The Untamed Mackenzie Read Online Free PDF Page B

happened. It’s apparent he was poisoned, and I’d like to know how and by who. You went inside the tea tent . . .”
    Louisa drew a sharp breath. “We had some tea. The bishop was talking to me about . . . about his recent travels to Paris. Then he looked ill, started struggling to breathe, and he fell. I thought he was choking, and I ran and fetched Sir Richard. By the time we returned, the bishop was dead.” Louisa shivered, her hands moving restlessly.
    Fellows resisted the urge to reach over and give her a comforting caress. “Did you drink any of the tea?”
    “No. I never had the opportunity.”
    Fellows made his hand write the notes. “But you had a cup of tea. There were two cups—one broken on the ground, one on the table near a teapot. The cup on the table was presumably yours.”
    “Yes, I poured it. But I didn’t want tea just then, so I set it down to drink later.”
    “Why did you do that?”
    When Louisa didn’t answer right away, Fellows made himself look up from his notebook.
    Louisa was staring at him, no shyness in her. The light in her eyes was angry, very angry, but behind her defiance he saw great fear.
    “Why didn’t you drink?” Fellows asked again, this time watching her.
    “Because I did not want tea at the moment.” Louisa said every word slowly and deliberately. “I was speaking with the bishop. I didn’t want to spill anything.”
    “You were eating tea cakes.”
    “Profiteroles,” Louisa said. “Choux pastry filled with cream. I took two but I didn’t eat because I was having a conversation. I could not be very dignified stuffing cream and pastry into my mouth, could I?”
    Fellows had a sudden flash of her licking cream from the profiterole, then taking a dainty bite. Her red lips would part as her teeth bit down, cream would cling to her lips, then she’d lick it away. Slowly.
    Fellows tightened his grip on the pencil. “Continue.”
    “That is all. The bishop coughed and fell. I told you, I thought him choking or fainting. I had no idea he was dying . . .” She shivered again.
    Fellows wanted to throw his notes to the floor, pull her to him, and enfold her in his arms. He’d stroke her hair, kiss her, shush her.
It’s all right. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe.
    He remained rigidly on his end of the sofa. “Then what did you do?”
    “I rushed out of the tent looking for the doctor. Sir Richard said the bishop had been poisoned and looked at me as though I’d done it. Isabella brought me to the house.” Louisa opened her hands. “And here I am.”
    Here they both were. The police had been summoned, and Mrs. Leigh-Waters, likely at the insistence of Isabella, had asked for Chief Inspector Fellows to come and take over.
    Fellows closed the notebook and set it on the tea table next to the sofa. He folded his hands and leaned forward slightly, a posture he hoped didn’t threaten.
    He was a master at threatening, had had many more than one criminal fling themselves at his feet and beg for mercy. But mercy wasn’t his job. Fellows’ job was to track down and arrest murderers, as he had earlier today, and bring evidence to their trials. Mercy was left to judge and jury.
    But he’d do everything in his power to keep Louisa Scranton from standing in the dock at the Old Bailey, facing a jury who’d find her guilty of murder. He’d do anything to avoid the judge looking at her and voicing the awful phrase,
Take her down.
    Fellows held her gaze. “I need you to tell me the truth, Louisa. Did you poison him?”
    Louisa’s eyes widened, then she was up and off the sofa. “No! Why on earth should I?”
    Sincerity rang in her every word. She was innocent, Fellows knew it. But he was not who had to be convinced—the rest of the world must believe it too.
    “Perhaps you didn’t mean to,” he suggested. “Perhaps you put something in the tea and didn’t realize what it was.”
    “I gave him
tea
. I dropped in one lump of sugar and a dollop of cream.