by D. M. Quincy
“Did he tell you why he took it?”
“He said he needed it because he could not sleep. I admonished him because I personally believe taking a great quantity of arsenic is unsafe.”
“Did he tell you he took it regularly?”
“I assumed as much when he insisted one could take it in small doses. I believe the situation with Miss Archer was causing him a great deal of distress to the point that it was impacting his health. He looked very unwell the last time I saw him.”
“Unwell how? Was he ill?”
“I asked him as much, but he denied it. He complained of terrible headaches and body aches that he blamed on the stress caused by the uncertainty of his association with Miss Archer. I advised him to see a doctor. I recommended my own doctor, and Davis said he would go and see him.”
“What is the name of his doctor, if I may ask?”
“Dr. Young. He works at Guy’s Hospital in Southwark.”
“Do you know whether Davis ever went to see him?”
“I believe he did.” Huggins paused, his expression uncertain.
Sensing there was something the barrister was holding back, Atlas leaned forward. “Is there something more?”
He exhaled an overburdened breath. “I do not wish to spread tales.”
“I hope you will share whatever it is you know with me, particularly if it has a bearing on this case.”
“Davis suspected that Miss Archer was poisoning him.”
“Why did he think that?”
“He used to go and visit her in the evenings or on Sundays when the family was away. She would prepare chocolate for them. He said he felt ill after those meetings. Particularly after the rumors of Miss Archer’s betrothal to another man began to circulate.”
“I see.” A chill arrowed up his spine. Davis’s landlady, Mrs. Norman, had also mentioned that Davis believed his mystery ladylove was poisoning him, and Davis himself had suggested as much in the diary he’d kept the last few weeks of his life. The evidence against Miss Archer was certainly mounting.
Huggins rose. “If that is all. I am expecting a client in a matter of minutes.”
Atlas came to his feet. “My thanks. You’ve been most helpful.”
* * *
The last person Atlas expected to find at Lilliana’s was Miss Archer herself.
She was already in Lilliana’s private sitting room when Atlas arrived. Miss Archer stood by the window, looking out, her back to the room.
Lilliana rose and came toward Atlas as soon as Hastings announced his arrival. “Miss Archer is here. She says she has something important to tell us.”
“Indeed?” He scanned the room, his attention hitching on the tea tray set on the table before the sofa. Alarm and dread shot through him. He took both of Lilliana hands in his—they were softly warm—and urgently studied her face. “Are you well? Did you take tea with her?”
“What is the matter?” She squeezed his hands in a reassuring manner. “Of course I am fine.”
“Are you certain?” How long did it take before arsenic affected a person? “Did you drink the tea?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “No. I did order it, as you can see, but we did not take tea. Miss Archer is too upset.”
He crossed over to Miss Archer and spoke to her back. “Why are you here?” His tone was curt, rude. “What do you want?”
“Atlas!” Lilliana came to his side. “What is the matter? Why are you being so harsh?”
He kept his hard gaze on Elizabeth. “I don’t want this woman anywhere near you.”
Beside him, Lilliana gasped. “I’ve never known you to be discourteous.”
Elizabeth finally turned to him. Her appearance shocked him. Her face was ravaged by grief, her eyes red and anguished. “Mr. Catesby has the right of it. I am not fit for decent company.”
Lilliana looked from Elizabeth to Atlas. “What is going on here?”
Elizabeth answered for them both. “He doesn’t want me here because he knows I killed Gordon Davis and poisoned my own family. And now he fears you will be my next victim.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Atlas stared at her in shock. “You admit to killing Gordon Davis?”
“Why do you appear so surprised?” Elizabeth asked tearfully. “You believe me to be a murderess, do you not?”
“It is your admission that shocks me,” he said stiffly, “not your culpability.”
A sound of surprise escaped Lilliana’s throat. “I cannot fathom it,” she said to the young woman. “You purposely poisoned your own family? Your own sister almost died.”
