He picks it up gratefully, and takes a stiff slug. If nothing else, it serves to steady his trembling hands.
‘I know my sister, Inspector,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘She’s always hated being forced into things, even when we were children. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of a life with Ravencourt, knowing people were laughing behind her back. Look at what she was willing to do to avoid it. Slowly but surely that marriage would have destroyed her. I wanted to spare her that suffering.’
His cheeks are flushed, his green eyes glazed. They’re filled with such a sweet, sincere sorrow that I almost believe him.
‘And I suppose the money had nothing to do with it?’ I say flatly.
A scowl mars his sadness.
‘Evelyn told me that your parents threatened to cut you from the will if she didn’t do as they asked,’ I say. ‘You were leverage, and it worked. That threat was the reason she obeyed their summons in the first place, but who knows if she’d have done the same thing again knowing her escape plan was gone? With Evelyn dead, that uncertainty is laid to rest.’
‘Look around you, Inspector,’ he says, gesturing around the room with his glass. ‘Do you really think any of this is worth killing for?’
‘Now your father can’t squander the family fortune, I imagine your prospects have improved immeasurably.’
‘Squandering the fortune is all my father’s good for,’ he snorts, finishing his drink.
‘Is that why you killed him?’
His scowl deepens. He’s tight-lipped, pale.
‘I found his body, Michael. I know you poisoned him, probably when you went to fetch him for the hunt. You left a note blaming Evelyn. The boot print outside the window was particularly devious.’ His expression flickers uncertainly. ‘Or was that somebody else?’ I say slowly. ‘Felicity, perhaps? I’ll admit, I still haven’t untangled that knot. Or was it your mother’s? Where is she, Michael? Or did you kill her, as well?’
His eyes widen as his face crumples in shock, his glass slipping from his hand onto the floor.
‘You deny it?’ I ask, suddenly uncertain.
‘No... I... I...’
‘Where’s your mother, Michael? Did she put you up to this?’
‘She... I...’
At first I mistake his floundering for remorse, his gasping for the shallow breaths of a man searching for the right words. It’s only when his fingers grip the arm of the chair, white foam running down his lips, that I realise he’s been poisoned.
I spring to my feet in alarm, but I have no idea what to do.
‘Somebody help us,’ I yell.
His back arches, his muscles tense, his eyes turning red as the blood vessels pop. Gurgling, he falls forward onto the floor. From behind me I hear rattling. Swinging around, I find Evelyn convulsing on the sideboard, the same white foam bubbling up between her lips.
The door bursts open, Cunningham taking in the scene with an open mouth.
‘What’s happening?’ he asks.
‘They’ve been poisoned,’ I say, looking from one to the other. ‘Fetch Dickie.’
He’s gone before the words have fallen from my lips. Hand to my forehead, I stare helplessly at them. Evelyn is writhing on the sideboard as if possessed, while Michael’s clenched teeth crack in his mouth.
The drugs, you fool.
My hand dives into my pocket, retrieving the three vials I was instructed to steal from Bell’s trunk when Cunningham and I ransacked it this afternoon. Unwrapping the note, I search for instructions I know aren’t on it. Presumably, I mix everything together, but I don’t know how much to give them. I don’t even know if I have enough for two doses.
‘I don’t know who to save,’ I cry, looking from Michael to Evelyn.
Michael knows more than he’s told us.
‘But I gave Evelyn my word I’d protect her,’ I say.
Evelyn spasms on the table so violently she falls to the floor, as Michael continues to thrash, his eyes now rolled so far back in his head only the whites can be seen.
‘Damn it,’ I say, running over to the bar.
Emptying the three vials into a Scotch glass, I add water from a jug and stir it all together until it foams. Evelyn’s back is arched, her fingers biting into the thick weave of a rug. Tilting her head back, I pour the entire filthy creation down her throat, even as Michael chokes behind me.
Evelyn’s seizures end as abruptly as they started. Blood weeping from her eyes, she sucks in deep, hoarse breaths. Letting out a sigh of relief, I touch my fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. It’s frantic, but it’s strong. She’s going to live. Unlike Michael.
I cast a guilty glance at the body of the young man. He looks exactly as his father did in the sitting room. They’ve clearly been poisoned by the same hand, using the strychnine Sebastian Bell smuggled into the house. It must have been in the Scotch he drank. Evelyn’s Scotch. Her glass was half full. Judging by how long it took to affect her, she can only have taken a sip or two. Michael, by contrast, finished the lot in under a minute. Did he know it was poisoned? The alarm I saw on his face suggests not.
This was somebody else’s work.
There’s another killer in Blackheath.
‘But who?’ I demand, angry with myself for allowing this to happen. ‘Felicity? Helena Hardcastle? Who was Michael working with? Or was it somebody he knew nothing about?’
Evelyn’s stirring, the colour already returning to her cheeks. Whatever was in that concoction, it’s working fast, though she’s still weak. Her fingers paw at my sleeve, her lips forming empty sounds.
I lower my ear to her mouth.
‘I’m not...’ – she swallows – ‘Millicent was... murder.’
Very weakly she tugs at her throat, pulling out the chain which was concealed by her dress. There’s a signet ring on the end of it, bearing the Hardcastle family seal if I’m not very much mistaken.
I blink at her, not understanding.