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“No. Until the next day I had no reason to believe Mrs. O’Leary was anything but a kind, considerate women. She said I had been sniffling at dinner, and it would help me sleep.”
Again, he bent his head and began writing. After almost a full minute of silence, he said, “And were you?”
“Was I what?” Honestly the man was very annoying. Although she’d never had the necessity to be questioned by the police before, she wondered if this was normal procedure.
“Sniffling at dinner.” He grinned at her like she was an idiot.
“No.”
The two men looked at each other again. “Did you not find it odd that she offered you a tisane, that you claim drugged you, yet you were not—” he looked down at his notes “—sniffling?”
“No. Well, actually, yes. I mean it wasn’t until later that I realized I had not been sniffling. As I’ve said, I had no reason to distrust her.” Lizbeth hurried on, “At least not then, anyway.”
“Was that the only time she offered you a tisane?”
“No. Once before she did.”
“Because you were sniffling?”
“I don’t remember.” Lizbeth looked over at Marcus who looked about ready to jump across the table and assault the man.
“Did you feel exceptionally sleepy when she gave you the tisane the first time?” Scratch, scratch, scratch on the pad. Each stroke set her nerves on edge.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I remember I slept quite well.”
Inspector Lewis nodded and continued scrawling on the page. He finally stopped and looked up at her. “If you felt exceedingly tired when she gave you the tisane the first time, why did you take it a second time?”
“Because I didn’t know what had been planned.”
“And what do you think had been planned?”
Lizbeth spoke between her teeth. “My kidnapping.” She wanted to add you dolt but didn’t want to end up in jail herself.
“I didn’t expect to be so drugged from the drink that I would be taken from my bed and end up in a brothel.” Lizbeth’s voice raised with every word she spoke.
Marcus made a noise that sounded like a growl. His hands were clenched into fists on his thighs. At least she was not the only one who found this questioning insulting.
He cleared his throat and looked at the inspector. “Inspector, I don’t understand your questions. It seems as though you are trying to have Miss Davenport admit that she was not kidnapped at all but went to a brothel in London of her own accord.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m merely questioning her so I can understand what she thinks happened.”
Lizbeth shot from her chair. “What I think happened? Are you suggesting I was in some sort of delusion? That I would all of a sudden leave the boarding house where I lived and travel to London on my own to obtain employment at a bawdy house?”
“Sit down, Miss Davenport,” the inspector said softly. “I am gathering facts. If you find the questions uncomfortable, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about that. It is not my job to judge what happened, but
to merely record it to see if there is reason to pursue charges.”
“You might only be gathering information, Inspector,” Marcus said, “but it sounds to me like you have already made up your mind that what happened to Miss Davenport is a Banbury tale.”
Inspector Lewis laid his pencil down, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “We have here a young lady,” he nodded at Lizbeth, “who was out of work, desperate for a job, and no family to turn to.” He shrugged. “It’s happened before. After all, it is a way to earn a living.”
Marcus stood and took Lizbeth by the elbow. “We are finished here. If you wish to question Miss Davenport further, you may contact my solicitor here in Bath, Mr. Carter Westbrooke.”
He hurried her out of the office and down the corridor. She was so angry and confused she felt as though she could easily strangle someone. Counting didn’t help, praying didn’t help, and visions of fashioning a voodoo doll with Inspector Lewis’s likeness didn’t help.
Marcus waved for their driver to bring the carriage forward. They climbed in and Marcus directed the man to drive them to the Pump Room.
“Why there?”