New tears rushed down Elizabeth’s face, her red face crumpling with grief and guilt. “I am responsible for their misfortune, but it was an accident. I swear to it. The servants weren’t meant to bring in the old sugar bowl. Mama never uses it anymore. She only likes new things, shiny things.” She broke off on a sob. “I hid the bowl in the pastry larder behind several pans and supplies. I didn’t expect anyone to find it.”
Lilliana went to the girl, directing her to the sofa before settling next to her. “Take a deep breath and, when you are ready, explain to us what happened.”
On edge and alert, Atlas remained standing. “You say your family was poisoned by accident.” He wasn’t certain he believed her, but he decided to focus on the crime she readily admitted to committing. “But you say you did kill Gordon Davis. Tell us why.”
Elizabeth inhaled and visibly attempted to collect herself. “Gordon threatened to show the letters to my father. I couldn’t face having my father know what I’d done.” She looked entreatingly at Lilliana. “Mr. Montgomery would never have had me after that. And I no longer saw Gordon in the same light. He seemed frightened, almost desperate, the last time I saw him.”
“Davis’s suspicions were correct,” Atlas put in. “He kept a diary in the last few weeks of his life. He believed you were poisoning him.”
She did not deny it. “Yes, I mixed the arsenic I’d purchased with sugar in the old sugar bowl and served him from it.” She dropped her face into her hands, crying bitterly. “I’m a terrible person. I killed him.”
“How many times did you put poison in Davis’s chocolate?” he asked.
“Just that once. I think he even suspected it. Gordon said the chocolate tasted strange. He looked me in the eye and asked if I had put something in it. It was almost as if he knew.”
“What did you say?” Atlas asked.
“I denied it, of course. But I think he knew what I had done. He died a few weeks later.” She looked at him with haunted eyes. “They said he suffered terribly. I didn’t realize. I thought it would be quick.”
But Davis had suspected Elizabeth of poisoning him over a period of time. His diary had said as much, and Huggins, the barrister, seemed to confirm those suspicions when Davis reported feeling unwell on several occasions after visiting her. “Are you certain it was just that once?”
“Yes. I couldn’t have done it a second time.” She shivered. “It was awful. Knowing I’d given him poison and sitting with him and watching as he drank it. I have nightmares about it every night. I deserve to be punished. I killed him.”
He wondered about that. “Exactly how much arsenic did you put in Davis’s chocolate?”
“I mixed it in with the sugar. I cannot say exactly how much. I was so nervous I barely remember anything about that evening.” She sniffled. “But however much I gave Gordon, it was clearly enough to kill him.”
“You knew Davis had the letters,” Lilliana said. “Did you not fear what would happen to them after Davis died?”
“I never signed my true name to those letters. Whoever found them would not know they were from me. However, if Gordon had brought those letters to my father, Papa would have recognized my handwriting.”
“Why have you decided to confess to us now?” Atlas asked.
“Because I must be punished for what I have done. When Harriet was at her lowest point and we feared she would die, I vowed to confess my cri
me if the lord spared my sister.” Her expression brightened, and she seemed at peace with her decision. “The doctor says Harriet is through the worst of it. She is recovering. And so I must keep to my side of the bargain.”
Hastings appeared. “Miss Archer’s coach has arrived, my lady.”
Elizabeth looked expectantly at Atlas. “I will go now to Bow Street to confess my crime. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but will you accompany me? I fear I am too much of a coward to go alone.”
Atlas shook his head. “I think you should go home and be with your family, Miss Archer.”
“Why?” She gaped at him. “I have confessed. Now I must be punished.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Lilliana’s brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”
He doubted a single dose of arsenic could kill a man who took the poison regularly. “I am not convinced Miss Archer killed Gordon Davis.” He spoke directly to Elizabeth. “And until I am, I think you should go home to your family and speak of this to no one.”
* * *
A note to Ambrose Endicott, the Bow Street runner, resulted in Atlas learning the name of the physician who’d performed the autopsy on Gordon Davis.
