“Will, don’t say such things,” I begged.
“Why ever not?” he cried. “You and Uncle Phineas were the only ones who never seemed embarrassed by me. But Uncle Phineas is dead, and you’re just…” He stopped himself too late.
I drew myself up and stared into his eyes. “I’m what, Will? I’m just a woman?” I could feel the blood rising in my face.
“Aunt Bridget, you know what I mean,” he protested.
“Yes, I think I do,” I said. “A few moments ago, I had almost the same conversation with Charles Yeoman, so I know exactly what you mean—he feels the same way.” Will tried to interrupt, but I would not let him. “Perhaps the two of you are more alike than either of you realizes. It is a shame that this is the lesson you learned from a lifetime of abuse by men like Yeoman.”
I turned on my heel and strode away. Will called after me, apologizing, but anger deafened me to his entreaties. I tried to compose myself, for however much Will’s words hurt me, I knew that he had lashed out in pain rather than malice. None could deny Yeoman’s cruelty, but he had not so much opened a new wound as ripped up an old one; Edward had been the first to cut into Will’s flesh. However much I denied it, Joseph was Edward’s favorite and always would be. Joseph had the richer clothes, the finer horses, and Edward gave him ever more responsibility in both business and politics. The fact that Joseph fought while Will stayed home would only make matters worse in the future. I could never say anything to Edward or even admit the truth to Will; Edward would deny it, and Will would be crushed. All I could do was care for Will as best I could and help him become a good man in a world dominated by bad ones.
Martha met me at the door. I asked her to pour a glass of wine for each of us and join me in the parlor. When she returned, she gave me a glass and looked at me expectantly.
“What did Mr. Yeoman have to say?” she asked.
“Nothing that made things any clearer. He admits that he lied to us about Stephen’s connection to the rebels, but warned us against pursuing that line of inquiry.”
“And what did he say when you asked him about Mr. Cooper’s diary? I can’t imagine he was happy that we know about his threats.”
“He warned me off again. He said he would not be brought down by a woman,” I said. “I don’t think he’s as dangerous as Lorenzo Bacca, but I would hate to be proven wrong.”
Martha sat back and gazed up at the ceiling. “Everyone connected to the case has lied to us or threatened to kill you,” she said. “Mr. Yeoman, the Lord Mayor’s man, even Mrs. Cooper.”
“How do you find the truth when nobody will speak it?” I asked. We sat in silence, each seeking a new approach to the case.
Martha’s eyes suddenly lit up and she jumped to her feet. “The ratsbane!” she cried.
“What do you mean?”
“Rather than focusing on the suspects, we can focus on the evidence.” I shook my head, still not following her thinking. “We start with the ratsbane. With York under siege, it likely came from inside the city. If we find the apothecary who sold the ratsbane, all the lies in the world won’t hide the truth.”
“There are only a handful of apothecaries in York,” I said. “We can enquire who bought ratsbane in the days before the murder. By itself, it wouldn’t prove Esther’s innocence, but it might tell us which of our other suspects to investigate.”
“Of course, we could discover that she bought ratsbane just before her husband’s death,” Martha pointed out.
I paused and considered the prospect of proving Esther’s guilt even as I worked on her behalf. “I still do not believe she is guilty.”
“And if she is?”
“Then she should die,” I replied, unsure if I really meant it. I knew that blood cried out for blood, but I could not envision Esther’s execution. I pushed the thought aside and reminded myself that the Esther I knew was no murderess. “Whatever the case, tomorrow I shall send letters to the apothecaries I know and see what they can tell us.”
“We can use the bottle,” Martha said. “The officers found the ratsbane in a glass vial, which probably came from the apothecary who sold it. If we take the bottle from shop to shop, someone might recognize it. Do you think your brother has it?”
“If he doesn’t, he will know who does,” I said. “I’ll send for it immediately, and in the morning we can begin our search.”
I sent Hannah to Edward with a letter explaining our plan. I knew he would not be happy with my request, since it could only complicate matters. I could only hope that he’d not yet expiated his guilt for concealing so much information about Stephen’s murder. Apparently he had not, for an hour later Hannah returned carrying a small cloth bag containing a bottle of fine powder. I called for Martha, and together we examined it.