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It felt too private to discuss with anyone, though, even with Selena, her favorite person in the world.

Selena was an eternal optimist. If Selena knew what had occurred, she would see hope and possibility.

But Athena knew better. The kiss had meant nothing to Mr. Vernon.

“Don’t worry. You’re still a free woman.

It was just a kiss.” It was better this way.

That kiss had been a one-time event, and it would never happen again.

“You said very little through dinner or during social hour,” Selena persisted. “What have you been thinking about?”

Selena was far too perceptive. Athena had to tell her something . “I’ve been thinking about something Mr. Vernon told me.”

“Something he told you ? Is that all?” Selena’s face fell as if with disappointment. “I know you were alone together at the dower house.”

“That was just a tour,” Athena insisted quickly. “It took almost no time at all. But on the way there, he gave me new information that I think pertains to our case. It’s about Miss Quince.”

“The apothecary’s daughter?”

“Yes. He said Miss Quince was Harold Sinclair’s lover for years.”

Selena paused in surprise, her hairbrush in mid-air. “His lover? Is that common knowledge?”

“Apparently. She expected Sinclair to marry her. But he jilted her when he became engaged to Miss Vernon.”

“Oh! Poor Miss Quince. Or perhaps, with what we now know about Harold Sinclair, we should say lucky Miss Quince , for having escaped a life tied to that man.”

“I agree. But I doubt she feels that way. I think I told you what Miss Quince said about Caroline Vernon?”

“You said she called her a pathetic creature who got what she deserved. Now it makes sense. Miss Quince was jealous of Miss Vernon.”

“Yes, but I’m wondering if there’s more to it than that,” Athena said as they both climbed into bed. “What if Miss Quince was so furious with Harold Sinclair for abandoning her that she killed him to make sure he couldn’t marry anyone else?”

Selena’s hand went to her mouth. “And framed Caroline Vernon for it?”

“Yes!”

“It could be.” Selena lay back on her pillow. “They say the most common motives for murder are love, hate, and money. This would fall into the first two categories.”

Athena was about to blow out the candle when her sister suddenly gasped and sat up in bed again. “I just realized. Miss Quince is the apothecary ’s daughter.”

“So?”

“Harold Sinclair was poisoned !”

Athena caught on. “Working in the apothecary shop, Miss Quince must know all about poisons.”

They exchanged an excited look across the room. “Could she have been the driver of the runaway carriage?”

Athena considered that. “It’s possible. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. If not, she could have paid someone to do it.”

“True.”

“And even if we’re totally wrong about the carriage, Miss Quince had a motive to murder Harold Sinclair.”

“Was she at that garden party?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s time to talk to her again.”

“I’ll do it,” Selena offered.

Athena shook her head. “No. You must promise to stay out of this. I don’t want another carriage accident, with you as the intended victim.”

Selena grimaced. “I have the same fears, Athena, on your behalf.”

“Miss Quince already knows that I question Caroline Vernon’s culpability. It won’t be news to her if I bring it up again.”

“Even so. Will you be careful of what you say to her?”

“I will. But only because if I hope to get a confession out of her, it will take a bit of finesse.”

*

On her way to the apothecary, Athena ran a few errands at the grocer’s shop, the bakery, and the haberdashery, where she asked if anyone knew anything about Ethel Leighton.

Everyone remembered hearing about the maid who had given incriminating testimony at Caroline Vernon’s trial, but no one had any idea what had happened to the woman since.

Athena slipped inside the apothecary shop at five minutes before closing and waited until the last customer had left. She went up to the counter, where Miss Quince had just placed a heavy-looking box that she began to tie with string.

“Miss Quince, I’m glad I caught you before you closed. I need a dozen candles, please.”

“Tallow or beeswax?” Miss Quince replied matter-of-factly.

“Tallow. I prefer beeswax—they’re far less smoky and smell so much better—but I need to economize.”

“Don’t we all?”

As Miss Quince fetched the box, Athena remarked casually, “I visited Woodcroft House recently. I suppose they use only beeswax candles.”

Miss Quince frowned. “ They can afford it.” She stated the price of the candles.

As Athena paid for them, she launched into her prepared speech. “Speaking of Woodcroft House, I hope you won’t think it impertinent of me to mention this, Miss Quince. But I just learned that you were meant to be the mistress of that great house.”

Miss Quince looked at Athena sharply. “Who said so?”

“My housekeeper, Mrs. Lloyd. She had the most wonderful things to say about you. How thoughtful you are, how promptly you have always filled every order she has ever placed, and how devoted you are to your father.” Mrs. Lloyd had never said any such thing.

