Page 78 of Murder on Harley Street
Sister Dearden eased back to inspect the wound.
Mrs. Iverson pushed the hand holding the knife away, but that only antagonized Sister Dearden. “You lied!” She plunged the knife downward.
Mrs. Iverson turned her face away.
The housekeeper screamed again.
Harry lunged and grabbed Sister Dearden, wrenching her backward. They tumbled to the floor, and the knife fell out of her hand. I grabbed it as they wrestled. The cocaine-fueled rage bolstered the nurse, but I suspected Harry was reluctant to use his full strength on a woman.
To save his sense of gentlemanly honor, I stepped in and kicked Sister Dearden’s ankle. The act achieved no reaction from her. Thanks to the cocaine, she couldn’t feel the pain.
She punched Harry in the face. He grunted but managed to catch her wrist before she punched again, then caught her other hand, too. Pinned to the floor, she could only kick out and use her voice. She shouted at him, calling him vile names.
“Fetch something to tie her with,” he ordered.
The housekeeper raced off, just as Dr. Iverson arrived. “What the devil? Margaret?” He went to his wife’s side. “You’re bleeding!”
“Tuppence stabbed me,” Mrs. Iverson said.
Dr. Iverson pressed down on the wound. “Miss Fox, go to my study, next floor up, first door off the landing. In the middle drawer of the desk is a medical kit. Fetch it for me, please. Quickly now.”
I found the kit where he said it would be and hurried back. Thankfully, Mrs. Iverson didn’t look any worse. She breathed heavily and was pale, but not deathly so. She would live, if the wound stopped bleeding soon.
Her husband set about tending to it with clinical indifference, as Harry tied up Sister Dearden with similar professionalism. She’d closed her eyes and gone quiet, but I could see her eyeballs moving beneath her eyelids. Her breathing was rapid, shallow, and her facial muscles twitched. I recognized the signs of cocaine-induced stimulation.
I still wanted answers, but she was too clever to admit anything in court. Although there was no doubt she’d be found guilty after this attack, she might close up on the details. If I ever wanted those answers, I had to get them now while the tonic gave her a feeling of invincibility.
Her skirts had risen to reveal her shins. I knelt and pulled them down to cover her as Harry helped her to sit up. “Was Isabel Kempsey your lover?” I asked.
Her eyes flew open and her gaze darted around the room, taking in her surroundings. Or perhaps not taking in much at all. It was impossible to tell. She didn’t answer me. She didn’t even acknowledge me.
“Did she reject you, too?” I went on. “Is that why you killed her?
“Isabel?” Dr. Iverson said from the sofa where he was bandaging his wife. “No, of course not. Sister Dearden was in love withme. If she’s the one who killed Isabel then she must have done it to remove my existing lover out of jealousy, not knowing we’d already ended our affair.”
Sister Dearden burst out in screeching, wild laughter. “Me, in love with you? You’re a mad, deluded, arrogantfool.” She spat each word in his direction with such violence that her entire body shifted forward with the effort. “I never flirted withyou. That was merely being friendly. I was interested in your wife.”
The housekeeper gave a small gasp. I sent her off, asking her to get word to D.S. Forrester at Scotland Yard.
Mrs. Iverson blinked back tears. “I’ve suspected for some time that she liked me in that way, that she guessed my nature. I suppose I guessed hers, too, and that’s why we became friends. I never wanted more than friendship. But she did. I suspected as much when I received the note on the day I filled in for Miss Wainsmith. I guessed who it was from. I could tell by the way Sister Dearden looked at me that she was…interested. But you found it, my dear, and thought it was meant for you.”
Dr. Iverson cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. It seems I am not always the focus for a woman’s attentions. You’d think I would know better by now.”
“The rendezvous mentioned in the letter never came to pass because she came here the night before it was due to happen and declared her love for me.”
“Where was I that night?”
“Scotland Yard.”
“Ah.”
“You rejected her,” I prompted Mrs. Iverson.
She nodded. “I’ve been avoiding her ever since.”
“Why did you kill Isabel?” Dr. Iverson asked Sister Dearden. “What did my wife’s rejection have to do with her?”
Sister Dearden lifted her chin, defiant. “You ended your relationship with Mrs. Kempsey and she was angry about it.”
