“It is not a table wine, sir, so I imagine the other servants had not seen it. Such things are more usually kept in a medicine chest, or by a bedside. Since that was the last bottle, when a search was made no more would have been found.”
Pitt was irritated that a butler should explain his job to him so thoroughly. Or perhaps he was still thinking of Eloise, alone and unreachable. This man was not to blame. He could not have known the composition of the wine with which Mina was poisoned.
“So Mr. Tormod had the last bottle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In his bedroom?”
“Yes, sir.” The man’s face was very solemn.
“Did he complain of missing it?”
“No, sir. And I would have heard of it if he had. We are most strict about intoxicating liquors.”
So when had Eloise poisoned it and given it to Mina?
Bevan moved from one foot to the other.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, what makes you think Miss Eloise had the wine or gave it to Mrs. Spencer- Brown?”
“Information,” Pitt said dryly.
“Not from anyone in this house, sir!”
“No.” There was no point in being coy. “Mrs. Denbigh.”
Bevan’s face changed. “Indeed. Mrs. Denbigh is a very wealthy lady, sir, if you’ll pardon me for making so ill- mannered an observation. Very wealthy indeed, and handsome too. She was remarkably fond of Mr. Tormod, and I believe they might well have married. Always providing, of course, Mr. Tormod had no other involvements.”
Pitt took his meaning perfectly.
“Are you suggesting, Mr. Bevan, that it was Mr. Tormod, and not Miss Eloise, who murdered Mrs. Spencer- Brown?”
Bevan met his gaze without flinching.
“It would seem so, sir. Why should Miss Eloise kill her?”
“Jealousy over her brother’s affection,” Pitt replied.
“The relationship with Mrs. Spencer-Brown was over some time ago, sir. If he had married, it could never have been Mrs. Spencer-Brown—but it could well have been Mrs. Denbigh—a rich and handsome lady, free to marry, and, if you’ll pardon me, more than willing. And yet Mrs. Denbigh is alive and well.”
Pitt turned to Harris. “Have you looked in the conservatory, Harris?”
“Yes, sir. No nightshade. But that’s not to say it was never there. I don’t imagine our murderer would be foolish enough to leave it.”
“No.” Pitt’s face tightened. “No, probably not.”
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Bevan inquired.
“No, thank you. Not now.” Pitt was reluctant to say it, but it was the man’s due: “Thank you for your help.”
Bevan bowed very slightly. “You are welcome, sir.”
“Damn!” Pitt swore as soon as he judged the butler to be out of earshot. “Hellfire and damnation!”
“I’ll lay any odds you like he’s right,” Harris said with sincerity. “Makes a lot of sense. Rich and handsome widow, like he says. Old mistress making trouble, threatening to tell all, very embarrassing. Stand in the way of a lot of very nice money. Wouldn’t be the first time. Never prove it!”
“I know that!” Pitt said furiously. “Damn it, man, I know that!”
They walked through to the hallway and found Dr. Mulgrew coming down the stairs. He looked bleary-eyed, and his hair stood up in a quiff at the top of his head. He must have been there to treat Eloise.
“Good morning,” Pitt said tersely.
“Perfectly bloody,” Mulgrew agreed, not with Pitt’s words but with his tone of voice. “We’ve lost Tormod, you know. Injuries proved too much for him—heart finally carried him off.” Then he gave a sheepish smile. “I’ve got a head like a tin bucket. Need a hair of the dog, I think! Much obliged to you, Pitt. You’re a good man. Join me in a drink? Call for Bevan. I need something to clear this headache. Shouldn’t drink champagne at my age and then get up at dawn. Not natural.”
“Champagne?” Pitt glared at him.
“Yes, you know, fizzy stuff? ‘There is nothing like the fizz, fizz, fizz,’ ” he sang very softly in a remarkably pleasant baritone. “‘I’ll drink every drop there is, is, is.’ ”
Pitt was forced to smile, although it hurt.
“Thanks,” Mulgrew said, clasping him by the arm. “You’re a generous man.”
When Pitt arrived home in the evening, Charlotte was waiting for him. As soon as he entered the door, she knew from his face something had happened that had saddened and confused him. The day had been warm, and the parlor faced south. She had had the windows open onto the garden, and the smell of fresh grass was in the air. A few white narcissus sat in a slender jug, their fragrance as sharp and clean as spring rain.
