In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,49
those tiny drawers.
“Oh dear,” I said. “I better go and check on her, I think.”
“You’ve gone quite pale, Miss Murphy,” he said. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No, thank you. It’s just that one of her friends has just died and . . .”
“And you suspected that what she had might be catching?”
“Well, yes,” I said, not wanting to hint at the real reason for my concern. “She died of complications of influenza, so we were told. Very sad. A young woman who had everything. Life isn’t fair, is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” he said with such vehemence that I looked up. “Take Emily,” he went on rapidly. “She is turned out into the world through no fault of her own while her friends live in palaces. And she is such an angel that she never complains about the unfairness of it all.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” I said. “I’ve been struggling on my own, as I know you have, and yet we’re coming through quite well.”
“So—who was this friend who died?” he asked. “Someone who lived close by?”
“Her name was Fanny Poindexter. I believe you’ve heard Emily talk about her.”
“Indeed I have,” he said. “Formerly Fanny Bradley. She was Emily’s roommate at Vassar, wasn’t she? Married well and lived not far from here.”
“That’s right.”
He made a face. “Poor Emily, that will be cruel blow to her. Fanny was like a sister to her. A cruel blow to Fanny’s family too, I shouldn’t wonder.”
I nodded. “I gather she was an only child. Her parents are taking it very hard.”
“Yes, I expect they would.” He glanced back nervously at the inner sanctum again, to see if Mr. McPherson was about to reprimand him for gossiping. “So it was the influenza she died of?”
“So it appears.”
He nodded. “I knew she wasn’t well because Mr. McPherson had me make her up some of the stomach mixture she liked last week, but there was no hint that it was so serious. Dear me, that is a shock, isn’t it?”
“Of course we don’t know yet whether it was influenza or something more serious,” I went on.
“What do you mean? A doctor was called, wasn’t he?”
“Oh yes, and he signed a death certificate, but no autopsy has been—”
“Autopsy? Why should there be an autopsy?”
I realized I had let my mouth run away with me again. “No reason at all,” I said quickly. “It’s just that you don’t expect healthy young people to die of influenza, do you?”
“This year they are seeming to,” he said. “If I had more resources, I’d like to be working on a cure, instead of wasting time here making up stomach mixtures and tonics for ladies who don’t need them.”
“Do you think someone will discover a cure for diseases like influenza one day?”
He nodded. “One day they’re bound to. Now that we’re in the scientific age.”
A cough from the back room made Ned jerk to attention. “I’d better get back to work,” he muttered. “Let’s hope Emily hasn’t come down with the same influenza. Tell her I’ll try and visit her tonight after work, will you?”
“I will indeed. Thank you, Ned.”
“My pleasure, miss.”
As I left the shop a thought crossed my mind. I wondered if Ned might have the knowledge and equipment to test substances for traces of arsenic or other poisons.
I knocked on Emily’s door and waited what seemed like an eternity. My heart started to beat faster. Had our visit yesterday made Anson Poindexter suspicious? Was there any chance that Mademoiselle Fifi and her maid had seen me and described me? A redheaded Irish woman does rather stand out in a crowd.
“Emily?” I called through the keyhole at last. “It’s me. Molly. Are you all right?”
At last I heard slow footsteps and the bolt slid back from the door. Emily stood there, blinking in the light, a blanket around her shoulders. She looked terrible.
“Emily, what is it?” I asked nervously. “Are you very ill?”
She frowned and put a hand up to rub her forehead. “Just one of my sick headaches, I’m afraid. I’ve always been prone to them when I’m badly upset, and seeing Fanny yesterday was just too hard to bear.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked. “Can I bring you something from your chemist’s shop?”
She shook her head with a tired smile. “There’s nothing that works for it apart from resting in a darkened room until it passes, I’m afraid.”
“I went to McPherson’s to see you and I can’t tell you how