"Excellent," Emily said, rubbing her hands. "That fits very well with my idea." She instantly regretted the satisfaction in her tone. She must never forget that James was dead, and if she were correct in her a.s.sumptions, someone would be arrested for murder, perhaps this very day.

"I understand, my dear. Sometimes I'm so excited to make a clever diagnosis that I forget what it means to my patient." Dr. Gridley patted her arm. "So digitalis fits your theory? Well, it's simple to make-the plants are in every formal garden in town. I also use it for heart medicine. It stops a normal heart, but if someone's heart is beating too quickly, it can slow it down to a safe rate."

Emily caught her breath. Dr. Gridley had just given her the final clue.

"So if someone took digitalis for heart trouble," she said slowly, "he could drink a dose that would kill a healthy man?"

"With no ill effects," Dr. Gridley confirmed.

"And what if the healthy man suddenly saw everything in a greenish hue?"

"That's a symptom of digitalis poisoning," he said, excitement in his voice. "Are you certain of your facts?"

Emily nodded.

"Well," the doctor said, rubbing his hands. "It's easy to test for. I'll have a word with the authorities and perform the test immediately."

Emily paused and then told him the bad news. "James Wentworth was buried yesterday."

"Already? That's ridiculous! My examination wasn't complete. We'll have to exhume the body." Dr. Gridley looked as though he was about to seek out the constable.

Emily couldn't bear to think of her friend's body being violated again.

"Wait," she said, and her resolute voice stopped him in his tracks. "I might have another way." From her purse, she pulled out the flask and handkerchief.

"What is this?" Dr. Gridley asked.

"This flask belonged to James Wentworth. I have a witness who saw him drink from it just before the world turned green and he collapsed."

Dr. Gridley stared at her as though she possessed magical powers. "You have been busy, Miss d.i.c.kinson."

"More busy than you could possibly imagine," she said. "Look!" She opened the flask and poured a tiny amount of the liquid onto the handkerchief.

"Miss d.i.c.kinson, we'll need that!"

"There is plenty left-but see what I find on the linen?" She held out the handkerchief. Specks of leaves dotted the brownish stain.

Speechlessly, Dr. Gridley held out his hand to collect the handkerchief. He smelled it. "Elderberry wine. An unusually sweet drink for a young man."

"Especially when he . . . when most young men would prefer brandy," Emily said, recalling the aroma in the smithy's stable.

Dr. Gridley didn't notice her aside. Touching his finger to the handkerchief, he smelt the leaves and then tasted them gingerly. "Digitalis," he confirmed. "What a dastardly thing to do! You know, Miss d.i.c.kinson, I have to take this to the constable."

Nodding reluctantly, Emily said, "I know."

"He'll have some questions for you, I'm sure."

She stifled a groan, thinking of her mother's reaction.

Dr. Gridley let out an exclamation. "There's Constable Chapman now! Excuse me." He abandoned her, walking toward the church so rapidly that a man of lesser dignity would have been running. He met Reverend Colton on the steps of the church, under the wide portico. Standing to one side was the constable. Emily could not hear what was said, but she saw the doctor gesturing widely and speaking with pa.s.sion. Her name must have been mentioned, because all three men glanced in her direction before their animated conversation began again.

Emily watched from a distance. She knew she should give the affidavit to the authorities, but she preferred to wait a day until her father returned. He would know what to do.

"Are you finally coming?" Mrs. d.i.c.kinson said at her shoulder. "Your secret investigation is not more important than going to church."

Emily wanted to disagree. To her, church was a cold and artificial place to worship G.o.d. Unsure of the depths of her own faith, she knew she felt it more deeply and with more clarity when she was out of doors. James Wentworth had understood that. Would he have preferred to worship along the banks of Amethyst Brook.

"I'm coming, Mother," she said dutifully.

Vinnie was waiting near the church steps. Emily ignored her questioning looks because she had just spied another set of late arrivals. Coming from College Avenue, the Langstons appeared in the same order in which they had attended the funeral: first Henry and his mother, then Mr. Langston, and finally Ursula. Even Horace Goodman was there. Emily knew he would enter the church by the same door, but would immediately go upstairs to the gallery, where the freed blacks sat.

Only Sam Wentworth was missing. She hoped he had recovered from his heart attack, and that his medicine had proved effective. It was a small comfort that the means used to kill her friend could also save a life.

Constable Chapman saw the Langstons, too, and beckoned them to him. They looked reluctant, but it was too late for them to reverse course. Reverend Colton seemed torn between wanting to hear this conversation and starting the service on time. He kept looking at his pocket watch and glancing inside the Meeting House, where his congregation was waiting.

Vinnie's keen eyes had seen it all. "You know what happened, don't you?"

"Almost," Emily said absently, watching the reluctant progress of the Langstons toward the law's representative.

"Who did it?" Vinnie said. "I hope it's not Henry."

Emily held up a hand to forestall her sister. "I need proof before I tell you."

"That's just cruel of you. Now that Dr. Gridley is back and is talking with the constable, it's no longer your responsibility."

"I've run out of time," Emily said resentfully. "It's so unfair."

"That's just prideful, Emily Elizabeth d.i.c.kinson!" Vinnie scolded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The important thing is that your precious Mr. n.o.body gets justice-not who obtains it for him."

Emily glared at her sister. Of course it mattered, she thought. "Mr. n.o.body and I talked about our lives having a purpose. Getting justice for his murder is my life's meaning right now."

Mr. and Mrs. Langston were almost at the church door when Ursula broke away and walked rapidly around the corner of the church into the College grounds. Intent on the upcoming interview, none of her family members appeared to notice her departure.

