Free Rutland Place by Anne Perry Page A

are quite sure?” Pitt did not want to insult him by questioning his competence too obviously. “Couldn’t be any form of illness?”
    Mulgrew narrowed his eyes and looked at Pitt closely.
    “Couldn’t take my oath on it, but don’t want to wait until I can before I tell you! Too late for you to see the scene if I do! Not a fool, you know?”
    Pitt found himself wanting to smile and had to force his mouth into a more appropriate expression.
    “Thank you!” It seemed the most civil thing to say. “I take it you are Mrs. Spencer-Brown’s regular physician?”
    “Yes, naturally. That’s why they called me. Perfectly healthy woman. Usual small ailments from time to time, but then haven’t we all?”
    “Had she any medicine that you know of which she might have taken in excess, by accident?”
    “Nothing I’ve given her. Only ever had the occasional cold or fit of the vapors. No cure for them, you know? Just part of life—best to put up with it gracefully. A little sympathy, if you can get it, and a good sleep.”
    Pitt again controlled his desire to smile at the man.
    “What about anyone else in the house?” he asked.
    “What? Oh. Doubt she’d be stupid enough to take anyone else’s medicine. Not a silly woman, as women go! But then I suppose she could have, at that. Not a lot of sense when it comes to medicine, most people.” He sneezed again, fiercely. “Gave Mr. Spencer-Brown some stuff for pain in the stomach. Though I think he brings it on himself for the most part. Tried to tell him that and got a flea in my ear for my trouble.”
    “Pain in his stomach?” Pitt inquired.
    “Diet, mostly.” Mulgrew shook his head and blew his nose. “Eats all the wrong things, no wonder it gives him a pain. He’s an odd fellow—no use for that either!” He looked at Pitt out of the corner his eye, as if waiting to be argued with.
    “Quite,” Pitt said. “Anything in this stuff of Mr. Spencer-Brown’s that could have killed anyone if taken in excess?”
    Mulgrew pulled a face. “I suppose so—if you mixed the whole lot and drank it.”
    “No possibility of an overdose by accident? If Mrs. Spencer-Brown had a stomach pain, for example, and thought she would relieve it by borrowing some of her husband’s medicine?”
    “Told him to keep it locked in his cabinet, but I suppose if he didn’t, she could have taken it. Still, don’t think she could take enough to kill herself by mistake.”
    “Instructions on the bottle?”
    “Box. It’s a powder. And yes, of course there are. Don’t go handing out poisons willy-nilly, you know.”
    “Poisons?”
    “Has belladonna in it.”
    “I see. But we don’t know what she died of yet. Or at least if we do, you haven’t said so?” He watched hopefully.
    Mulgrew looked at him over the top of his handkerchief and blew his nose solemnly. He fished in his pocket for another and failed to find one. Pitt pulled out his own spare and soberly handed it over.
    “Thank you.” Mulgrew took it. “You’re a gentleman. That’s what makes me unhappy. Can’t swear to it yet, but I’ve a strong suspicion it was belladonna that killed her. Looks like it. Apparently she didn’t complain of feeling unwell. She had just come in from making an early call somewhere close by, and she was dead within fifteen or twenty minutes of going into the withdrawing room. All pretty sudden. No vomiting, no blood. Not much in the way of convulsions. You can see the dilated pupils, dry mouth—just what you’d expect from belladonna. Heart stops.”
    Suddenly the reality hit. Pitt could almost feel it himself: a woman dying alone, the tightness of breath, the pain, the world receding, leaving her to face the darkness, the paralysis, and the terror.
    “Poor creature,” Pitt said aloud, surprising himself.
    Harris coughed in embarrassment.
    Mulgrew’s face softened, and a flicker of appreciation showed in his eyes as he looked at Pitt.
    “Could have been suicide,” he said slowly.