“When did this start?” I asked her anxiously.
“In the middle of the night. I felt fine yesterday, as you know, because you saw me in the morning. I had a lovely time at Ned’s mother’s in the afternoon and then when I went to bed I felt overwhelmingly tired and headachy. I woke in the night drenched in sweat, aching all over, and I’ve been vomiting.”
I led her back to her bed, my heart now pounding. “Lie down,” I said. “Now tell me, what can I get you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel like anything at all, thank you.”
“You should take something to keep your strength up. I’ll go and get some veal bones from the butcher and make you some broth. And some barley for barley water. Oh, and I can go to your drugstore and see if they can make up something for you?”
She shook her head. “It’s the flu, I’m afraid. I’ve finally succumbed and all I can do is to ride it out.”
She lay back with a sigh. I went over to her sink and dipped a washcloth in water to sponge her face. She really did look very ill. “I’m sure you could sip a little broth,” I said.
She gave a tired smile. “I’ve only the one gas ring and a small saucepan.”
“Then I’ll go to a restaurant and buy some broth for you.”
“You’re very kind,” she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper, “but I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Danger?” I asked, my senses suddenly sharp again. “What kind of danger?”
“If it’s the same malady that killed my friends, I don’t want you to risk catching it.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. If it’s the flu, then I’ve just had it and they say you can’t catch it twice. And if it’s something else, then I’ve already visited Fanny and Dorcas and come away safely. So lie down and I’ll be back.”
I ran down the stairs and back to Broadway. There I found a delicatessen where they were serving chicken soup with matzo balls, a Jewish dish I had come to enjoy when I worked in a garment factory. I persuaded them to give me a big basin of it, and left a hefty deposit for the return of the basin. Then I carried it back to Emily’s room with great care.
As I walked up the stairs, I tried to harness my racing thoughts. As usual it looked as if I had got it wrong again and Emily was victim rather than killer. What if Emily was genuinely worried and suspicious about her best friend’s death? What if Anson, maybe aided and abetted by Bella, had found some kind of clever poison and thought he was safe until Emily started poking around, asking questions? Emily, who was known to be a bright young woman and who worked with a druggist? Did Anson fear that she would put two and two together and decide that she had to go? In which case had I also sealed my own fate by visiting him this morning?
This is rubbish, I muttered out loud, and the words echoed through the high stairwell of the building. Anson had been charming this morning. Charming and distressed by the death of his wife. Surely such a man could not be a cold-blooded killer? Bella, on the other hand—she struck me as more the reckless and gutsy type. If she was behind this I could actually see her slipping in to visit her poor sick friend and tipping a dose of goodness knows what into the drinking glass.
I opened Emily’s door and tiptoed in. She was lying with her eyes closed and there was now the smell of vomit in the room. But her eyes opened as she heard me.
“Emily,” I said, “have you received any visitors at all? We went together to Dorcas’s family yesterday and then you went straight to Ned’s mother?”
She nodded.
“So Bella hasn’t been to see you recently?”
“Bella?” She frowned. “I hardly know Bella. I’ve met her a couple of times at Fanny’s house. Why do you want to know?”
“I’m worried that someone is trying to poison you,” I said. “You look very much the way Dorcas did last week.”
“Don’t say that!” She tried to sit up. “But that can’t be right. I’ve seen nobody. I’ve only eaten food at that little café where I always take my lunch, or an egg I boiled myself here, or with Ned and his mother. Nobody could have slipped in here and poisoned anything. It just isn’t possible.”
I smoothed back her hair. “You may be right and maybe I’m overreacting again. Perhaps it is just a nasty flu. Here, the broth is still warm. Can I feed you a little?”
She sighed. “All right. I’ll try, I suppose.” She attempted to sit up. I put my hand behind her head and helped her. She managed a couple of sips, then turned her head away. “I really don’t feel like anything,” she said. “Why don’t you go? I do worry about you. Catching what I have.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Really, I’ll stay if you need me.”