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He knows the answer. I’m not even sure Addington knows how to do a Marsh test, but he certainly hasn’t had time. Still, McCreadie’s tone is hopeful. He wants—needs—Addington to be marginally competent. At least let him have found a valid indication that it could be arsenic.
“No need,” Addington says. “He experienced leg pains, which is a clear sign of arsenic.”
“You have… seen that before,” McCreadie says carefully.
“No, but I have read about it.”
Here is where Gray perks up. “A medical journal? Or an independently published treatise? I would be very happy to borrow a copy. My sister and I have some difficulty finding toxicology research results.”
“Not being an undertaker or a widowed woman, I scarcely have the time for medical journals, Gray. I mean I read it in a novel.”
McCreadie chokes.
“More coffee, sir?” I say to Gray as I rise. “You look as if you are about to collapse.
“It has been such a long night,” I continue as I take his cup. I fill it and add double the sugar, fortitude for this conversation. Then I take Addington’s. “That is a most interesting conclusion, Dr. Addington. I presume you will have Mrs. Ballantyne perform the appropriate tests?”
He stares at me as if I’ve spoken French. I’m tempted to do exactly that and see if his expression changes.
“While I am certain itisarsenic,” I say, “it will help the courts if her science can support your theo—your findings.”
Behind Addington, McCreadie wildly gestures for me to stop talking.
I continue, “I should very like the opportunity to watch Mrs. Ballantyne conduct her experiment.”
Addington pulls at his collar. “I am not certain I find such an interest in poison advisable for two women. You might…” He clears his throat. “That is to say, it could lead…”
“To proper science that can infallibly detect poison and convict killers?”
“Infallibly?” Addington says.
“Fair point, sir. No science is infallible.”
McCreadie laughs under his breath. “I believe it was the word, rather than the usage, that startled the good doctor. Our Mallory has been expanding her vocabulary with extensive reading.”
“I see.” Addington’s expression says he suspects that this, like poison studies, may not be wise for young women. Or any women.
“The point, sir,” I say, “is that if science can reliably detect poison in the deceased, and the public knows this, then we will have fewer poisonings, which I believe we can agree is a good thing. When Mrs. Ballantyne returns, we shall analyze tissues for proof of the arsenic, which I am certain we shall find.”
Addington opens his mouth, as if to object, but I barrel on. “Now, Ihave what I am very certain is a silly question, but being a silly girl, I believe I am entitled to ask it, though I beg your forbearance in advance.”
Both McCreadie and Gray tense. Gray even takes a step from the doorway, as if prepared to tackle me if I ask… Well, god only knows what I might ask, which is the problem, isn’t it?
“You said Lord Leslie was poisoned,” I say.
Addington smiles and sips his coffee. “Yes, child, I believe we have established that.”
“But are we certain that is what killed him?”
At this, poor Gray hesitates, torn between not wanting me to upset Addington—which could endanger their arrangement—and really wanting the answer to this most important of questions. In the end, he has no choice really. He needs this answer, as awkward as it is, and if someone must ask it, better it is the mere housemaid rather than the fellow professional who might be questioning Addington’s competence.
“I… do not believe I understand the questions, Cat—Mallory,” Addington says. He speaks slower. “Arsenic is a deadly poison. It does kill people.”
“Yes, but given the circumstances, is it possible Lord Leslie was murdered in another fashion, after being poisoned?”
“Circumstances?”
I think he’s questioning my vocabulary again, but Gray says, “I left details in a note, which I believe the officer guarding the body handed to you upon your arrival.”
