When she returned to the chair beside my bed, her face was calm. I could tell she had given this much thought, and I was glad she found resolution.
“What about their accusations?” I asked.
“They cannot prove an action that never happened. They might try, but they can’t. And thanks to Mary Ingram’s accusation of Mr. Lerner, the whole of Bow Street knows the Ingram girls are prone to making spurious assertions. No, I say either give the letter to Lady Conyngham or burn it. That wretched pile of papers has caused too much grief for you . . . and for me. It’s a cursed thing; Maria feels the same. Minney and her young man will have to work out what they want to do. There is the possibility that the Duke of York can secure for him a foreign posting. We shall see. But again . . . I counsel you to burn it. Or do what you will with it. But you cannot protect me. Or Maria. Or her daughter.”
Sadie brought in a tray loaded with tea, wafer-thin crackers, and a tureen of wonderful-smelling soup. “Mr. Rochester asked me to fetch him when you were awake, ma’am.”
“I’ll go get him.” Lucy planted a kiss on my cheek before she left.
Moments later, my husband came to the door, holding Ned in his arms. “Look, little man. There’s your mother! You have a surprise for her, don’t you?”
“Ma-ma!” said Ned. I almost melted with happiness.
“I taught him that.” Adèle peeped out from behind them. “I was very worried about you!”
The French girl launched herself at me, but Edward caught the back of her sash and stopped her in her tracks. “Faites attention! Doucement!”
“Just for a while, ma petite,” I assured Adèle. “I am hurt, but I will heal.”
Amelia appeared in the doorway. “Time for your bath and bed, Young Master. You can come and help me, Little Miss. I’m awful glad you weren’t hurt too much, ma’am. Awful glad.”
When the door closed behind her, at long last, my husband and I were alone.
“How are you?” He uncurled my fingers and kissed the palm of my hand.
“Weak. My head is muddled. My side hurts, and I am confused. Edward? Why did you not tell me that you once fought a duel?”
“Oh? So you heard about that.” I had caught him off-guard. He did not drop my hand, but he relaxed his grasp. “It is one of the many foolish incidents of my youth. One where my temper prevailed upon my good sense, and I paid the price for it.”
“So . . . did you? Fight another man?”
“I did not. I was waiting there at dawn, hands shaking and knees quaking, wondering what I had gotten myself into when John crept up behind me and threw a potato sack over my head. Oh, I railed and struck out at him, but all the while I secretly blessed him for saving me from myself. Why do you ask?”
I explained about my worries when the King summoned me. I also told him about Lady Conyngham’s promise that she and the King would stand up as Evans’s godparents in return for the letter.
Edward’s mouth puckered with surprise. “Did she really?”
“Wouldn’t that make a difference to society?”
“It certainly would. A child is to have three godparents, so the King, the Marchioness, and Mr. Douglas could all stand up for Evans. By the laws of the Church, the godparents are auxiliary parents, whose charge is to assure the child a proper spiritual upbringing. No one could argue that Evans wasn’t desirable after that sort of public commitment. Actually, dear girl, it’s a brilliant idea,” he said, stroking my jawline with the knuckle of his good hand.
“But Lucy says she doesn’t care,” I said, and I told him how she had decided the ton did not matter to her.
“Ah,” said my husband. “But when Evans arrives, she may change her mind. A child forces you to consider your life in context. At least, that is what Ned has done for me.”
I related what Lucy had told me about Maria Fitzherbert and Minney Seymour. “So you see, dear husband, I cannot help Lucy without hurting them. Nor can I be assured that Lucy will not be charged with the Dowager Ingram’s death. If it were up to Mr. Waverly—”
“It would be disregarded summarily as ridiculous. He knows what the Ingram daughters are about,” Edward finished for me. “But if the chief magistrate is pressured, who knows what might happen?”
“Edward, I have no idea what to do. None.” I gripped his hand hard, hoping that his strength would transfer to me.
