I stumbled down the steps and started to walk, faster and faster, trying to keep up with my racing thoughts. It was Emily who first suggested that something wasn’t right in the manner of Fanny’s death. And that, coupled with what Fanny had just told me about her intention to divorce Anson, had made me equally suspicious. But I had not, for one minute, suspected Emily herself: Emily the lonely, not very beautiful child who had grown up unloved and then been thrown out into the world. Surely if anyone had become bitter and twisted it could have been she. And she was bright, too—smart enough to learn a thing or two about clever poisons.
It suddenly struck me that I had been set up. Had she made friends with me because she thought I was gullible and she wanted a gullible witness? I stopped so abruptly that a woman with her shopping bag barreled into the back of me, then took off again, muttering. Emily was Fanny’s dear friend. Could Emily ever have killed Fanny just because she had married Anson? Killed her to get back at Anson? Surely this was far-fetched and went quite against the sweet Emily I had come to know. And we hadn’t even been allowed in to see Fanny when she was still alive—unless Emily had come alone, earlier in Fanny’s illness. Maybe Fanny had come down with a simple case of influenza and Emily had managed to administer some subtle poison or—I came to a halt again, making the crowd divide around me like a stream flowing around a rock—the stomach mixture. Emily delivered it. I had now given a sample to Daniel and he had indicated in his note that something interesting had come up.
“We’re going to find out the truth about you, Emily Boswell,” I muttered. Should I wait for Daniel to come and tell me what he had discovered or should I go to Emily right away? My anger and indignation swept me forward in the direction of Emily’s drugstore. It was close to her lunch time. I would take her out, tell her what I had discovered about her family background, and then, while her emotions were in turmoil from that news, I would demand the truth about Fanny and Anson. I would tell her that the stomach mixture was currently being tested by the best police doctors. She would break down and tell me all . . .
I arrived breathless and with hammering heart at McPherson’s drugstore. There was no sign of Emily, and Ned came around from the back room at the sound of the bell.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, pushing open the swing door, then recognized me. “Oh, Miss Murphy, it’s you.”
“Good day to you, Ned. I came to see if Emily would join me for lunch, but I see that she’s not here. Is she out making deliveries again?”
“She’s out sick again, I’m afraid,” he said. “She sent a note that she had one of her bad headaches.”
“Oh dear,” I said. “I am sorry.”
“And if this is going to happen with regularity, Miss Boswell will be looking for a new position,” came Mr. McPherson’s harsh voice from the back room.
“Come on now, sir,” Ned said. “She’s not often sick, you know that. And she works like a trooper when she’s here.”
“Poor Emily,” I said. “She spent yesterday afternoon with you and your mother, didn’t she? Was she well then?”
“Oh, absolutely blooming and we had a most pleasant time together. She was her charming self and bucked poor Mother up no end.”
“Your mother has not been well?” I asked.
“Frankly, Miss Murphy, she gets lonely out there in Brooklyn on her own and she broods,” Ned said. “I’d bring her into the city to live with me, but my apartment’s not big enough to swing a cat. She’s had a hard life raising me. I only wish I could do more for her, but I’m doing all I can.”
“I’m sure you are, Ned. And I’m sure your turn will come soon.”
“Thank you, Miss Murphy. I very much hope so.”
“I shouldn’t keep you any longer,” I said, conscious of Mr. McPherson listening in from the back room. “I’ll go and visit Emily and see if there’s anything I can do for her.”
“I’d leave her be if I were you,” Ned said. “When she gets one of these bad headaches then sleep is really the only cure. We’ve tried making various headache remedies for her but nothing seems to do the trick.”
“Very well,” I said. “Good-bye then.”
I came out of the shop and walked a few steps, not quite sure what to do next. If Emily was suffering with one of her terrible headaches then I probably should leave her in peace, as Ned had suggested. On the other hand, it might be easier to extract a confession from her if she wasn’t feeling her best. And if she turned out to be innocent, then my news about her parentage should cheer her up. I turned onto her street, went up the stairs to her room, and tapped gently on her door.
“Emily, it’s Molly,” I said in a soft voice through the crack in the door. “I’ve come to see if there’s anything I can do for you.”
After a while I heard slow footsteps shuffling toward the door. It opened. Emily stood there in her dressing gown, breathing heavily. One look at her told me that she was not suffering from a simple headache. I had witnessed one of these before and her face had been pale and her forehead creased in pain. Today her face was flushed, her eyes hollow.
“Molly,” she said in a cracked whisper. “How good of you to come. I really feel most unwell.”