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“And you really aren’t as good at this manipulation stuff as you think. Weird, because you’ve learned from a master. Every time you insult me, Annis, I know I’ve guessed right. So now you only have to wait for Sarah to free you… into another kind of prison, one where she holds the keys. She lets you out, and you owe her everything, and you know what she’s capable of.”
Annis glances to the side, away from me.
“Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong,” I say. “Maybe I’ve misunderstood a few things. I’m sure I have. But look at me and say I am fundamentally incorrect that Sarah did this and that she will set you free if you keep your mouth shut.”
She lifts her gaze to mine. “Leave this alone, Miss Mitchell. It doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns Isla and Duncan—”
She cuts me off, and I think she’s going to give me shit for calling them by their first names, but instead she says. “I will not let it concern them. They are safe. Their sister will be freed, and any shadow on their names will be lifted, and they will be safe. In every way.”
The way she says those last three words—her inflection and the look in her eyes—rocks me back on my heels. “Sarah has threatened them, hasn’t she? This isn’t just about you. You’re afraid for them.”
“I am Annis Gray,” she says, lifting her chin. “I do not care about anyone but myself.”
Bullshit. I’ve seen her defend and shield Isla, and even Gray. I think of all the things I could say. All the questions I could ask. But I’ve got all she’s giving, and it’s enough.
“All right,” I say, dipping my chin. “As long as they’re safe…”
“They will be.”
“Then you’ve made your choice.”
“And I am the only one who has to live with it.” She looks me in the eye again. “Goodbye, Miss Mitchell.”
When I come out of Annis’s visiting room, Isla and McCreadie are gone.
“They took Mrs. Ballantyne in for questioning,” says the constable who’d escorted me.
“What?”
He shrugs. “She’s a herbalist, and Detective Crichton thinks she might have given her sister the poison. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I need…” I trail off before saying I need to go to her. I am not a cop. I have no authority as one and even less as a woman. Instead, I say, “And Detective McCreadie?”
“He went along with them.”
Good. McCreadie is with her. He’ll handle this, and I need to trust he’ll do it right this time.
“I should speak to Dr. Gray,” I say. “Would you take me to him?”
“Certainly.”
We head down to the infirmary, only to discover that the guard’s injuries required additional supplies, which Gray has gone to fetch. He left for home only moments ago.
“I will catch a hansom and meet him there,” I say to the constable. “Thank you for your help.”
FORTY-SEVEN
That damned coach ride seems to last forever. We hit a traffic snarl on Princes Street. Yep, they have rush hour in Victorian Scotland, too. I pay the driver and tell him I’ll walk. Then I fairly fly along the sidewalk, while worrying that the delay will mean I miss Gray and should have waited at the prison.
I make it to the house. There’s no sign of Simon or the coach. Damn it, I’ve missed them.
I still head to the back door. It’s unlocked, and I stride in, ready to call for Mrs. Wallace when I realize how still and silent the town house is. That’s not natural. There is always noise, even if it’s just Mrs. Wallace clattering in her kitchen. But the lights are all out, and there’s a chill in the air, as if no one lit the coal stoves.
Something is wrong. Something is—
A memory twitches. Mrs. Young saying just this morning how the gin had been dropped off when everyone was supposedly at church. In other words, Sarah had picked the one time many Scottish homes are guaranteed to be empty.