“Then let it rest, Jane. For this evening at least, let it go.”
And I did.
Chapter 55
The next morning, Sadie brought me a poached egg, toast, beef broth, and tea. Although I still felt weak, the breakfast was a help. Polly, that mistress of fashion and of aid to the injured, came a half hour later. “Mr. Lerner told me to check your wound and see how it’s doing. I’m going to dab it with honey. Me mum says it helps with the healing.”
Polly was nearly done tending to me when Lucy rapped lightly on the door. “How are you this morning?”
“Better, and I’m determined that there has to be a way around these accusations of murder, as well as the difficulty with the letter. While I am confined to lying down, I plan to apply my mind to both problems. Would you be so kind as to bring me my pencil and sketch pad? It might help me to think. Oh, and can you bring me that book on flowers from your library? The one I was looking at before?”
All morning I worked on adding vines and blossoms to the piece I was doing for Evans. After puzzling over the letter and devising no solution for dealing with it, I decided that solving the mystery of Lady Ingram’s death would at least go a long way toward safeguarding my friend’s reputation.
I decided I should review the facts, in case we had all overlooked some fundamental bit of logic. Some discrepancy. Something out of place. Something missing that should be there. “Qui bene?” I asked myself. Who stood to benefit from the Dowager’s death? If the Dowager Lady Ingram was an impediment, whose way did she block? How would her death benefit anyone? And why did she need to die right now?
What did the Dowager Lady Ingram represent? Why was she perceived as an insurmountable threat?
To Lady Grainger’s staff, the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters presented a short-term inconvenience. There was no reason to kill Lady Ingram, because eventually the Ingrams would move on.
To Lucy, Lady Ingram was an obstacle, regarding her social standing. But Lucy derived no benefit from killing Lady Ingram. My friend was hoping for a truce with the Dowager. And Lucy knew nothing about the changes to Lady Grainger’s will. Furthermore, Lucy never had the opportunity to poison the coffee. She had held the tin but briefly before passing it along.
To Lady Conyngham, Lady Ingram was simply another visitor. The Marchioness had engineered the visit at Lady Grainger’s as an opportunity to take my measure. She had no reason to poison Lady Ingram.
To Lady Grainger, her sister-in-law and nieces were an annoyance, but nothing more. She exerted control over her brother’s family, because she held the purse strings. So she had no reason to poison her sister-in-law.
To the Honorable Blanche Ingram, her mother was her ally, her help in continuing her whirlwind life as an unmarried member of the ton. As long as Lady Ingram was alive, mother and daughter could share in the excitement of Blanche’s popularity.
To Mary Ingram, her mother was the facilitator of a fantasy. As long as Mr. Lerner treated Lady Ingram, Miss Mary could continue to see the young doctor—and hope that one day he would fall in love with her. Therefore, she had no reason to poison her mother.
All right, Jane, I said to myself. You have run into a dead end. What would you advise a student working on a maths problem?
I would suggest that my student approach the conundrum from a different angle.
What if . . . ? I knew these to be the two most powerful words in any creative person’s vocabulary. What if I paint the sky like this? What if I add the sound of
bells to this piece of music? What if I carve around the flaw in this piece of marble?
What if . . . ?
What if the poisoning had been accidental? What if no one had ever intended for Lady Ingram to die?
Chapter 56
I allowed this question to take up residence in my mind. I did not try to shoo it away or force it to bear fruit. I simply allowed it tenancy as I continued to work with my pencil, occasionally switching to my pen when the results were pleasing. After a while, I grew tired of the daisies and roses that I was adding. My artwork demanded a different shape, so I flipped through Augie’s wonderful book on garden plants. I considered this blossom and that, rejecting each in turn, until I happened upon foxglove. The slender thimble-shaped flowers would contrast nicely with the others I had drawn.
