The Scandalous Sisterhood of Prickwillow Place

by Julie Berry

  Alice took a step back.

  “On what charge?” said one of the bobbies grabbing her arm. “Sacking you from your post? We heard about that. It’s a revenge case, this is.”

  Barnes ignored the officer. “Threatening your flesh and blood. Hoarding your gold. Not sharing your bread with a brother in his hour of need!”

  She flung each accusation at Alice like daggers at a target. Alice turned to Kitty to silently plead for help.

  “Barnes!” cried Kitty. “What can you possibly mean?”

  “Cooking up a story about her brother going off to India, when I know for a fact he was here Tuesday. I heard her yelling at him. Threatening to punish him, to throw him out. And she’s done it!”

  The girls looked at each other in astonishment. Was the poor woman hallucinating?

  “Tuesday?” inquired Dull Martha sweetly. “Do you mean a week ago Tuesday?”

  Then Kitty remembered, and groaned. It was too, too absurd! “Constables,” she said. “Miss Barnes has misunderstood. Mr. Godding was long gone by Tuesday. The little dog, there, on my friend’s lap—on a whim we nicknamed him Aldous. This is what Miss Barnes is referring to. On Tuesday, we scolded him for chewing up couch cushions, and threatened to punish him for it, by putting him out in the garden.” She paused. “Barnes, what were you doing here on Tuesday? Were you spying on us?”

  “She lies!” Amanda Barnes cried. “Mr. Godding never left England.” She glared at Stout Alice. “Oh, and you did put him out in the garden, didn’t you, soon after? Once and for all, you witch.”

  “Miss Barnes, please,” begged Mrs. Godding. “I beg of you, compose yourself.”

  “Serenity,” began Reverend Rumsey, “that highest of virtues, requires we curb the tongue, that unruly member, and cultivate the ear…”

  “Doctor Snelling,” said Elinor.

  Stout Alice took a deep breath. “I’ve told you before, Constable Quill,” she said. “My brother is on his way to India.”

  “India!” cried Mrs. Godding. “Why would Aldous have journeyed to India?”

  “What I don’t understand,” Alice interrupted, rather desperately, “is why Miss Barnes is so interested in my brother’s affairs. They scarcely knew each other.”

  Amanda Barnes’s eyes glowed with hate. “The officer knows, and I know, Mr. Godding never boarded that train. Isn’t that right, Constable Quill?”

  Constable Quill’s brows furrowed. He took a thoughtful look at Amanda Barnes. “Now, why would you say that?”

  A gleam of triumph lit Amanda’s eyes. “Because it’s true,” she said. “Charlie Neff talks to me and he talks to you. What’s more, there was no telegram delivered here Sunday. I spoke to the boy at the office. And here’s something else that’s true. Aldous Godding’s not on any train or boat. She put him out into the garden, all right. He’s dead and buried there.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Amanda Barnes surveyed the faces in the room like a gambler collecting her winnings. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, her face flushed. Her breath escaped her lips in intense, labored pulses.

  Kitty watched her, but her mind, strangely, had floated elsewhere. Her fancies carried her home to her father’s house, where she sat at breakfast with him in their grand dining room, with nothing to look forward to but buttering his toast and remaining still unless addressed. Life was dull—deadly dull—but oh, how much simpler then.

  “Uncle Aldous?” Julius Godding said. “Buried in the garden?”

  Amanda Barnes held her head erect. “With my own eyes I’ve seen it.”

  “That’s a murder accusation, that is.” Constable Quill addressed Henry’s father. “Mr. Butts. Would you relieve Constable Tweedy, here, and take hold of the prisoner, so he can go outdoors and investigate?”

  Farmer Butts gulped dry air. He shuffled backward toward the door, inch by inch.

  “Beg pardon, Constable,” he managed to say, “but I’d rather not, if it’s all the same.” He shuddered like one swallowing medicine. “Her being a woman.”

  Constable Quill gestured toward one of the officers. “Out you go, Tweedy,” he said. “Take a lantern, find a shovel, and look for a grave. Farmer Butts here will help you. You can keep Miss Barnes occupied by yourself, can’t you, Harbottle?”

  Constable Harbottle grunted in the affirmative, and Constable Tweedy and Farmer Butts left on their errand.

  “I’ll go, too,” Julius Godding said. “I need to see for myself.”

  Don’t, Kitty thought. She almost spoke the word aloud. Let the police find what they would, and let the consequences follow, but she dreaded the moment of Julius’s discovery. She was ashamed now of her self-absorption and cowardice. This young man, whom she’d called their enemy, and even a suspect, was, in the first place, a nephew of the dead. What a painful shock to him this would be … unless he was their killer.

  The door closed behind him with a hollow bang.

  And that, Stout Alice thought, is the end of that. I may as well scrub off this paint. She suddenly felt old and weary. Mrs. Plackett’s sixty-two years, which she’d worn as a costume, had now become fully her own.

  Disgraceful Mary Jane whispered in Smooth Kitty’s ear. “Want me to do something to stop them, Kit?”

  “No, lovey, don’t bother,” was Kitty’s reply. “We’ve gone too far beyond that.”

  Mary Jane nodded defiantly. “So be it, then.”

  Over by the fire, Aldous the spaniel sneezed once more, and opened his eyes. Louise held him up in the air for the girls to admire.

  Alice laughed aloud, and wiped her eyes before her laughter could become tears.

  “Attaboy, Aldous!” Disgraceful Mary Jane cried.

