Olivia by Dorothy Strachey Page B

Could she have? No, it was impossible. Why should she do such a thing? And yet I knew she had often threatened to. But then I had heard that people who threatened never did it—it was a common saying. And nobody had ever seemed to take her threats seriously. It must be an accident. Miss Smith was to pour out the dose for her. She had made a mistake. Professor Tyndall, I remembered, had died in that very way from an overdose of chloral given him by his wife, who had nearly gone mad with grief afterwards. What were the others thinking? Mlle Julie? Oh, let me turn away my thoughts from her! Signorina? Frau Riesener? And the doctor? Should I ever know what had happened? Would they tell me? Would they know themselves?

    Though I think that, thanks to Signorina, I was told in the course of the next few days all the conclusions that were come to, I still imagine that I was never told their real suspicions. At any rate, I never told mine. There was, of course, an enquiry the next day. The doctor, the commissaire de police, some odd gentlemen called the parquet were constantly in the house. Everybody remotely connected with the affair was questioned. I myself was summoned to give an account of what I knew. I was particularly questioned as to the hour of Mlle
Julie’s return and how I knew it was at twelve o’clock midnight, as I stated.
    “Because I heard her carriage drive up and looked at my watch.”
    “How do you know it was her carriage?”
    “Because she came to my room.”
    “Ah? And why was that?” They raised their brows and I hated them.
    I cast about for some lie. How could one desecrate the truth by telling it to people like them?
    “I’d not been very well that morning and she came to ask how I was and whether I wanted anything.”
    “And did she say anything particular?”
    (Anything particular!)
    “No. She just said ‘How are you?’ and ‘Good night.’ ”
    (Fortunately Mlle Julie must have said much the same, for they made no comment.)
    “And how long after that was it that she called you?”
    “About two minutes, I should think.”
    “Thank you, Mademoiselle. That will do.”
    Frau Riesener was questioned as to Mlle Cara’s mental condition.
    “Perfectly calm and cheerful,” was the answer. Though she had had a headache in the morning, and had not slept well the night before, she seemed better in the evening, and when Frau Riesener had said good night to her at about eight o’clock, she had advised her not to
take the sleeping draught. ‘Oh,’ she had said, ‘I’ll just have it put beside me and not take it unless I feel I’m not going to sleep.’ Frau Riesener had had a bad headache herself, had given her instructions to Miss Smith, and then gone to bed.
    Miss Smith was then asked whether she agreed that Mlle Cara was in a calm, cheerful state of mind.
    “No, anything but,” was her answer.
    “Did she say anything in particular?”
    “She moaned a good deal about her headache.”
    “Is that all?”
    “Once she said——”
    “Yes? What?”
    “ ‘I wish I hadn’t done it.’ ”
    “Done what?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve no idea.”
    When asked about the dose, Miss Smith swore with tears that she had poured out the exact dose, as instructed by Frau Riesener, and put it on Mlle Cara’s bedside table.
    Frau Riesener swore (without tears) that she had instructed her to give the exact dose prescribed by the doctor.
    The doctor swore that if that were so, no fatal result could possibly have ensued.
    The bottle was produced. Miss Smith had put it back in the medicine chest that same evening. Was the medicine chest kept locked? Yes, generally. But that
evening Frau Riesener, who kept the key as a rule, had given it to Miss Smith who, not thinking it necessary to disturb Frau Riesener by returning it the same night, had left it in the lock.
    There was conflicting evidence over the bottle. When full, it contained six doses. Two might be fatal to a person of Mlle Cara’s constitution.