“I’m not a girl, Mother,” Irene said calmly. “I’m a woman with children, and I’m quite all right. I’ve just heard what happened to Cedric, and I expect to do my part to find his killer.” She walked slightly unsteadily across the room. Darcy went to help her to a seat. Katherine and Nick looked up nervously at her pale appearance and Kat crawled over to sit at her feet.

“Those children should be back in the nursery,” Edwina said. “This conversation is highly unsuitable for young ears.”

“But the inspector might want to ask us questions,” Kat said, looking at her brother. “And we want to stay with Mummy.” She rested her head on her mother’s knee and Irene stroked her hair.

“Presumably you are Lady Irene?” Chief Inspector Fairbotham said.

“I am the Countess Streletzki, and wish to be addressed as such,” she said, her expression not wavering. “My mother refuses to acknowledge the fact that I am still married to the count, as no divorce has taken place.”

“Very well, Countess.” He gave something resembling a little bow. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Fairbotham of the Royal Kent Constabulary. Thank you for leaving your sickbed. Very brave of you.”

“Enough of the compliments, Chief Inspector. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

The chief inspector cleared his throat. “Let’s start with what happened to you. I understand that there might have been two attempts at murder in this family. That somebody wanted to kill you as well as your brother. You somehow took—or were given—an overdose of sleeping powders last night and the doctor had to be called to pump your stomach. Correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Was this overdose an accident, in your opinion? Was it possible that you took more than one of these powders?”

She continued to eye him coldly. “Certainly not,” she said. “After the fracas at dinner last night, I was extremely upset. I realized that one of my migraines was coming on. Unfortunately, I have always suffered from terribly debilitating migraines as my mother can tell you. The only way to stop them is to knock myself out for long enough with a good, deep sleep. My doctor in Harley Street had prescribed a strong sleeping powder for this purpose. So I took one of the powders last night and told my maid not to wake me in the morning. The next thing I knew, I was awakened to the most unpleasant . . . there was a tube down my throat, Inspector. Most humiliating.”

“So as far as you know, you took the correct dose.”

“Absolutely.”

“But it’s possible that someone might have administered a second dose to you while you were so groggy that you didn’t remember?”