Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

He swung round and looked at Lily, his expression softening, but his words clear and businesslike as he asked, “Did you suffer any spells of madness before you met Dr Swithins?”

Lily tried to think. The past seemed to roll past her eyes like a slow-moving river. Her unhappy childhood, a few tears, mostly silence, boredom, a sense of abandonment. But no episodes like she’d had after…

She had met Teddy.

“No.” She shook her head.

Hamish went on, “So, after you met Dr Swithins, he started prescribing treatments for your mood; I have no doubt. And these moods then became quite extreme? To the point it was decided you must go to a sanitorium for your health. Only, Dr Swithins took you to the maison in Brussels, am I correct?”

Lily didn’t even have to think about that. It was all just as he said.

She nodded, her mind running on, past the point which Hamish described. “They cured me when I was there,” she said softly, bowing her head. “At the maison, they were cruel, but…at least I suffered no madness there.”

“That’s because you were not being fed the Amanita muscaria that Dr Swithins was in the habit of putting into your warm milk.” Hamish’s lip curled.

He swung

back to the two men. Sir John was blinking rapidly as if finding this hard to digest, and didn’t know whether to deride Hamish’s words out of hand, or seek somewhere to sit down for they were all still standing near the doorway. Clearly, Sir John wanted to be rid of them as soon as he could.

On Lord Lambton’s face was an expression of satisfaction. He must have heard all this during his journey here with Hamish.

How Lily wished his belief in all this was founded. But Lily had lived with her spiralling bouts of mania for too long to disbelieve the truth of them.

She ventured a few steps forward as Hamish went on, “Several nights ago, my sister, Lucy, went to visit Lady Bradden at her home.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. She had not known this. Lucy McTavish must have arrived shortly after Lily had left with Teddy. She hesitated. Something in Hamish’s tone suggested something of great import was to come.

“When she arrived, Lady Bradden had left, but some of the warm milk remained, and this was offered by the maid to my sister.”

Lily stilled. She felt as if she were on the cusp of something. On the ledge of a very steep cliff and that, if she were not careful, she would plunge into the deep dark depths. Only by taking short, careful breaths, could she hold herself back from this death spiral.

Sir John made a noise, but Lord Lambton turned on him, his tone sharp. “Listen to what Mr McTavish has to say, and then I think you’ll change your tune.” He cleared his throat and again, his voice sounded suddenly on the verge of breaking as he went on, “The greatest travesty of justice has been dealt your daughter—ha! My daughter! You need to hear it!”

Hamish, who had been looking at Sir John, shifted position, his gaze seeking Lily’s. He smiled, and the tenderness in his look struck at the very core of her. She reached for the back of a sofa to steady herself as he turned back to Sir John.

“The maid said she’d made the milk using the powder Dr Swithins prescribed as a calming tonic. When I arrived at Lady Bradden’s house, it was to find my sister suffering hallucinations of a kind terrifyingly similar to those suffered by Lady Bradden. I will not go into the violence of this episode. Suffice to say I had a chemist analyse the powder while I journeyed here. It was as only when we reached the station, and I was able to telegraph from the village, that I received the results.” He swung round to look at Lily. “Lady Bradden isn’t mad,” he declared in a tone that brooked no argument. “For whatever reason, Dr Swithins, perhaps with the collusion of her husband, made the world believe that Lady Bradden was insane.”

Chapter 35

Eight weeks later

Lily watched the moon make its appearance over the half-frozen pond of her father’s estate and shivered. Not from cold, for with her hand encased in Hamish’s large warm one, and his arm about her shoulders, she’d never felt warmer.

It was like a glow that radiated outwards, enveloping every part of her in a mantle of safety and security. Not a feeling she was used to enjoying.

“The moon reminds me of Celeste,” she murmured, resting her head upon Hamish’s shoulder as he stroked her cheek. “Cold and beautiful. I feel so terrible about what happened to her.”

Hamish sighed. “Poor girl. The police never did learn who she was or where she came from. It could have been a place like this…” he made a sweeping motion of the acres of rolling pasture lands that belonged to Lord Lambton “…or the gutter. But she lived dangerously, and her efforts at garnishing her wages at Madame Chambon’s by selling secrets cost her her life.” He cleared his throat and drew her closer against him. “Or worse…they nearly cost you yours.”

“Poor Mr Renquist,” said Lily with a sigh. “If he’d not had red hair, he’d likely be sitting in front of his drawing fire right now.”

“With his harpy of a wife,” murmured Hamish, adding quickly, “though you’re right. Igor Novichov killed the wrong red-headed lover when he learned that Celeste was channelling his government’s sensitive information to the British Government.”

A family of ducks glided over the surface of the pond, bringing to mind the afternoon Hamish’s sister had stood by Lily’s side and tossed hunks of bread to the birdlife in Regent’s Park. Lucy had been Lily’s champion before Hamish had finally succumbed to the tension between them that Lily had felt so palpably before anything had actually happened.

“I’m so delighted your sister has found love, too,” she said, glad to change the subject to something happier.

“Oh, she’s been desperate to become Mrs Myers for years,” said Hamish. “That young man of hers just never earned enough to keep a wife. Well, not someone like my sister. Lucy would be miserable if she didn’t have a new bonnet or pair of gloves every two weeks.”