and he will be remembered with honor and gratitude. England is a better place, and society wiser and more just because of his life. That must be of great comfort to you, when this time of grief has lessened, and it will lessen with time. It is a legacy not every woman may boast, and you may justly be proud.”
She stared at him. For a moment she tried to speak. It was painful to observe. Charlotte longed to help her.
“That is most generous of you,” she said to Livesey, gripping Juniper’s hand and holding it hard. “Thank you for coming on what must be a most difficult errand. Now perhaps if there is nothing more to do here, you would be kind enough to send a message so Mrs. Stafford’s carriage may be brought. I imagine the doctor will take care of—of arrangements here?”
“Indeed,” Livesey acknowledged. “But …” His face shadowed. “I regret the police may wish to ask a few questions, because it was so sudden.”
Juniper found her voice; perhaps surprise was momentarily greater than grief.
“The police? Whatever for? Who— I mean, why are they here? How do they even know? Did you …?”
“No—it is quite fortuitous,” Livesey said quickly. “It is Mr. Pitt, who came to your assistance.”
“What questions?” Juniper glanced at Charlotte, looking confused. “What is there to ask?”
“I imagine he will wish to know what Samuel ate or drank in the last few hours,” Livesey replied gently. “Perhaps what he had done during the day. If it is possible for you to compose yourself sufficiently to give him answers, it will help.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, a protest of sorts, but no words came to her that were not futile. Stafford had died suddenly and without any cause that could be identified. It was unavoidable that there should be some formal investigation. Livesey was right; the sooner it could be settled, the sooner some sort of natural grief could begin, and then in time the start of healing.
The door opened and Pitt came in, closely followed by Adolphus Pryce.
Juniper looked up quickly, but at Pryce; then as if by an effort of will, away again.
“Mr. Pitt?” she said slowly. “I understand you are from the police. Mr. Livesey tells me you need to ask me some questions about … about Samuel’s death.” She took a deep breath. “I will tell you whatever I can, but I don’t know anything that could help you. I had no idea he was ill. He never gave me the slightest indication …”
“I understand that, Mrs. Stafford.” Pitt sat down without being asked, so that he was looking directly at her, instead of obliging her to stare up at him. “I am deeply sorry to have to trouble you at this most painful time, but if I were to leave it until later, you may by then have forgotten some small detail which would provide an answer.” He looked at her closely. She was very pale and her hands were shaking, but she seemed composed, and still suffering too much shock to have given way to weeping or the anger that so often follows bereavement.
“Mrs. Stafford, what did your husband eat for dinner before he came to the theater?”
She thought for a moment. “Saddle of mutton, horseradish sauce, vegetables. Not a heavy meal, Mr. Pitt, and not an overindulgence.”
“Did you have the same?”
“Yes—exactly. A great deal less, of course, but exactly the same.”
“And to drink?”
She drew her brows down in puzzlement. “He took a little claret, but it was opened at the table and poured straight from the bottle. It was in excellent condition. I had half a glass myself. He did not take too much, I assure you! And he always drank very moderately.”
“What else?”
“A chocolate pudding, and a fruit sorbet. But I had some also.”
Pitt caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Livesey touching his hip pocket.
Pitt continued grimly. “Did your husband carry a hip flask, Mrs. Stafford?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “Yes—yes, he did. A silver one. I gave it to him some four or five years ago. Why?”
“Did he fill it himself?”
“I imagine so. I really don’t know. Why, Mr. Pitt? Do you … do you wish to see it?”
“I already have it, thank you. Do you know if he drank from it this evening?”
“I didn’t see him, but it is most likely he did. He—he liked a small—” She stopped, her voice shaking and uncertain. She required a moment or two to regain her composure.
“Can you tell me what he did during the day, Mrs. Stafford, all that you know.”
“What he did?” She looked doubtful. “Well, yes, if you wish. But I don’t understand why—”
“It is possible that he was poisoned, Mrs. Stafford,” Livesey said gravely, still standing near the door. “It is a most distressing thought, but I am afraid we must face it. Of course the medical examiner may find some disease of which we are unaware, but until that time we have to act in a way that takes account of all possibilities.”
She blinked. “Poisoned? Who would poison Samuel?”
Pryce fidgeted from one foot to the other, staring at Juniper, but he did not interrupt.
“You can think of no one?” Pitt drew her attention back again. “Do you know if he was presently engaged in a case, Mrs. Stafford?”
“No—no, he was not.” She seemed to find it easier to speak while her mind was concentrating on practical details and answers to specific questions. “That woman came to see him again. She has been pestering him for several months now. He seemed most upset by her, and after she left, he went out almost immediately.”
