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"I am not mistaken. They know all that. They are saying that they believe you and Mrs. Anderson planned from the beginning that you should marry Lucius Stourbridge, thus gaining access to a very great deal of money, some now, far more later, on Major Stourbridge’s death, whenever that might be."
"Why should he die?" she protested. "He is quite young, not more than fifty, and in excellent health. He could have another thirty years, or more."
He sighed. "The mortality rate among those who seem to stand in the way of your plans is very high, Mrs. Gardiner. They would not consider his age or his health to be matters which would deter you."
She closed her eyes. "That is hideous."
Studying the lines of her face, of her mouth, and the way it tightened, the sadness and the momentary surprise and anger in her, he could not believe she had even thought of Harry Stourbridge’s death until this moment, and now that she did, the idea hurt her. But he could not afford to be gentle.
"That is what they are accusing you of—you and Mrs. Anderson together. Unless you accuse each other, which neither of you has done, you will both either stand or fall."
She looked up at him slowly, searching his eyes, his face, trying to read him.
"You mean I am to defend myself if I do not wish Cleo to suffer with me?"
"Yes, exactly that."
"It is completely untrue. I ... loved Lucius." She swallowed, and he could almost feel the pain in her as if it had been in himself. "I had no thought of anything but marrying him and being happy simply to be with him. Had he been a pauper it would have made not the slightest difference."
He felt she was telling the truth, and yet why had she hesitated? Why had she spoken of her love for Lucius in the past? Was that because the love had died, or simply the hope?
"James Treadwell was blackmailing Mrs. Anderson over the medicines she stole from the hospital to treat her patients. Was he blackmailing you also?"
Her head jerked up, her eyes wide. She seemed about to deny it vehemently, then instead she said nothing.
"Mrs. Gardiner," he said urgently, leaning forward towards her, "if I am to help either of you then I must know as much of the truth as you do. I am bound to act in your interest, and believe me when I say that the outlook could not be worse for either of you than it already is. Whatever you tell me, it cannot harm you now, and it may help. In the end, when it comes to trial, I shall take your instructions, or at the very worst, if I cannot do that, then I shall decline the case. I cannot betray you. If I did so I should be disbarred and lose not only my reputation but my livelihood, both of which are of great value to me. Now—was James Treadwell blackmailing you or not?"
She seemed to reach some decision. "No, he wasn’t. He could not know anything which would harm me. Except, I suppose, a connection with Cleo and the medicines, but he never mentioned it. I had no idea he was blackmailing her. If I had, I would have tried to do something about it."
"What could you do?" He tried to keep the edge from his voice.
She gave a tiny, halfhearted shrug. "I don’t know. I suppose if I had told Lucius, or Major Stourbridge, they might have dismissed him, without references, and made certain it was very hard for him to find new employment."
"Would that not have driven him to expose Mrs. Anderson in retaliation?" he asked.
"Perhaps." Then she stiffened and twisted around to stare at him, her face bleached with horror. "You think I killed him to
protect Cleo?"
"Did you?"
"No! I didn’t kill him—for any reason!" The denial was passionate, ringing with anger and hurt. "Neither did Cleo!"
"Then who did?"
Her expression closed again, shutting him out. She averted her eyes.
"Who are you protecting, if it isn’t Mrs. Anderson?" he asked very gently. "Is it Lucius?"
She shivered, glanced up at him, then away again.
"Did Treadwell injure you in some way, and Lucius fought with him and it went further than he intended?"
"No." She sounded as if the idea surprised her.
It had seemed to him so likely an answer he was disappointed that she denied it, and startled at himself for believing her for no better reason than the intonation of her voice and the angle and stiffness of her body.
"Do you know who killed him, Mrs. Gardiner?" he demanded with sudden force.