Atlas visited Dr. Frederick Corbett at his residence, a brick town home hidden away in an alley off Fleet Street. A maid in a black uniform and flounced white apron ushered Atlas through the cozy front hall, where several patients sat waiting to see the physician, her heels clicking efficiently against the wooden floors as she directed him to Corbett’s office, where the doctor awaited him.
“Yes, there was an arsenious acid in the deceased’s body.” Dr. Corbett returned a tome to his glass-fronted bookcase and closed its latticed door. It had not been difficult for Atlas to secure the appointment. A brief mention of the Duke of Somerville’s interest in the case once again proved to be the only calling card he needed.
“The arsenic is the common type one would find in shops.” Dr. Corbett moved to his desk. “It consisted of colorless crystalline particles.”
“So it was definitely not sooty arsenic.”
“No, it was not.” Still standing, Corbett organized some papers on his desk as they spoke, sorting them in separate piles after giving each sheet a cursory examination. “But it was of a quantity considerably more than sufficient to destroy life.”
“How much arsenic does it take to kill a man?”
“That depends on the person ingesting the poison. As little as two grains can cause death in some, but it usually will take four to six grains.” He paused from his paper sorting to give Atlas a significant look. “There were almost forty in Mr. Davis’s stomach.”
Atlas doubted Elizabeth could have given Davis that much arsenic in one cup of chocolate. “If someone were to mix arsenic with sugar and dilute in a single cup of chocolate, would that be sufficient to cause death?”
Corbett appeared skeptical but only said, “It is hard to say for certain, but if I were to venture to guess, I would assume not.”
“Mr. Davis was known to ingest arsenic for medicinal purposes and believed it was safe to take the poison in small doses.”
“That is true,” Corbett acknowledged. “However, it was no small dose that I found in Mr. Davis’s stomach. There was enough arsenic in him to kill a half dozen men. A dose that large would have sickened him immediately and killed Mr. Davis within a few hours.”
Atlas rose to go. “Thank you for your time.” He’d gotten the information he’d come for—that it was highly unlikely Elizabeth Archer was responsible for her lover’s death. “I see you have a waiting room full of patients. I won’t keep you from them any longer.”
“I’m pleased to be of assistance,” the doctor said.
Atlas paused when one final question came to him. “Aside from the arsenic you found in his stomach, I presume Davis was otherwise a healthy young man.”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?” Atlas recalled Huggins, the barrister, relaying that Davis had appeared ill during their final meeting a few weeks before the man’s death. Atlas had assumed arsenic was the cause of the man’s ailment. “Was Mr. Davis ill?”
“I observed sores in the deceased’s groin area.”
“Sores? What kind of sores?”
“If I were to venture a guess, I would say the man had syphilis.”
Shock rippled through Atlas. “Are you certain?”
“No, nor did I not explore that avenue any further. I was retained to determine what killed the man. And there is no doubt that Davis died of acute arsenic poisoning.”
Atlas blinked, still trying to digest this new information. “Did you see any other signs of syphilis?”
“None. If the deceased had contracted the disease, he was clearly in its very early stages. He might not have even known he had it. I saw no signs of mercury in his system.”
“Mercury?”
“The common treatment for syphilis.”
“I see.” Atlas thanked the doctor and departed, still rattled by this newest revelation.
As he walked toward Bond Street, he wondered whether Davis had known about the syphilis, a cruel and agonizing disease that twisted a person’s looks into something grotesque. He remembered meeting a syphilitic man whose nose had caved into his face. It had been a gruesome sight.
Gordon Davis had been a man intent on parlaying his handsome visage into a better life for himself. Atlas wondered how someone like Davis, who’d traded so heavily on his good looks, would have reacted upon learning he was about to lose the only true currency he possessed in life.
* * *
Atlas found Lilliana and his sister practically on his doorstep when he returned home. They were standing on the stone walkway in front of the tobacconist’s shop.
“Are you coming to see me?” he asked after greeting the two ladies.
