The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [71]
Oonagh opened her mouth, but in the minute’s hesitation before she spoke, Eilish interrupted.
“No, certainly not. I don’t know what the answer is, but it is not that.”
Baird was very pale. He looked at Eilish with something so fierce in his eyes it seemed to be agony, even though it was apparently Monk to whom he was speaking.
“Then the answer must be that Miss Latterly saw the brooch in the house, before it was packed, and decided then on her plan. She must have doubled the dose before she left.”
“How?” Deirdra asked.
“I don’t know.” He was not disconcerted. “She was a nurse, after all. Presumably she knew how to make some medicines as well as give them. Any fool can pass out a vial or present it to someone.”
“Make it out of what?” Monk asked with assumed innocence. “The ingredients would hardly be lying about the house.”
“Of course not,” Deirdra agreed, looking from one to another of them, her face puckered. “It doesn’t make sense, does it. I mean, it doesn’t sound remotely likely. She was only here for one day … less than that. Did she go out, does anyone know? Mr. Monk?”
“I assume you have questioned the local apothecaries?” Quinlan asked.
“Yes, and none has sold digitalis that day to any woman answering Miss Latterly’s description,” Monk replied. “Or indeed to anyone else not already known to him personally.”
“How confusing,” Quinlan said without any apparent unhappiness.
Monk felt himself beginning to hope. He had the essence of doubt already.
“I think you are missing the point,” Oonagh said very gently. “The brooch will have been packed in Mother’s traveling jewel case, which was in the carriage with them. And of course Mother had the key. Miss Latterly saw it when she was preparing the medicine, or perhaps she looked through it out of curiosity when Mother may have alighted at the station to use the convenience. There would be plenty of opportunities during a long evening.”
“But the digitalis,” Baird argued. “Where did she get that? She didn’t find that in a railway station.”
“Presumably she carried it with her,” Oonagh replied with a tiny smile. “She was a nurse. We have no idea what she had in her case.”
“On the chance of having someone to poison?” Monk said incredulously.
Oonagh looked at him with amusement and something like patience.
“Possibly, Mr. Monk. It does seem the most likely explanation. You yourself have pointed out that the other ways and means that we assumed were, after all, not possible. What else is left?”
Monk felt as if the fire had died. The light and the warmth faded all around him. It had been stupid to hope for anything so easy, and yet in spite of all intelligence, he had hoped. He realized it now with anger and self-criticism.
“Of course—” Alastair began, but was interrupted by a large man with fading red-gold hair and blurry eyes walking uncertainly in, leaving the doors gaping behind him. He looked at the walls, his gaze finishing on Monk with a lift of curiosity.
There was a moment’s total silence.
Alastair let his breath out in a sigh.
Monk caught a glimpse of Oonagh’s face, her expression fierce and unreadable for an instant before she stepped forward and took the man by the arm.
“Uncle Hector—” Her voice caught in her throat, then was smooth again. “This is Mr. Monk, who has come up from London in order to help us in the matter of Mother’s death.”
Hector swallowed hard, as if there were something tight around his neck and he could not free himself from it. The distress in his face was so naked it would have been embarrassing had he not been oblivious of anyone watching him.
“Help?” he said incredulously. He looked at Monk with disgust. “What are you, an undertaker?” He scowled at Alastair. “Since when did we have the undertaker to dinner?”
“Oh God!” Alastair said desperately.
Kenneth turned away, his face white.
Deirdra looked helplessly to one, then another.
“He’s not the undertaker,” Quinlan began.
“Griselda took care of all that, Uncle Hector,” Oonagh said gently,