Clara’s head jerked up. She didn’t say anything, just cowered back into the corner of the sofa.
I’d expected her to protest. Since she stayed silent, I hurried on with my explanation. “When Stella returned from the kitchen with the spoon, she must have caught sight of you putting something in the marmalade, Clara. That’s what Stella was trying to tell Lillian and then Gigi. Was it your complexion wafers? Did you grind them up and sprinkle them on the marmalade? Or was it one of the other tablets or tonics in your room? So many of them promise to remove freckles, and quite a few of them contain arsenic, don’t they?”
The faint tick of the clocks in the room was the only sound. Clara dropped her head. “I didn’t mean to kill anyone. I just wanted Gigi to be sick.”
Gigi’s horrified gaze went from me to Clara. “But why, Clara? What have I done to you?”
Clara lifted her head, and her face transformed. It was as if she’d removed a veil. Her meekness fell away, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted in disgust. “Of course you don’t know.” Clara’s chest heaved. “You don’t give a thought for anyone else. You walk into a room and pull all the attention onto you. Everyone else might as well have disappeared. You eclipse everyone. No man can see anyone else when you’re around.”
Gigi looked gobsmacked. She was so shocked, she didn’t seem to know what to say.
I said to Clara, “It was Inglebrook, wasn’t it?”
Clara switched her attention to me. Her eyes were glittering and bright. “He’d love me, if she wasn’t around.” Clara gripped the arm of the sofa, her fingers splayed out like a claw, and drew herself forward. “He can’t see me because Gigi is always there, sparkling and flirting, drawing his attention. If she were gone, he would see me, notice me.”
Gigi lowered herself slowly into the wingback chair.
“So you added the arsenic to the marmalade,” I said. “But it wasn’t Gigi who ate it. It was the dowager, and she felt sick that morning, didn’t she, Dowd?”
Dowd was looking at Clara as if she were some sort of exotic bug that had turned up on her plate in the middle of dinner. Dowd gave a quick nod. “Yes, Her Grace felt out of sorts that morning.”
“Then she felt better,” I said. “The dowager hadn’t consumed enough of the marmalade to kill her, just make her sick. Later that afternoon she had tea and toast, and the dowager always had marmalade on her toast. It wasn’t an accident that the tea tray spilled that afternoon. It was you who tipped over the tea tray. You realized what had happened, didn’t you, Clara? Did you recognize the pot of marmalade? It was the same one that had been on the tray that morning, wasn’t it? That’s when you worked out what had happened, that somehow the marmalade meant for Gigi had been given to the dowager.”
Clara’s gaze dropped from mine as I went on, “And the dowager had just eaten more of it. That was quick thinking on your part to knock over the tea tray. With the last bit of the marmalade spilling onto the carpet, it would have to be scrubbed off and discarded, leaving no food for the police to examine. Then Gigi took the blame for the spill, which meant you wouldn’t get in trouble and the police would have no idea it was you who knocked over the tea tray.”
“But the motor? Clara doesn’t drive,” Gigi said.
“You may have never seen Clara drive, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how. During the War, Clara worked as a motor mechanic at an airfield, information she’s quick to share. I assumed—mistakenly—that because the location was an airfield, Clara worked on the motors of planes, but she also worked on the motorcars. And I would assume that if one worked on a motorcar, one would need to drive a motorcar at times. Isn’t that right, Clara? Can you drive a motor?”
She lifted her chin. “Of course. Everyone at the airfield knew how.”
“It also explains her friendliness with the chauffeur,” I said. “I understand he has a bit of a drinking problem. Did you visit him in the mews and bring him a nice bottle of something? After a while, he probably wouldn’t mind—or notice—if you took the motor out.”
Lillian said suddenly, “And the cameo! It was Clara’s, wasn’t it? That’s why Stella said it was just the beginning.” The words burst out of Lillian, and when everyone turned to look at her, she dropped her head.
“You’re right, Lillian,” I said. “Stella tried to blackmail Clara because she’d seen her put something in the marmalade. Clara gave the cameo to Stella, and I’m sure she promised to pay her more later. But then Clara retrieved the chocolate box from Gigi’s room, added arsenic from her cosmetics to the chocolates, and left the box of sweets for Stella. I’m sure you wanted to retrieve the cameo, but you must not have been able to find it, so you made up the story about losing it in my room.” I turned to Thorn. “The poisoning of the dowager was accidental, but Clara intentionally killed Stella and implicated Gigi.”
Gigi stared at Clara. “And you did all of this because of Captain Inglebrook?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I love him. And he loves me. He does. He’ll see that, if only I can get you out of the way.”
Felix, who was seated on the other end of the sofa from Clara, had inched as far away from her as the cushions allowed. “Then you’ll have to get rid of the Longchamp girl too.”
Clara switched her attention to Felix. “What do you mean?”
He leaned back as if afraid her intense gaze would burn through him. “He and the Longchamp girl—I forget her name—the dime-store heiress. They’re engaged.”
“No! It’s not true. He loves me.”
I shook my head at Felix, but he missed the signal to stop talking and went on, “Afraid it is, old thing. Inglebrook just stopped by to tell Gigi. I opened the door to the drawing room on them and overheard the whole thing. Accidentally, of course.” Felix shot an apologetic glance at Gigi and didn’t see the look of fury that suffused Clara’s face.
Gigi, still looking shell-shocked, said, “It’s all right, Felix, I know you didn’t mean to intrude.”
“That’s a lie,” Clara said. Felix shook his head. “Yes, you’re lying about Captain Inglebrook! You are!”
Gigi said, “No, it’s true. He called to tell me. He and Miss Longchamp are to be married by special license.”
Clara shook her head. “No. It isn’t true!”
“I’m sorry, but it is,” Gigi said. “The announcement will be in the newspapers tomorr—”
Clara jumped up and shouted, “Stop it! You’re lying!” She darted across the room to the door.
Thorn was the first to recover, but Clara had already run into the hallway. Thorn took off after her, calling for his sergeant.
We rushed after him but bottlenecked at the doorway. A shriek cut through the air, then a thud sounded and repeated, reminding me of the time when the footmen at Parkview had lost their grip on a trunk they were carrying upstairs. It had thunked and banged in just that same way as it tumbled down the stairs.
We burst into the corridor, but Thorn shouted at us, “Stay there! Do not come downstairs.”
I surged to the banister and peered over. Clara lay on the landing, her head bent at an odd angle. The sergeant ran up the stairs as Thorn trotted down. “Her foot caught on the runner, sir,” the sergeant called as he kneeled beside her. Thorn blocked my view of Clara, but I could see the sergeant as he shook his head. “Nothing we can do for her.”