Foxglove. Also known as fairy caps, fairy bells, fairy fingers, and lady’s glove. The selfsame biennial herb that Miss Mary had hacked to the ground in Lady Grainger’s garden.
Why would she have done such a thing? Although I had visited many rooms in Lady Grainger’s house, I had not seen one bouquet of fresh flowers. Not one. So what had happened with all those plants? The stubble left behind suggested a fulsome harvest. Where did they all go?
And what was it that Polly told me? Something that Dorsey had said about the younger Miss Ingram leaving a mess in the kitchen.
Why would Miss Mary do such a thing?
Miss Mary, who followed Mr. Lerner around like a lovesick puppy. Miss Mary, who wanted to prove to Mr. Lerner that she would make a good doctor’s wife. Miss Mary, who craved her mother’s approval. Miss Mary, who badly needed her mother to put down her foot, to demand that her sister quit shilly-shallying around and at long last marry someone. Why would Miss Mary cut down an entire stand of foxglove and take it into Lady Grainger’s kitchen?
Unless . . . unless she planned a use for it!
Then I realized what if Miss Mary picked up errant papers from Mr. Lerner’s satchel? She might have read his notes concerning the titration of foxglove, otherwise known as digitalis. And thinking she could follow the instructions, she might have tried to brew a tincture herself. What better way could Mary prove her potential as a doctor’s wife, much less win her mother’s affection, than to cure the woman of problems with her heart?
Chapter 57
Despite my excitement at having pieced together a possible solution to the puzzle that was the Dowager Lady Ingram’s death, my wound tired me so much that I took another nap. I had only just awakened when Polly came to say, “Mr. Waverly is here to see you, ma’am. Should I send him away? Your husband warned us not to let you become too tired.”
“No, I’d like to speak to him. Could you help me dress?”
“Of course.”
“Are the others here? Where is Mrs. Brayton?”
“No, they are all out. The children are walking in the park with Amelia, and Mrs. Brayton is out ordering a funeral wreath to be sent to Lady Grainger’s house for Lady Ingram’s viewing tomorrow. Finally! That coroner’s had her body nearly six days! Anyway, Mrs. Brayton said she’d be back in a tick. Oh, and she’s just had word that her little boy and his nanny have crossed the Channel and are on British soil. Won’t be but a day or two before they’re here. Mrs. Brayton is over the moon about it!”
“That’s wonderful news. And my husband and Mr. Douglas? Where are they?”
Polly smiled. “Them two. A right couple of boys, they are. They’re off to pick up Mr. Rochester’s new boots, I heard. Should be back soon enough.”
“Good. Could you send for Mr. Lerner?” Noting the worried look in her eyes, I hastily added, “I am on the mend. It’s another matter I wish to discuss with him.”
After I was suitably attired, Higgins carried me into the library. Polly saw to it that I was comfortable with my feet propped up as I sat in a wingback chair in front of the fire. She tucked a crocheted lap blanket around me as tenderly as any mother would and positioned a small silver bell near at hand.
“Ring it and Sadie or me, we’ll come running.”
“Would you be so kind as to retrieve a book for me? The one I was perusing on gardening?” I asked. “I want to show Mr. Waverly something in it. I should have remembered to bring it along.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” said Polly. She turned to do my bidding and nearly bumped into Mr. Waverly as he entered the room.
“Thank God, you are all right.” The Bow Street man stood there staring down at me. His fingers turned his hat ’round and ’round in his hands as he looked me over.
“Please sit,” I said and rang the bell. “Sadie will bring us tea. I have a theory regarding who killed Lady Ingram, but I should like to wait and try my thoughts out when everyone is present.”
Just then, Edward and Mr. Douglas joined us. The men had accomplished their errands and seemed quite pleased with themselves. I had to admit that my husband’s new boots looked very dashing. Lucy arrived a few minutes later.
“What’s all this? Are you feeling better?” she asked, as she bent to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“I am,” I replied, just as Higgins announced Mr. Lerner’s arrival.
