That’s clear enough,” Chief Constable Heron said. “Though it’ll be a few days before we know what kind of poison.” “It was something that acted almost instantly, from what Cordelia said,” I told him. “Yes, we’ve got the young lady’s statement.” With the privilege of being—literally—to the manor born, Cordelia had been questioned first and was now tucked up in bed upstairs with a hot water bottle, a cup of cocoa, and a couple of nice sedatives. I, on the other hand, was still sitting in Lady Vee’s elegant study several hours after the tragedy. A fire had been laid in the grate, and a tea tray—much less sumptuous than the one provided earlier—sat on the table where Chief Constable Heron and DI Brian Drummond, both my friends very much in their official capacities, were making notes. Naturally the police had to question each of us before allowing anyone to leave the estate. Not everyone was taking this in civic-minded spirit. I was lucky. I’d been brought in to the study almost immediately.
