he did not recognize death.
“Mrs. Spencer-Brown came to see you the day she died.” It was a statement; no one had ever denied it.
“Yes.” She was uninterested.
“Did you give her a bottle of cordial wine?”
She was staring into the flames. “Cordial wine? No, I don’t think so. Didn’t you ask that before?”
“Yes.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Miss Lagarde, because the poison was in it.”
A smile passed over her face, as shadowy as a ripple of cold wind over water.
“And you think I put it there? I did not.”
“But you did give her the wine?”
“I don’t remember. I may have. Perhaps she was looking peaked and said she was tired, or something like that. We do have cordial wine. A neighbor in Hertfordshire gives it to us.”
“Do you still have any?”
“I expect so. I don’t like it, but Tormod did. It’s kept in the butler’s pantry—it’s safe there. It’s quite strong.”
“Miss Lagarde—” She did not appear to understand the consequence of what they were discussing. She was removed from it, as though it were all a story about someone else. “Miss Lagarde, it is a very serious matter.”
She looked up at him at last, and he was stricken by the pain and horror in her eyes—not for him, but for something else, something only she could see. Her expression was devoid of any kind of anger, any hatred—only horror, endless immeasurable horror.
Was this madness he was seeing? Or perhaps the knowledge of madness in one still sane enough to see herself and know what lies ahead, the irrevocable descent into the black corridors of lunacy?
No wonder Tormod had tried to protect her! He yearned to do so himself, to prevent it, to bring her back any way he knew how. He could not think of anything to say. There was nothing large enough to encompass the enormity of what he thought he had seen.
He could not bear it. He stood up. There was no need to twist the knife with questions. The evidence was what mattered. Without that there was nothing they could do anyway, whatever he knew—or guessed.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll go and help Sergeant Harris. If there is anything else, I shall ask one of the servants. I’ll try not to interrupt you again.”
“Thank you.” She sat quite still and did not even turn to watch as he walked to the door and opened it. He left her motionless, looking neither at the fire nor at the white flowers on the table, but at something he could not see and had never seen.
It did not take them long to find at least one answer. Sergeant Harris had brought the empty bottle found in Mina’s bedroom and shown it to the servants. The butler recognized it.
“Did you give one of these to Miss Lagarde before Mrs. Spencer-Brown came here the day she died?” Pitt asked him grimly.
The man was not unintelligent. He saw the importance of the question, and his face was pale, a small muscle ticking in his jaw.
“No, sir. Miss Eloise never cared for it.”
“Mr. Bevan—” Pitt began.
“No, sir. I understand what you are saying. We bring half a dozen bottles or so when we come back from the country. But Miss Eloise never had any of it. She disliked it. Neither does she have keys to my pantry. I have one set, and Mr. Tormod had the other, but he left them in Abbots Langley last year at Christmas, and they are still there.”
Pitt took a deep breath. There was nothing to be served by shouting at the man.
“Mr. Bevan—” he began again patiently.
“I know what you are going to say, sir,” Bevan cut in. “I gave the wine to Mr. Tormod, a bottle at a time, as he asked for it. He had a bottle the night before Mrs. Spencer-Brown came. He used to drink it sometimes, and I thought nothing of it.”
Pitt could not blame him. When he and Harris had been there before, they had searched discreetly, but, fearing a guilty or even a protective servant would destroy the bottle, they had not described it or brought the one they had.
“What happened to the bottle, do you know?” he asked. “May I speak to the upstairs maid?”
“That will not be necessary, sir. I’ve asked her just now, since Mr. Harris came. She doesn’t know, sir. She hasn’t seen it again.”
“Then it could be the one given to Mrs. Spencer-Brown?”
“Yes, sir, I imagine it must be.”
“Is every other bottle accounted for?”
“Yes, sir. It is rather strong stuff, so I keep a check on it.”
“Why did you not mention it when we asked before, Mr. Bevan?”