Once everyone was assembled, I handed over to the constable the gardening book Polly had fetched for me, and I instructed him to look at the page I had marked.
“I see a flower called foxglove and its description,” Waverly said, “but I cannot see its relevance to Lady Ingram’s death.”
I explained my thought process to my audience, who listened carefully. I summarized, “I believe it was Miss Mary Ingram who killed her mother. But not on purpose. She tried to make a healing titration that she’d heard Mr. Lerner speak of. She attempted to concoct it herself, from foxglove plants in Lady Grainger’s garden. It wasn’t that she wanted to poison her mother. Quite the contrary. Mary hoped to cure the woman and to win her affection, plus the admiration of Mr. Lerner. But she miscalculated. Badly. She made the dose far too strong.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Lerner. “You could be right in your theory, Mrs. Rochester, though I feel horrible that Miss Mary might have done this because of me! I guess that when she heard me explaining how digitalis worked, it piqued her interest. I didn’t give her any instruction, though—she must have tried to create the potion by looking over my papers. I keep meaning to have the latch on my satchel fixed, but there’s never enough time.”
“While I’ll agree you need to repair the lock, I hardly think that most reasonable people would have taken it upon themselves to play at being a doctor,” said Edward, kindly. “Mr. Lerner, you have no reason to castigate yourself for such an extreme reaction to a few loose papers.”
“But Miss Blanche Ingram also said that she felt ill. How do you explain that?” asked Mr. Waverly.
“I suspect that Miss Mary was testing the dosage on her sister,” I said, “figuring that since her sister was healthy, she could refine her experiments without any deleterious effects. Or at least, not too much of an adverse response.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Lerner. “Since Lady Ingram had a bad heart, the medication had a more radical and immediate impact on her than on Miss Blanche Ingram. Of course, it also overpowered Lady Grainger’s poor dog.”
“I had not given the decimated patch of flowers much thought, but it makes sense,” said Lucy. “Otherwise, why would Miss Mary have cut down those and left everything else standing?”
“And there’s the reported mess in the kitchen,” I reminded her.
“Even if you’re onto something—and I think you are, Mrs. Rochester—we lack proof,” said Mr. Waverly as he adjusted his spectacles.
“But we can’t sit by and do nothing. Miss Mary and her sister have threatened Mr. Lerner, my husband, and Lucy in turn. If we don’t at least try to prove my theory, the Ingram girls will continue to blacken our names. Miss Ingram has even gone to Lady Conyngham, hoping to strike a barg
ain that would benefit her at our expense.”
“The devil you say!” Mr. Waverly slapped the arm of his chair.
“Miss Blanche Ingram would certainly be likely to stop her rumormongering if she knew her mother had been killed by her own sister,” said Edward.
“Mrs. Rochester is right. If word spreads that one of the sisters poisoned her mother—even by accident—Lady Conyngham would have nothing more to do with either of them,” said Mr. Douglas. “We must encourage Miss Mary to confess. Although for the life of me, I can’t imagine how.”
“Not only that,” said Lucy, “but the confession must be public. Otherwise, the Ingrams will pretend it never happened. We know from experience that they are practiced liars.”
“If we’re aiming for a public display, the visitation is to be tomorrow afternoon at Lady Grainger’s house,” said Edward. “That would surely be our best option.”
The group murmured in agreement.
“Now that we have the time and the setting, what we need is a lever,” said Mr. Douglas. “An instrument to put pressure on Miss Mary.”
I mulled this over.
And suddenly, I had a plan.
Chapter 58
Everyone agreed that my plan might work. We would want to keep Mrs. Biltmore’s attack on me a secret, otherwise my presence at Lady Ingram’s viewing might seem suspicious. Lucy was dispatched immediately to talk to Lady Grainger about our scheme. “I think she’ll go along with it, if only to have the matter settled.”
Death of a Dowager Page 25
