooping cough. I had been informed that Mrs. Farraline was deceased. I saw no urgency.”
There was a nervous giggle in the gallery. One of the jurors, a large man with a mane of white hair, scowled at the offender.
“Was any reason given why you should be sent for, Dr. Ormorod?” Gilfeather asked. “It was a somewhat unusual request, was it not?”
“Not really, sir. I imagined at the time that my main duty would be to attend Mrs. Murdoch. The shock of bereavement can in itself be a cause for medical concern.”
“Yes … I see. And what did you find when you reached Mrs. Murdoch’s residence?”
“Mrs. Murdoch, poor soul, in a state of considerable distress, which was most natural, but the cause of it was not entirely what I had expected.” The doctor became increasingly sensible that he was the focus of all attention. He straightened up even farther and raised his chin, measuring his words like an actor delivering a great monologue. “She was, of course, deeply grieved by her mother’s passing, but she was also most troubled by the possible manner of it. She feared, sir, that in view of the missing jewels, it may not have been entirely of natural causes.”
“That is what she said to you?” Gilfeather demanded.
“Indeed sir, it is.”
“And what did you do, Dr. Ormorod?”
“Well,