But Athena told herself that flattery was an acceptable kind of white lie, and it seemed to hit its mark.

“Did she really?” Miss Quince stood taller and lifted her chin. “Mrs. Lloyd and I have so rarely spoken. I had no idea she ever thought of me at all.”

“Yes, and the other day, Mrs. Lloyd mentioned that years ago, she and everyone in the village dearly hoped that you and Harold Sinclair would marry.”

Miss Quince’s eyes grew wide. “Is that so?”

“I don’t know what happened between you and Mr. Sinclair, but… my sister Diana was once engaged to a man who dropped her to marry someone with a larger fortune. It nearly broke her heart.”

Miss Quince hesitated, as if debating whether—or how—to reply. At length, she said, “That’s exactly what happened to me.”

“Oh?”

Miss Quince toyed with a piece of string.

“Harry and I went together for four years. We were everything to each other. He always said that we would marry. He used to call me his ‘princess.’” Her lips pressed tightly together, and her eyes flashed.

“Then all at once, he cut me off without a word. Refused to see me. He wouldn’t even reply to my letters.

That was when I learned he had offered his hand to Caroline Vernon .

” She infused the last two words with bitterness.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was mortifying. I’d been with Harry so long that my reputation was ruined, even though I had done nothing to deserve it. But Harry didn’t care.” Miss Quince’s nostrils flared, and her mouth curled with distaste. “And Caroline Vernon was just a pretty face. She didn’t understand what she had.”

Athena continued fishing. “You were at the garden party the night that Mr. Sinclair died, I believe?”

“I was. I put on my best dress, and I went to that party hoping I could change Harry’s mind.”

“Did you talk to him?”

Miss Quince paused and glanced away. She continued twisting the string in her hands. “No. He was always surrounded by people. I couldn’t get near him.”

Athena, sensing that Miss Quince was being less than truthful, leaned forward on the counter and lowered her voice confidentially. “It must have been so awful, to watch Miss Vernon beg him to break off their engagement and to hear his refusal.”

“That’s when I learned what kind of man he was,” Miss Quince said coldly. “He tossed me aside like yesterday’s rubbish.”

Athena’s pulse skittered. “I thought you said you couldn’t get near Mr. Sinclair?”

Miss Quince started. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said he was always surrounded by people. So how did you hear what he and Miss Vernon said to each other?”

That seemed to take Miss Quince aback. She hesitated again and then her eyes grew hard. “They were talking that loud— anyone could hear,” she said quickly. “It’s late, Miss Taylor. I must lock up.”

At that moment, the curtain separating the shop from the back room was thrust aside and Mr. Quince strode out. He set a glass bottle on the counter.

“This tonic is for George Osborn,” he announced brusquely. “See to it that he gets it at once, Margaret.”

“Papa, the delivery boy has already left for the day.”

“Then deliver it yourself, girl. And be quick about it!”

Miss Quince’s face fell. “But, Papa. I must reconcile the books and clean up in back. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t. I promised Mr. Osborn that I’d deliver it this evening. He’s at the pub waiting for it.”

“I’d be happy to deliver the tonic to Mr. Osborn,” Athena volunteered. “The pub is on my way home.”

“I don’t think—” Miss Quince began.

“Did anyone ask what you think, Margaret?” Mr. Quince turned to Athena.

“Thank you, Miss Taylor.” To his daughter, he snapped in a condescending tone, “Go clean the back room. Now! Take the books with you. And don’t dawdle!

Maybe for once in your life, you’ll get my dinner on the table before eight o’clock. ”

Before Athena could think of a comment, Miss Quince hurried out with cheeks burning.

Mr. Quince slid the medicine bottle across the counter.

“If you’re looking for the truth about Harold Sinclair,” he said, looking Athena directly in the eye, “don’t waste your time talking to my daughter.

She was an idiot, ruining herself with that man, but she’s not a killer. Talk to George Osborn.”

Athena was so surprised by this unexpected remark, she was nearly at a loss for words. “George Osborn?”

“If anyone hated Harold Sinclair, it was Osborn,” Mr. Quince told her before disappearing to the back room.

Athena left the shop with the medicine bottle in hand, struggling to digest what she had just observed and heard.

First off, Miss Quince. She had clearly come to hate Harold Sinclair.

But had she stooped to murder? Mr. Quince obviously didn’t think so, but fathers didn’t always know what their daughters were up to.

And what about Mr. Quince’s last charge?

“If anyone hated Harold Sinclair, it was Osborn.”

Why?

Athena was determined to find out.