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“I work with the investigator who is assisting the police,” I say. “Anything you can tell me, I will pass on to him, and then I can promise he’ll return for more if he needs it.”
Which I’m sure he won’t, because by then someone else—Fischer or Annis—will have been charged with Young’s murder and Mrs. Young will be freed.
I continue, “Tell me what you remember. We already know you were not at home. Eliza explained.”
Mrs. Young’s cheeks flush bright red. “I—I knew I should tell the police where I’d been, but I feared what might happen to my children if I did.”
“We have proof you were not home, which helps, but the poison was already in the house when you left.”
“The poison was in the house?” Sudden horror, and she chokes out thenext words. “Where the boys could have eaten it? Or Eliza? Or her grandparents? Are they all right? Could they have consumed any?”
“No,” I say. “It was in something that belonged solely to your husband, and it was hidden.”
One moment’s pause. Then she sinks onto the end of her bench. “It was in the gin. Oh, thank the lord.” Another flush of scarlet as she levers up. “I only mean…”
“That the rest of your family could not have been poisoned.”
“Yes.” Her gaze goes distant as she whispers, “I almost—I almost threw that bottle out. I knew it was there, and I thought of making it disappear, because how could he admit it was gone if he wasn’t supposed to have it? He’d promised us he would not drink. Yet I feared if he discovered it missing, he’d blame Eliza. I should… I should have…”
She trails off and continues staring into nothing. Then her head jerks up.
“The gin,” she breathes, hand flying to her mouth. “The poison was in the gin?”
“It was.”
“I saw who gave it to him.”
“What?” I say.
She grips the bars. “I saw the woman who gave it to him.”
My gut drops to my boots. “A woman gave it to him?”
“Yes. He was at home, by himself, because it was a Sunday, and the rest of us had gone to church, but the walk was quite chilly, so I slipped home to fetch a shawl for Mrs. McKay—that is Eliza’s grandmother. As I came around the corner, I saw a woman on our steps, knocking at the door. It looked as if she was going to set the basket down and leave after she knocked, but my husband opened it before she could go and then—”
She takes a deep breath and presses her hands to her chest, as if slowing her story. “I hurried closer to the stairs. I know my husband had—that he had other women, and to have one at our home, where our children might have seen her? It was too much. I planned to confront her and tell her to stay away from my home, so I drew closer. I heard their conversation, which was very brief. She had a soft voice, and it was hard to hear her but she seemed to be thanking him for some past kindness. He invited her in, but she said no, she had to go to church, and she left the basket and hurried down the steps.”
“Where you were waiting.”
Mrs. Young drops her gaze. “Where Iintendedto be waiting, but on hearing her, I realized this was only someone he had helped, perhaps because he hoped for something in return.” Her mouth twists with a pained smile. “Instead, he got a bottle of gin.”
“So you didn’t confront her?”
“I retreated into the shadows. You will ask whether I saw her, and I wish—how I wish—I could say that I saw her face and can describe it in detail.”
“But you cannot.”
She shakes her head. “I caught only a glimpse, and even then, it was hidden by a widow’s veil, which seemed to prove he had indeed done her a kindness. He is a gravedigger, you see, and so it made sense.”
“She was repaying the kindness of someone who’d helped with her husband’s burial.”
“Yes. So I did not see her face. I can only say that she had a very sweet and soft voice, and that she is about my own size.”
“Your own height?”
“My height and my size. Perhaps a little taller, but not much.”
“Shorter than average, then, and slender.”
