“Yet you decided to stay with him?”
“I was brought up to believe in duty. I had a child and I had made my marriage vows. Besides, apart from that he was a good husband. He was generous. He’s treated me well. He adored little Fanny. Of course we were both disappointed that I couldn’t give him a son, but we’ve been a happy enough family in many ways. But Fanny was less realistic than I. A true romantic. I can see that she would not have wanted to stay with a man who didn’t adore her.” She looked up sharply. “You say you found out this before she fell ill?”
I nodded.
“And told Fanny what you had discovered?”
“I was never able to. By the time I had uncovered the truth, she was not allowed visitors.”
She was still staring at me. She put a hand up to her bosom. “My God, you don’t think . . .” I could read the rest of that sentence in her eyes.
“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “All I know is she hired me, then she fell sick and quickly died.”
“So you do think that he might have done away with her?”
I shrugged. “It’s hardly likely, is it? You were with her during her last days. You saw what she ate and drank.”
Mrs. Bradley shook her head violently, releasing a hairpin that went flying onto the parquet floor with a ping. “Everything she ate and drank was prepared by their cook and served by me. And frankly she could keep almost nothing down toward the end. She just sipped water, and a little broth. And there is no way—no way at all—I was with her all the time. I even slept sitting up in a chair beside her in case she needed me.”
“And did her husband come into the room much?”
“He came in from time to time, but like most men he had a horror of illness. He would come over to the bed, kiss her forehead, mutter some words of encouragement, ask if he could get her anything, and then beat a hasty departure.”
“If he could get her anything?” I picked up on this. “And did he get her anything?”
Mrs. Bradley shook her head. “She had lost all interest in food and drink. I had to coax a sip of water down her. And the poor man seemed quite worried. I really can’t believe . . .”
“I’m sure this is a wild supposition,” I said, “but it happened so quickly after she had hired me.”
“I agree, it does look suspicious,” she said. “But the doctor was here all the time. He would have noticed if anything was amiss. He told me he had treated so many patients this spring in which a simple influenza turned virulent and fatal.”
“I may well be worrying you for nothing,” I said, “but I felt it was my duty to tell you.”
She eyed me for a moment. “Is that why you are here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wondered whether this visit was to remind me that Fanny had hired you and never had a chance to pay you.”
“Absolutely not.” I felt my face flush angry red. “I have been looking into her death on my own time and with no thought of recompense because I have a strong sense of justice and if she had been murdered, I didn’t want to see a murderer get away with his crime.”
She came over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dear. You’re upset. We all are. Fanny’s death has taken a light from our lives. My husband suffers especially. His only child. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.”
I rose to my feet, too. “I’m very sorry for both of you. She was a lovely young woman. I grew fond of her in the short time I knew her.”
“She was adored by everyone,” Mrs. Bradley said. “She had so many friends. I had to keep them away from her in the end. It grieved me to do so.”
“So who did come to visit her during that last week?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. “We met Dorcas, of course . . .”
“Poor dear Dorcas. I feel so badly that she must have contracted the influenza from her visit to my daughter.”
“It does seem that way,” I agreed.
“They all came—Minnie and Bella and of course sweet Alice was here all the time. She and Fanny have known each other since they were knee-high to a grasshopper. They were as close as sisters.”
“Alice,” I said. “If they were as close as sisters, I wonder if she told Alice of her intention to divorce her husband?”
“I have no idea,” Mrs. Bradley said. “You have to understand that Fanny was extremely proud, Miss Murphy. She may not have wished to share this odious fact with anyone until she was ready to make her move.” She paused and looked at me sharply. “You are sure about this Fifi person?”
“Oh yes. I visited her yesterday. She told me that Anson and she had been friendly for two years but that he had come to break off completely with her a week ago. Just before Fanny died, in fact.”
“Then his conscience did get the better of him,” she said. “I knew the lad was good at heart.”