Free The Young Widow by Cassandra Chan Page A

head. “Not really. I mean, I was mostly looking at the silver. I saw her out of the corner of my eye so to speak, but I couldn’t swear that she didn’t put anything in it.”
    â€œNo, naturally not,” said Carmichael, although he knew that in fact no poison had been found in the pot, only in the cup. Since they now knew the poison had come from the vase in the study, that went far in ruling Kitty Whitcomb out. She could only have poisoned Berowne if she had reentered the study after seeing Annette leave the house.
    â€œWhat I’m interested in,” continued Carmichael, “is how long Miss Whitcomb was gone. You told Commander Andrews it was less than five minutes.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Fatima, nodding seriously. “I didn’t actually
notice the time when she went up, but it must have been eleven because that’s when Mr. Berowne always had his coffee. And when she came back, Kitty said we deserved some elevenses, too, and we both sat down with a cuppa. I looked at the clock then, so I’d know how long a break I took, and it was just five minutes past.”
    â€œAnd Miss Whitcomb never left the kitchen again, until she went up to fetch the tray?”
    â€œShe didn’t, sir. She’d have had to walk right past me, and I couldn’t have helped but notice.”
    â€œThat’s very good, Miss Sathay,” said Carmichael, smiling. “Now I’d just like to have your impressions of the household. Did everyone seem to get on together?”
    â€œWell, I suppose so,” she answered. “I didn’t really see very much of them, except for Mrs. Simmons and Kitty. Sometimes I’d overhear people talking while I was cleaning, but I never heard any fights. Miss Wellman was a bit sharp with everyone and I don’t think she liked Mrs. Berowne much, but I never heard them arguing.”
    â€œHow about Mr. and Mrs. Berowne?”
    â€œThey seemed very fond of each other, sir, for all he’s so much older than her. But she didn’t seem to mind that. I heard them once,” she added, lowering her voice, “when I was in the hall outside their bedroom. It was right in the middle of the afternoon!”
    â€œIs that so?” Carmichael hid a smile at her indignation. Clearly in her seventeen-year-old mind older married people should reserve sex for the nighttime hours. He thanked her and took his leave.
    â€œThat pretty well knocks Kitty Whitcomb out of it, don’t you think?” asked Gibbons outside.
    â€œAlmost certainly,” Carmichael agreed. “It’s still barely possible that she went back into the study and contrived to pour Berowne a cup of coffee, but I can’t see how she would have managed it in the time. She couldn’t just march in, pour the coffee, and leave; she’d have to at least speak to him briefly.” He sighed. “But of course, Surrey
CID never really suspected any of the servants. Andrews and Gorringe are convinced it’s one of the family.”
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    Gibbons loosened his tie and took a long, grateful draught of single malt scotch, savouring the smoky aroma the Isle of Isla is so deservedly famous for. He relaxed with a sigh into an overstuffed armchair, propping his feet on one of the five coffee tables in Bethancourt’s drawing room. Bethancourt was a wealthy young man, but with eccentric tastes. He was very fond of coffee tables.
    The room itself was spacious, with the graceful proportions of a bygone era. The wide windows with their elegant moldings were hung with heavy gold drapes, only a shade different from the gold Aubusson carpet. Both these items had been chosen by Bethancourt’s mother, a woman with excellent taste. Bethancourt himself had supplied the rest of the furnishings, which were also excellent individually, but which hardly created a cohesive whole. The five coffee tables were all of differing styles, while the Chesterfield