“Yes.” Thea handed him a wrapped package. “My footman found the mouthpieces for your landlady’s water pipe.”
“We were just on our way to Hatchard’s,” Lilliana added.
“Precisely,” Thea said. “We thought to bring the package to you as long as we were in the area.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m certain Mrs. Disher will be most pleased.”
Thea peered through the shop’s window, where Olivia stood behind the counter waiting on a customer. Turning, she reached for one of several large square-shaped glass jars filled with snuff lining the shelf behind her and set it on the counter.
“Is that your landlady?” Thea asked.
“Yes, that is Mrs. Disher.”
“Introduce us, will you?” Thea started for the shop entrance. “Mrs. Disher sounds like an interesting woman.”
“Does she?” He held the door open for both ladies. The smooth rich scent of unburnt tobacco assailed them as they entered the shop. “How so?”
“Few women operate their own businesses on Bond Street. And I find it compelling that she is trying out the water pipe to see if it will increase business.” Thea paused to examine the wooden statue of an American Indian carrying a large smoking pipe and waited while Olivia concluded her business with her customer. At the moment, she was carefully scooping snuff out of its glass container for the gentleman at the counter.
Stepping in behind the ladies, Atlas murmured to Lilliana, “May I call on you tomorrow?”
Her eyes widened. “Have you learned something new?”
“Yes, and if true, it is quite shocking.”
“Then I absolutely cannot be expected to wait until tomorrow. Join me for supper this evening?”
“I’ll need to speak with Tacy.”
“I’ll make certain that she’s there,” Lilliana assured him.
Olivia’s customer thanked her and stepped away from the counter carrying his purchase. With a polite nod to Atlas and the ladies, he slipped past them, the bell above the door sounding as he went on his way.
Atlas ushered the ladies to the counter and introduced them to O
livia.
“My thanks for bringing the mouthpieces,” Olivia said to the ladies. “Allow me to send for some refreshment.” Olivia seemed slightly awed to be in the presence of a duke’s sister, and Lilliana’s natural reserve did little to put her at ease.
“Goodness, no,” Lilliana said as she surveyed the shop. “You are clearly occupied at present, and Mrs. Palmer and I are on our way to Hatchard’s.”
“How is the water pipe being received?” Thea asked Olivia.
“Quite well thus far,” Olivia said. “The patrons seem interested in sampling it. And I’ve had some assistance in that area.”
“I’ve never tried it,” Thea told her. “Perhaps you might host an evening at the smoking room for ladies only. I would come. Lady Roslyn would accompany me, wouldn’t you?” she added to Lilliana.
Lilliana was diverted by something at the far end of the narrow shop. “Is that Charlton?” She stared back at the glass-fronted smoking room, where about a half dozen male patrons were enjoying a smoke in the haze-filled space.
“Where?” Thea asked, glancing out of the shop’s front window.
“There”—Lilliana gestured toward the back of the shop—“in the smoking room.”
It was indeed Charlton holding court with a number of gentlemen as he passed the hookah pipe hose around for his companions to sample.
“Yes, that is Lord Charlton,” Olivia said with a smile. “He has been most helpful in urging the patrons to try the nargileh.”
“It is no surprise he is partaking,” Thea said acidly. “The man does enjoy indulging himself.”
Charlton spotted them and appeared to excuse himself before rising and stepping out of the smoking room, closing the door behind him. The smoky scent of burning tobacco followed him out.
“Lady Roslyn and Mrs. Palmer,” he said as he approached them. “Do not tell me you’ve decided to take up smoking. How scandalous.”
Thea shot him disdainful look. “It is unlikely that either of us has the time to diddle away our afternoons as you appear to be doing.”
“Lord Charlton has been most kind,” Olivia interjected. “At first, no one would try the water pipe, but then the earl began appearing each afternoon to indulge. He now draws a crowd eager to join him.” She favored the earl with a warm smile. “Lord Charlton has been very good for business.”