The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

everything he did. Juliana liked that. His coolness she could sometimes do without, but she appreciated it as a way of keeping his distance. This time, telling him something so personal, she appreciated the distance.

He gestured to the chair before the desk with a wave of his hand. “Please sit. You are part of the family while you’re here.”

She sat, smoothing her skirts in a nervous reaction. “Thank you.” Why did that simple statement mean so much to her?

“How are you feeling?”

“A few aches, the usual...” She did not need a mirror to tell her that her cheeks had colored up. She felt the heat. “Oh, I see.” She hadn’t properly considered her reaction. “Good, I think. Relieved that I won’t be bringing his child into the world.”

He straightened and did more quill twirling. “I am obliged to tell the magistrate. The cases from the attack on your parents’ house are pending, and Fielding has a full list, so that will help to delay the inevitable trial.”

He glanced at the papers set before him, then back at her.

“I’ve been going through the notes I made on the day of your husband’s murder. I’d like you to explain something to me.”

She sat, and folded her hands on her lap. Today had been hell, but she had retained her control. She was proud of herself for that.

Ash consulted a scrawled drawing. “Tell me about the supper you had that night.”

Juliana blinked. “The meal? Is that important?”

“It might be. Go through it in detail, if you please.” Ash steepled his fingers, and pressed his forefingers against his mouth, tapping his teeth as he listened to her.

Juliana thought back. “Wood brought supper to us at about eleven. Yes, eleven. I counted the chimes from the church clock nearby.” She’d counted the chimes every hour, attempting to concentrate on something other than what her husband was doing to her.

“What did she serve you?”

“Godfrey sent her away. He served me himself. Apple pie and some bread, but I couldn’t eat. He had it. I was numb, and I didn’t know what to do.” She swallowed again, recalling that horrible meal.

Ash nodded. “I see. What then?”

“He made me drink two glasses of the red wine the maid had brought. I didn’t like it. It was too harsh for my taste, but I thought it might help me cope with what—came next. He had a glass of the wine, then switched to brandy. After, he took me back to bed and...used me again before we both fell asleep.”

Ash’s brows went up. “Wait—he did not wake you again?”

She shook her head. “I woke to daylight. I felt heavy, couldn’t remember where I was. Until I started hurting. Then I wanted to escape, to get away before he awoke, so I moved carefully. I was planning to go to the powder room and call for Wood to wash and dress.” She wrinkled her nose, recalling how she stank. She hadn’t had that bath until she’d reached this house.

“Did you have a headache?”

Juliana laughed hollowly. “Along with everything-else ache. When I moved I discovered what had happened. Before that I had no idea I was sleeping next to a dead man.”

He used a charcoal stick to sketch a few lines on a piece of paper with the rough outline of the bedroom. He pointed to a space by the bed. “The jib door was here, was it not?” That was how servants came in discreetly. Every house had them.

She nodded at the spot he was touching. “That’s right. By the bed on Godfrey’s side.”

“Could someone have come in from the street without meeting anyone else?”

She frowned. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s possible.”

He glanced up at her, his eyes perceptive as always. “I have a few ideas, and you’ve clarified a few things. I know this could not have been pleasant for you.”

What ideas? What was he getting at?

He flashed a quick smile. “I won’t make a habit of it.” He stared at the paper again. “I was working on a self-defense theory. I know you say you didn’t do it, but my dear, it could have happened. I am bound to investigate that possibility. I want the murder charge lifted as soon as possible. ” He lifted his gaze and met her eyes. “What you’ve just told me increases that possibility.”

She looked away, flushing. “Tell me.”

He let a pause fall before he said anything. “The wine could have been drugged. It sounds very much to me like laudanum.” He stared at her, his gaze sharp. “I should have put that together before.”

“But laudanum makes me sick and gives me headaches, instead of curing them.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh!”

He got to his feet and started pacing. “When I visited the house, I examined the stopper and decanter. It smelled thick, heavy, as if it had been fortified. I assumed a strong spirit had been added, but it could have been a drug. I didn’t think of that at the time. I should have. Oh yes, I should have.”

Yes, yes it could have happened that way. She had been so distressed that she would have accepted anything, if it alleviated her distress and pain.

“Who would have drugged the wine?”

He met her gaze again, then he looked away. “Two possibilities. The first one is that your husband did it. A drug would make you more complacent, and perhaps he wanted that. Your protests might have annoyed him at that point. Do you understand?”

She nodded. She did understand, rather too clearly.

“You are sure he drank the wine?”

“Yes. I was numb by then. All I could do was watch him.”

He frowned. “Yes, you must have been. You see, if he had not drunk the wine, he could have known about the drug, which indicates that he put it there. But if he did drink it, that indicates he did not know about the drug. If he was a habitual user, he might have done so, but there is no evidence of that,