Emily gave her sister a scant moment of attention. "Tell Mother I felt faint and went home," she said. And she set off to follow Ursula.

"Emily!" She heard Vinnie behind her. "What are you doing?"

"Getting my proof!"

For each beloved hour

Sharp pittances of years,

Bitter contested farthings

And coffers heaped with tears.

CHAPTER 21.

Emily half-ran, keeping Ursula's gray dress in her sights. Emily's breath grew shallow in her chest. She coughed, and when she took her hand away from her mouth she saw specks of blood on her white glove. The truth she was chasing didn't frighten her as much as those drops of blood, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her weakness would not prevent her from catching a murderer.

Ursula detoured around the College dormitory and then made her way back to her house, which she entered by the front door. Emily snuck around back to the flower room. Through the window, she saw Ursula shoving fragments of foxgloves into an old sack, to which she added the contents of a jar filled with oblong white tablets.

As though she sensed she was being watched, Ursula froze and glanced toward the window. Emily ducked behind a large lilac bush. A moment later, the back door banged open and Emily watched as Ursula ran to the shed next to the barn and hid the sack. Emily wondered if Ursula knew that was also Horace's hiding place.

Ursula returned to the house, adjusting her hair and fixing her bodice. Emily waited a moment, and then went to the front door and knocked.

"Miss d.i.c.kinson!" It was Bridget, her face full of consternation when she saw who was calling. "The young master gave me a talking-to something fierce after you were here yesterday. You can't come in now; Miss Ursula is here!.

"I know she is," Emily rea.s.sured her. "Announce me, please."

A moment later, a red-faced Bridget ushered Emily into the parlor. Ursula was perched on a settee, doing embroidery. She looked up, put aside her hoop, and stood to greet Emily.

"Good morning," she said. "I'm surprised to see you here. Shouldn't you be in church?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Emily said, watching her closely.

Ursula hesitated. Emily was sure she was contemplating a lie. Finally Ursula said, "I did accompany my parents and Henry to church, but as soon as I saw Reverend Colton, I felt a ma.s.sive headache coming on. That man does boom so; it's like being in an artillery battle." She sat down, gesturing for Emily to join her. "But I'm sure you understand, being plagued by ill health yourself. I daresay you missed half of last term at Amherst Academy to nurse your coughs."

"Thank you for your concern," Emily said, nettled. She saw her bouts of illness as no one's business but her own.

"Can I offer you some elderberry wine?" Ursula asked.

The wine from James's flask was still sticky on Emily's glove. She hastily declined.

Ursula's eyes narrowed, but she said agreeably enough, "Then some tea." Without waiting for Emily to answer, she called Bridget and gave her the order.

"I'm sorry to intrude at what must be a time of terrible grief," Emily said. Ursula's face was as blank as the next piece of paper in Emily's notebook. "Your cousin's death?" Emily prompted.

"Why, yes, I didn't realize that was general knowledge," Ursula said. "It was very sad. He drowned."

"I'm afraid that's not true," Emily said offhandedly, as if it weren't of the most vital importance.

"I beg your pardon?" Ursula said. Emily could see unease come into her pretty amber eyes.

"It was made to look like he drowned, but in fact he died when his heart stopped."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that." Ursula's fingers tightened on her embroidery hoop. "No other members of my family, who surely are in a better position to know, have said so."

"Your family is exceedingly good at keeping secrets from one another," Emily mused. "Much better than mine. My mother always seems to know everything, and Vinnie seems to have a sixth sense whenever I'm doing something I'd rather do alone. I expect she'll follow me here in a minute."

Ursula opened her mouth to speak but was forestalled by the arrival of Bridget with a tray. "Leave it here," Ursula said. "I'll pour." She turned her back to Emily and fussed with the cups. "Sugar?" she asked.

"Yes, please, one lump," Emily answered, trying to watch Ursula's hands.

Ursula handed Emily a cup. "Let us say you are right and Cousin James's heart stopped. The authorities would consider it a natural death. Why don't you?"

"I met your cousin, and I liked him very much. He didn't deserve what happened to him." Emily paused. "And as for the authorities, I think they are becoming more knowledgeable every minute."

There was a long silence while Ursula took a sip of tea. She seemed unconcerned, but her cup trembled. "And what knowledge do you think they are acquiring?" Her voice was tight.

"That you filled your cousin's flask with elderberry wine. A cousinly gesture. But what he didn't know was that the wine was laced with your uncle's heart medication."

"That's not true," Ursula protested weakly.

"You used the medication you made from the foxgloves in your own garden," Emily said. "Shame on you, Ursula, for using your healing skills to kill."

"I didn't," Ursula said in a tense voice. "Do you have any proof of this ridiculous accusation?"

Emily lifted her cup to her lips, deciding how much information to reveal. She looked over its rim at Ursula, who was watching her avidly. Without drinking, Emily deliberately returned her cup to its saucer.

"Proof enough," Emily said. "I have the flask filled with wine you gave him. There are still bits of foxglove floating in it."

Ursula was still.

"Not compelling enough? I have an eyewitness who saw James drink from it and then complain that the world around him had turned green. Dr. Gridley . . ." Ursula looked alert at the mention of the doctor's name. "He tells me that this is a symptom of foxglove poisoning."

"A tragic mistake," Ursula said. "Somehow my uncle's medicine got into the wine."

"Into the flask that you filled? Under what circ.u.mstances could that have happened? And if that was the case, then why did you just hide the foxglove and the pills in your back shed?"

Ursula's eyes darted in the direction of the shed. With an obvious effort she brought her gaze back to the tea tray. She checked the pot of tea, acting the polite hostess in a way that Emily found more unnerving than if Ursula had gone into hysterics.