So he left us, taking the cats with him; and I dressed hastily and, wrapping myself in my cloak, went out of the house with Nora.
NORA
One
I shall never forget that journey back to the Mercer’s House and the thoughts which crowded into my mind. Stirling was trying to murder his wife. That was what he had meant when he had said he would find a way.
Why had I not gone back to Australia months before? I should have gone as soon as he had married her.
Half my mind rejected the thought and then I kept thinking of that terrible day which was engraved indelibly on my memory when Jagger had caught me and fought with me and Lynx had come and shot him dead. He had killed a man because he had dared touch what he thought of as his; it was not because of attempted rape. I would never forget the poor little maid Mary who had suffered through Jagger. That had been shrugged aside as of little importance. Stirling was the son of Lynx.
They were ruthless, both of them. They held life cheaply—that was, other people’s lives. Stirling had been determined to get Whiteladies and now that he regretted the great sacrifice he wanted to start again. He could only do this by ridding himself of Minta. No, Stirling, I thought. And Lynx, this is where your revenge has led us!
I had made Minta mount my horse and I walked beside it, leading it.
The poor girl looked as though she would collapse at any moment. No wonder! She had miraculously escaped death—and not only once, for I was sure that the crumbling parapet had been a trap for her.
I called one of the stable boys to look after the horse and took her into the house. We went into the drawing-room with its rosewood furniture and Regency striped wallpaper and sat looking at each other helplessly.
“Nora,” she asked me, ‘what do you think of it? “
I couldn’t bear to talk of my suspicions, so I said that the cats might have died of some strange disease. There were mysterious illnesses among animals of which we knew very little. She started to talk about animals she had had when a child and some of the things which had happened to them.
But we were not in inKing of what we were saying. I said I would make some tea and she said she would help. It gave us something to do and all the time we were trying to work out some plan. She must stay with me, I said. I couldn’t bear her to be out of my sight. I was terrified of what might happen to her.
There was about her a surprising indifference. She had been greatly shocked by what had happened so perhaps that was why she gave that impression of not caring. I was desperately sorry for her. She was going to bear Stirling’s child and I had been envious of that, but I was overcome by a desire to protect her.
We drank the tea. It was now past midday. At Whiteladies they would be wondering where she was, although one of the maids had seen us leave and I had murmured something about Mrs. Herrick’s coming over to the Mercer’s House with me.
It was one o’clock when Lucie arrived. Her hair was disordered by the wind; she had evidently come out hastily when she had discovered that Minta was not in her room and she had learned where she was.
As she came into the drawing-room and saw Minta her expression was one of relief.
“Oh Minta, my dear, I wondered what had happened.”
They embraced and Lucie said: “Why didn’t you say you were going out?
I thought you were in your room. “
“Nora came to see me and I came over with her.”
“But you’ve had no breakfast. You’ve …”
“We were rather disturbed,” I said.
“We found the cats dead.”
“The cats … what cats?”
“Bella and the kitten,” said Minta.
“They were lying on the floor near the window … their bodies stiff and odd-looking.” Her lips trembled.
“It was horrible.”
“Cats!” repeated Lucie, bewildered.
“Dr. Hunter took them away,” I explained.
“Do please tell me what all this is about.”
I didn’t want her to know. I thought: There’ll be an enquiry and they’ll find out. Oh Stirling, how could you! As if I could love you after that!
Minta said simply: “I don’t think the doctor wanted us to talk about it yet.” She turned to me.
“But it will be all right to tell Lucie.
Lucie, the milk which was in my room , . I didn’t drink it. “
“What milk?” said Lucie.
“There was some milk sent up. You told Lizzie to bring it, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes. I remember ” I didn’t drink it. I knocked it over and the cats drank it. Now they’re dead. “
“But what has this to do with the milk?”
She spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that my fears abated a little and relief came to me. I thought: We’re imagining things . both of us. Of course the cats’ death had nothing to do with the milk!
“So the cats are dead,” went on Lucie, ‘and that has upset you. I did hear that some of the farmers were putting down poison for a fox that’s raiding the fowl houses. Bella’s constantly roaming about. “
I looked at Minta and saw the relief in her face too. ” Lucie went on to stress the point: ” What did you think the milk had to do with it?”
“We thought there was something wrong with the milk,” I said, ‘and that because they had drunk it . “
Lucie looked puzzled.
“You thought the milk was poisoned But who on earth … Really, what’s happened to both of you?”
“Of course that’s the answer,” I said.
“The cats were poisoned by something on the farms. It stands to reason.”
“Is that tea you have in that pot?” said Lucie.
“I could do with a cup.”
“It’s cold, but’ ll send for some more.”
“Thanks. Then I think we should go back, Minta. You want to take greater care of yourself. What odd fancies you get I’ I rang for tea and when it came and I was pouring out we heard the sound of carriage wheels and Mabel came in to announce that Dr. Hunter had called.
“Dr. Hunter!” said Lucie.
“What’s he doing here?”
I told Mabel to show him in. To my astonishment, Stirling was with him. Lucie rose in her chair and said: “What is this?”
The doctor said: “I’ve come to talk to you and what I have to say should be heard by all. I should have witnesses. I should have said it all before this happened.”
“Is it about the cats?” demanded Lucie.
I looked at Stirling but I couldn’t read his expression.
“The cats were poisoned, said the doctor.
“Something they picked up at a farm?” I asked, and there was a terrible fear in my heart.
The doctor said: “I think I’d better begin at the beginning. This goes back a long way.” He drew a deep breath.
“I am to blame for a good deal.”
“Don’t you think you ought to consider very carefully what you are saying?” asked Lucie gently.
“I have considered for a long time. This makes it necessary. I am going to tell the truth. I am going to tell what I should have told long ago. It was when Lady Cardew died that it started.”
“I don’t think you should say this, doctor,” said Lucie in a very quiet voice.
“I think you may regret it.”
“I can only regret not having confessed before.” He did not look at Lucie.
“Lady Cardew was not really ill. She had had a disappointment in her life and brooded on it. She came to terms with life by practising a kind of invalidism. It is not unusual with some people. I gave her placebos from time to time. She would take her doses and believe herself to be helped by them. They were in fact nothing but coloured water. Then she died. I should have told the truth then. She died of taking^n overdose of a strong sleeping draught. This particular drug was missing from my dispensary, and I believed I had given it to her in mistake for her placebo. I should have admitted this, but instead I wrote on her death certificate that she had died of a heart attack. She had always thought that she had a diseased heart. Her heart was in fact strong. What I did was unpardonable. I was ambitious. In those days I dreamed of specializing. To have admitted that I had mistakenly given a dangerous drug in mistake for a placebo would have ruined my career. I might never have been able to practise again.”