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No reaction. I step closer. “While the description matches Sarah, one could argue that you sent her. You tricked her into writing the notes that came with the gifts—very generic notes—and then you sent her to deliver them, and she had no idea the gifts were poisoned. Except the evidence suggests you wrote the notes faking her handwriting.”
No response.
“I found a burned paper in your office fireplace. I found the key for the trophy room.” I haven’t confirmed that, but I run with it here. “I also found a receipt for a money transfer hidden on your desk, which is odd, because you seemed genuinely confused to hear the police say your husband was forging your name to take out money.”
Still nothing. I move until I’m right at her shoulder, close enough to hear her breathing.
“It was convenient, wasn’t it? That I found those things? Evidence of the money theft, in case you tried to argue you didn’t know about it. Evidence of the handwriting practice, in case you tried to say Sarah had actually written those notes. The missing key for the room where your husband died.” I lay my hand on the back of her chair. “Any guess who led me to your office?”
Her breathing hitches.
“Sarah told me Lord Leslie took the figs into his office. Then she gave me directions, which led me toyouroffice instead. I figured I’d misunderstood. But I’ve thought it through, and I know I followed her directions correctly. She led me there, knowing I could open the lock—as I did on the trophy room—and that I should find at least one of her clues. If I didn’t, well, none of that evidence was going anywhere, and you were going to prison that night—she’d made sure of that. The police would find the rest of the planted evidence eventually.”
Silence.
I move closer and look down at her. “If you’re framing Sarah, you’re doing a shitty job of it, and I don’t think you do a shitty job of anything.”
“Perhaps you don’t know me that well. A shocking thought given our lengthy acquaintance.”
I snort. “I knew you well enough to know you’d respond to that. I also think I know you well enough to know that if you’re not defending yourself to the police, you have a helluva good reason. Whether you did it or not, you’d be talking. Or you’d be sitting there like the queen herself, waiting for these fools to finish chasing their tails before you deigned to respond.”
She only shakes her head.
I continue. “You’ve unsettled Isla. Do you know that? You two might not be close, but she knows her Annis, and you are not her right now. You are something she’s never seen her big sister be. Scared.”
“Did you not point out that I face the gallows?”
“Except you don’t, do you? You’re not afraid of what happens if you don’t get out of this alive.” I step in front of her. “You’re afraid of what happens if you do.”
Her gaze jumps to mine, an involuntary reaction before she jerks it away. “You are a foolish girl. You talk and you talk when you should think and be silent lest you speak nonsense.”
“So I’m right. Good. Sarah isn’t who she seems to be, but you’ve always known that. I’m not sure I could be friends with someone who plays the good girl… and blames me for her misdeeds. But it’s not just friendship, is it? You love her.”
A twitch, the dart hitting.
“I heard a story about you two in school, where you allegedly set Sarah up to take the blame for making a girl sick. Later, that gave me pause. I read your journals from the poison garden. You never experimented with them as poison, even to wreak a little justifiable revenge. But someone else had access to that garden, someone who’d worked with you on it. Sarah.”
She scoffs, “You draw that conclusion because I didn’t write ‘I shall use this concoction to make my enemies pay’?”
“No, I draw it because you were meticulous in your notes, and you showed no interest in brewing poisons. Your goals were too lofty for that nonsense. Sarah brewed that tea and made the girl ill. Everyone presumed it was you, and you fell on your sword for her. You do that a lot, I think.After all, you’re Annis Gray and then Lady Annis Leslie—you don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about you. You do as you please, even to your family. You turned your back on Duncan, and left him to figure out what he’d done wrong. Did you know he thinks it was because he didn’t care for Sarah at first, because he was rude to her?”
“Hewasrude.”
“Because he was jealous of you paying attention to her? Or because something about her—or about how she treated you—bothered him, even if he wasn’t quite sure why? Which sounds more like the brother you know?”
She doesn’t answer.
“You turned your back on him,” I say again. “Was that Sarah’s suggestion? Distance yourself from your inconvenient half brother? Or was that bit of pure evil all you?”
Another flinch.
“I don’t care,” I say. “Well, yes, I do care, which is why I won’t cut you any slack if you did it because of Sarah. Same as I won’t cut you slack if she’s the one who claimed Duncan watched her undressing when he saw you two together. You still went along for it. Chose your lover over your family.”
“I was… very young.”
“You’re not now, and you’re still shitty to him. The point is that Sarah is an evil witch, and you tried to escape her by marrying Lord Leslie. Only you never stopped caring, so when she came back, you let her. Now she’s murdered four people, including your husband, and she’s set you up to take the fall. You’re not defending yourself, which means this is a power play. She has you squarely under her thumb, and you’d damn well better realize it. Keep your mouth shut, and she’ll trot out the evidence to exonerate you and falsely convict Fischer. Say anything, though—blame her in any way—and you’re going down.”
A five-second pause, before she finds her composure enough to say, “You really are a foolish child.”
