Jenny stared at her. She took several long breaths, steadying herself. "There is always the pastries," she suggested, her voice a little husky. "Some cooks mix the dried fruits with brandy, or the creams with liqueur."

Hester had not eaten them, but she should have thought of that. So should have Rose! "Would... would it be enough?" she said, to fill the growing silence. She was playing a game of wits, and she had no time to spin it out. The trial was drawing closer to its verdict, which would be issued any day. Rathbone's time was short, and once the defense started he might not be able to introduce new evidence. She hated having to be so brutal.

Jenny shook her head. "I have no idea. It would seem so. What we saw was . . . irrefutable. I'm afraid the poor woman was very intoxicated indeed." She thought for a moment. "I'm so sorry."

Hester's mind raced. She must be able to use Jenny's pity, turn it into a feeling of guilt. She had no doubt it was Alan Argyll who had killed Havilland, morally if not physically, and with great skill caused Sixsmith to be blamed.

"Of course," she agreed aloud. "Sometimes the results of our actions are not even remotely as we have imagined they would be." She was moving towards the subject of Jenny's letter to her father, approaching it softly.

Jenny paled. Her hands moved on the black fabric of her skirt, not quite clutching it, then deliberately relaxing again. There was effort in it, control. "I am sure she can have no idea that a few pastries would do such a thing."

"It was after her lemonade, before the pastry," Hester corrected her, not certain if that was true.

"How could anyone ... ?" Jenny started. Her face was very white.

Hester shrugged. "A little bottle, such as one uses for medicines. A distraction of attention, not so very difficult."

Jenny was forced to fill the silence. "Who on earth would do that?"

"Someone who wished to discredit her," Hester repeated. "Rose had been looking into the matters your late father was investigating, just to make certain that there was no danger of serious accident, and-"

"My father was disturbed in his mind!" Jenny said abruptly. "There was no danger at all. The machines my husband's company uses are the best there are. It is skill that has improved them, which is why they are faster, not that they are taking less care." The color was high in her face, her eyes brilliant. "This whole terrible charge has arisen only because of my fathers ... I don't like to use the word, but it was hysteria."

Hester could almost believe her, but for the man Melisande Ewart had seen leaving the mews. "And that is why you wrote to your father asking him to meet your husband in the stables?" she said, allowing doubt into her voice. "And poor Mr. Sixsmith is facing a charge of murder?"