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“Thank you. That is most thoughtful of you,” Monk accepted. “With your permission I shall do both, perhaps tomorrow. I should also like to speak with the family physician. And I should be delighted to dine with you on Sunday. What time would be suitable?”
“A quarter to one,” Alastair replied. “Now, to speak of something pleasanter. Have you been to Edinburgh before, Mr. Monk?”
Monk returned to the Grassmarket deep in thought, trying to see in the people in Ainslie Place the emotions Hester had outlined so briefly, and to build on them something darker than the very natural, prosperous trading family that they appeared. Certainly Quinlan and Baird Mclvor did not like each other. It might have had some ugly cause, but it might equally easily be simply a natural antipathy of two men who had all the wrong things in common- arrogance, hasty temper and ambition-and none of the right ones-such as background, humor or tolerance.
But he was extremely tired after a poor night on the train and the shattering news of the previous day. Speculation now was pointless. He could observe them all on Sunday, time enough then to form theories. Tomorrow he would begin with the family physician, whose name Alastair had given him, and the apothecaries. After that it would be a matter of other sources for general information, the nearest public house which the male servants might occasionally frequent, errand and delivery boys, street peddlers and crossing sweepers who might have an observant eye and, for a few pence, a ready tongue.
“Aye,” the physician said dubiously, regarding Monk with profound suspicion. “I treated Mrs. Farraline. A fine lady she was too. But ye’ll be knowing that anything that passed between us was in confidence?”
“Of course,” Monk agreed, keeping his temper with difficulty. “I merely wish to know the exact dosage of the heart medicine you prescribed for her…”
“For why? What affair is it o’ yours, Mr. Monk? Did ye no’ say ye were to do with the prosecution o’ that wretched nurse who killed her? I heard she gave her two doses, is that no’ true?” He looked at Monk through narrowed eyes.
“Yes it is,” Monk said very carefully, keeping his voice level. “But it needs proving beyond doubt in the court of law. All the details must be checked. Now, Dr. Crawford, will you please tell me precisely what you prescribed, was it exactly the same as usual, and who was the apothecary who made it up?”
Crawford seized a pen and paper and wrote furiously for several moments, then passed the paper across to Monk.
“There you are, young man. That is the precise prescription, which ye’ll not be able to fill, because I’ve no signed it. And that is the name and address of the apothecary who made it up usually. I daresay they always had the same one.”
“Is it unusual for a double dose of medicinal strength to be fatal?”
“Aye, there’s very little in it. It must be measured exact.” He held up his finger and thumb to show a hair’s breadth between them. “That’s why it’s put in a suspension in glass vials. One vial per dose. Can’t make a mistake.”
Monk considered trying to elicit a little information from him about the other members of the family, and judged it would be pointless.
Crawford watched him with guarded eyes, full of both suspicion and amusement.
“Thank you,” Monk said curtly, folding the slip of paper and putting it into his waistcoat pocket. “I’ll call upon Mr. Landis.”
“Have not known him make a mistake,” Crawford said cheerfully. “And never known an apothecary who admitted to one either.” He laughed with genuine amusement.
“Nor I,” Monk conceded. “But someone either put two doses into one, or substituted a lethal dose for a medicinal one. He may be able to tell me something of use.”
“Why wouldn’t they simply have given her two of the usual doses?” Crawford said argumentatively.
“They could have.” Monk smiled back. “Was she the sort of woman who would have taken two? I assume you did warn her that two would be lethal?”
The amusement vanished from Crawford’s eyes.
“O’ course I did!” he said. “Are you accusing me of incompetence?”
Monk looked at him with undisguised satisfaction. “I’m trying to learn if it was likely Mrs. Farraline would have taken two doses, rather than one that had been tampered with.”
“Aye, well now you know! Go and see Mr. Landis. He’ll no doubt tell you how it could be done. Good day to you, sir.”
“Well, you could distill it.” Landis screwed up his face thoughtfully. “Reduce the liquid till it was the same amount as a single dose. But you’d have to have the right equipment for that, or something that would serve. Hardly use the kitchen while the cook was busy. Be noticed. Too chancy. Not the sort of thing to have to do on the spur of the moment.”
“What else?” Monk asked. “How would you do it?”
Landis looked at him sideways. “On the spur of the moment? That’s hard to say. Don’t think I would. I’d wait a bit until I had a better idea. Has to be instant though, doesn’t it!”
“She was only there one day.”
“Buy some digitalis and substitute a double-strength dose for the ordinary one. Are you sure she didn’t carry digitalis with her? Woman was a nurse, wasn’t she? Perhaps she had some already, against an emergency-no, that won’t do. Doctor, perhaps, not a nurse. Stole it?”
“What for?”
“Ah, there you have me; unless she was waiting for a chance like this? That’d make her a cold-blooded woman all right.” Landis pulled a face. “Mind, that’s possible. Had a nasty poisoning with digitalis a few months ago here in Edinburgh. Man poisoned his wife. Ugly case. Terrible woman, tongue like a viper, but doesn’t excuse poisoning her, of course. Would have got away with it too, if he’d just given her a little less. Not easy to trace, digitalis. Looks like ordinary heart failure, if you get the amount exactly right. The poor devil overdid it. Made them suspicious.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“Not been much use, have I? Sorry.”
“I suppose you didn’t sell any digitalis that day to a woman who could answer her description?” Monk asked, feeling suddenly a little sick. Of course Hester had not bought it, but what if someone like her had? “A little taller than average, thin, square shoulders, brown hair, intelligent face, rather strong, pronounced features, but a very good mouth.”
“No,” Landis said with certainty.
“You are quite sure? You could swear to it?”
“With no trouble at all. Didn’t sell any that day to anyone.”
“What about that week, to anyone else in the Farraline household?”
“No, not to anyone except Dr. Mangold and to old Mr. Watkins. Known them both for years. Nothing to do with the Farralines.”
“Thank you,” Monk said with sudden enthusiasm. “Thank you very much. Now, sir, can you tell me the names and whereabouts of all the other apothecaries within reasonable radius of Ainslie Place?”
“Of course I can,” Landis agreed with a frown of puzzlement. He reached for a paper and wrote down several lines of information, then gave them to Monk, wishing him luck.
Monk thanked him profusely and strode out, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.
He received in essence the same answer from every other shop he tried. No one recognized his description of Hester, and none of them had sold digitalis to any member of the Farraline household, or indeed to anyone not known to them personally.
He pursued the other sources of information, the public house, the street peddlers and crossing sweepers, the errand and delivery boys and the news vendors, but all he learned was very general gossip that seemed to serve no purpose. The Farralines were extremely well thought of, and had long been generous to the city and the various worthy causes. Hamish had been ill for some time before his death eight years before, but his reputation was high without being u