Anne Perry - The Sins of the Wolf

“Yes, my lord,” Argyll said smoothly. He turned back to the witness stand. “Miss McDermot, would it have mattered had you been a little hasty in your care for Mrs. Farraline and, instead of sending her off with a full complement of vials, used one to give her her morning dose on the day she traveled, rather than make one up. I simply ask if it would have mattered, not if you did so.”

She stared at him as if she had suddenly seen a snake.

“Miss McDermot?”

“You must answer,” the judge informed her.

She swallowed. “N-no. No sir, it would not really have mattered.”

“It would not have placed her in any danger?”

“No sir. None at all.”

“I see.” He smiled at her as if he were totally satisfied with the answer. “Thank you, Miss McDermot. That is all.”

Gilfeather rose rapidly. There was a stir of excitement around the room like a ripple of wind through a cornfield. Gilfeather opened his mouth.

Miss McDermot stared at him.

Gilfeather looked at Argyll.

Argyll’s smile did not change in the slightest.

Rathbone sat with his hands clenched so hard his nails scarred his palms. Would Gilfeather dare to ask if she had used the first vial? If she admitted it, his case was damaged, severely damaged. Rathbone held his breath.

Gilfeather did not dare. She might have used it She might not have the nerve to deny it on oath. He sat down again.

There was a sigh of breath around the room, a rustle of fabric as everyone relaxed, disappointed. One juror swore under his breath, mouthing the words.

Miss McDermot had to be assisted at the bottom of the steps when she stumbled in sheer unbearable relief.

Argyll’s lips still curved in the same smile.

Rathbone offered up a prayer of thanks.

Gilfeather’s next witness was the doctor whom Connal Murdoch had called, a rotund man with black hair and a fine black mustache.

“Dr. Ormorod,” he began smoothly, as soon as the doctor’s credentials had been thoroughly established, “you were called by Mr. Connal Murdoch to attend the deceased, Mrs. Mary Farraline, is that correct?”

“Yes sir, it is. At half past ten in the morning of October the seventh, of this year of our Lord,” the doctor replied.

“Did you respond immediately?”

“No sir. I was in attendance upon a child who was seriously ill with whooping cough. I had been informed that Mrs. Farraline was deceased. I saw no urgency.”

There was a nervous giggle in the gallery. One of the jurors, a large man with a mane of white hair, scowled at the offender.

“Was any reason given why you should be sent for, Dr. Ormorod?” Gilfeather asked. “It was a somewhat unusual request, was it not?”

“Not really, sir. I imagined at the time that my main duty would be to attend Mrs. Murdoch. The shock of bereavement can in itself be a cause for medical concern.”

“Yes… I see. And what did you find when you reached Mrs. Murdoch’s residence?”

“Mrs. Murdoch, poor soul, in a state of considerable distress, which was most natural, but the cause of it was not entirely what I had expected.” The doctor became increasingly sensible that he was the focus of all attention. He straightened up even farther and raised his chin, measuring his words like an actor delivering a great monologue. “She was, of course, deeply grieved by her mother’s passing, but she was also most troubled by the possible manner of it. She feared, sir, that in view of the missing jewels, it may not have been entirely of natural causes.”

“That is what she said to you?” Gilfeather demanded.

“Indeed sir, it is.”

“And what did you do, Dr. Ormorod?”

“Well, at first, I confess, I did not entirely believe her.” He pulled a face and glanced at the jury. One or two of them obviously sympathized with him. There were nodding heads. At least two thirds were middle-aged to elderly gentlemen of high repute, and were used to the vagaries of women, especially young women in a delicate condition.

“But what did you do, sir?” Gilfeather insisted.

Ormorod returned his attention to the matter. “I conducted an examination, sir, in some considerable detail.” Again he waited, for dramatic effect.

Gilfeather kept his composure.

Rathbone swore under his breath.

Argyll sighed silently, but his expression was easily readable.

Ormorod’s face tightened. This was not the reaction he had intended.

“It took me a long time,” he said tightly. “And I was obliged to conduct a full postmortem examination, most particularly the contents of the stomach of the deceased. But I concluded that there was no doubt whatsoever that Mrs. Farraline had met her death as a result of having been given a massive overdose of her usual medicine, a distillation of digitalis.”

“How massive a dose, sir? Can you say?”

“At least twice what any responsible practitioner would prescribe for her,” Ormorod answered.

“And you have no doubt of that?” Gilfeather persisted.

“None whatsoever. But you do not need to rest on my opinion alone, sir. The police surgeon will have told you the same.”

“Yes sir. We have the result of that to be read into evidence,” Gilfeather assured him. “And it confirms precisely what you say.”

Ormorod smiled and nodded.

“Did you form any opinion as to how it had been administered?”

“By mouth, sir.”

“Was any force used?”

“There was nothing to suggest it, no sir. I would think it was taken quite voluntarily. I imagine the deceased lady had no idea whatever that it would do her harm.”

“But you have no doubt that it was indeed the cause of her death?”

“No doubt whatsoever.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ormorod. I have no further questions for you.”

Argyll thanked Gilfeather and faced Dr. Ormorod.

“Sir, your evidence has been admirably clear and to the point. I have only one question to ask you. It is this. I assume you examined the medicine chest from which the deceased’s dose had been taken? Yes. Naturally you did. How many vials were there in it, sir… both full and empty?”

Ormorod thought for a moment, furrowing his brow.

“There were ten full vials, sir, and two empty.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes… yes, I am positive.”

“Would you describe their appearance, sir?”

“Appearance?” Ormorod clearly did not see any purpose to the question.

“Yes, Doctor; what did they look like?”

Ormorod held up his hand, finger and thumb apart. “About two, two and a half inches long, three quarters of an inch in diameter, sir. Very unremarkable, very ordinary medical vials.”

“Of glass?”

“I have said so.”

“Clear glass?”

“No sir, dark blue colored glass, as is customary when a substance is poisonous, or can be if taken ill-advisedly.”

“Easy to see if a vial is full or empty?”

At last Ormorod understood. “No sir. Half full, perhaps; but completely full or quite empty would appear exactly the same, no line of liquid to observe.”

“Thank you, Doctor. We may presume one of them was used by Miss Latterly on the previous evening, the other we may never know… unless Miss McDermot should choose to tell us.”

“Mr. Argyll!” the judge said angrily. “You may presume what you please, but you will not do it aloud in my court. Here we will have evidence only. And Miss McDermot has said nothing about the subject.”

“Yes, my lord,” Argyll said unrepentantly. The damage was done, and they all knew it.

Ormorod said nothing.

Argyll thanked him and excused him. He left somewhat reluctantly. He had enjoyed his moment in the limelight.

On the third day Gilfeather called Mary Farraline’s own doctor to describe her illness, its nature and duration, and to swear that there was no reason why she should not have lived several more years of happy and fulfilled life. There were all the appropriate murmurs of sympathy. He described the medicine he had prescribed for her, and the dosage.