  “Doctor Snelling,” said Dour Elinor.

  Mrs. Godding’s gray eyes were full of worry. She approached Amanda Barnes and gazed thoughtfully into her face. “Why, Miss Barnes?” she whispered. “Can you tell me why you make these accusations? What could possibly make you think this of Mrs. Plackett?”

  Amanda’s gaze back at Mrs. Godding glowed with trust. “It was the money, ma’am,” she said. “The money.”

  Reverend Rumsey sat bolt upright in his chair. “How much money?”

  Others in the room turned to stare at him.

  “Er…” He coughed. “That is to say, approximately?”

  Mrs. Godding ignored the vicar. “What money, Miss Barnes?”

  Amanda Barnes fixed a malevolent gaze upon Stout Alice. “Her own money, which she wouldn’t share with her own brother, who only asked her for some help. That’s why Mrs. Plackett killed him.”

  Pocked Louise shifted little Aldous off her lap. “How would you know all this, Barnes?” she asked. “And why would you care what happens between Mrs. Plackett and her brother?”

  Barnes scowled at Louise. “I don’t work here anymore, Miss Nosy,” she said. “I don’t need to answer you, nor put up with any of your stuffed-up airs.”

  “But Miss Barnes,” Mrs. Godding asked, “do you really mean to suggest that my sister-in-law would murder her brother for her own money?”

  Barnes spoke through clenched teeth. “How else do you explain him disappearing, then showing up buried in her back garden?”

  The Saint Etheldreda girls eyed each other.

  “She hated him!” Amanda Barnes continued, with a venomous look in Alice’s direction. “Didn’t you? Deny it if you can! Miserly old crone, you were always haughty to me, and harsh to him, and to anyone who didn’t lick your boots!” She elbowed Constable Harbottle, who still had her by the arm. “Don’t take my word for it. When they come in from the garden, you’ll be arresting her any moment now, and letting me go free.”

  Louise’s mind raced. She felt split, torn between trying to follow what was being said, and trying desperately to think. Wayward thoughts popped to the surface like boiling bubbles in her chemist’s beakers back home. By mistake. The admiral died by mistake. Poison meant for Alice—for Mrs. Plackett—killed him. What did it all mean? A drug
ged dog, a dead admiral, an ebony elephant, a coo in the garden. A stolen will, poisoned meat, an heir appearing out of nowhere, a grocery delivery boy, Spanish coins, an extra frying pan …

  Dear Roberta began to cry. She seized Stout Alice by the arm. “They can’t arrest her! They just can’t!”

  Mrs. Godding took a thoughtful look at Stout Alice. “I’m quite certain she didn’t kill Mr. Godding,” she said. “She’s not Constance Plackett.”

  Amanda Barnes’s face froze. “What’s that?”

  Constable Quill’s mouth dropped open. He closed it with a snap, opened his notebook, and started flipping through the pages.

  “That’s right!” Dull Martha nearly wept with relief. “She’s not! So you can’t go arresting her. And you should stop saying hateful things about her, Barnes. I think it’s horrid of you. Mrs. Plackett—the real one—she’s buried in the vegetable garden, too. She and her brother both died after eating poisoned veal. But I didn’t poison it at all. Not one single bit.”

  “Martha!” Mary Jane said through clenched, smiling teeth. “Be still.”

  Mrs. Godding turned slowly. She looked intently at Mary Jane, and then at Kitty. Kitty couldn’t withstand her gaze, and had to look away.

  When she spoke, Mrs. Godding’s voice could barely be heard. “My sister-in-law is dead?”

  Kitty’s tongue was salt. She nodded.

  Mrs. Godding turned her face away from the others.

  Amanda Barnes stared at Stout Alice. Terror had taken hold of her. “What’s she saying?” she whispered. “What does Miss Martha mean?”

  Mrs. Godding turned to Reverend Rumsey and Dr. Snelling. “Could it be possible that the rest of you were unaware that this is not my sister-in-law?” She gave the sheepish men a disgusted look, then pivoted and examined Stout Alice. “I haven’t seen my sister-in-law in eleven years, but I can spot an impostor when I see one. Did the rest of you just not look?”

  She turned her disgust toward Constable Quill, who raised both hands in a show of innocence. “I’d never met the Widow Plackett before this week!” he protested.

  Reverend Rumsey stared at Stout Alice, then dissolved into a stammering mess. “I … She … How was I to…”

  “What about you, Doctor?” cried Mrs. Godding. “Can’t you tell the difference between an old woman and a young one?”

  Dr. Snelling puffed out his chest. “My attention is on symptoms,” he said. “I’m not … gazing into women’s eyes and whatnot. Unless they’ve got glaucoma.” He straightened his waistcoat savagely. “And even then, not for long. I refer them straight to a specialist.”

  “Miss Alice?” Amanda Barnes peered at the supposed Mrs. Plackett. “Is that you?”

  Alice rose and stood straight, ceasing her performance. “It is, Barnes.”

  “But how? Who?” She gulped. “Miss Martha.” Barnes’s voice was humble, weak, pleading. “What was that you said about the veal? Tell it to me slow, if you have any compassion in you.”

  Dull Martha, who’d stood biting her nails ever since her unfortunate revelation about Mrs. Plackett, turned to Kitty for guidance.

  Kitty could hear the men’s voices outside. She couldn’t stay vexed with Martha. It was only a matter of moments; the damage was done before the poor girl uttered a word.

  “It’s all right, Martha,” she said. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Dull Martha became conscious of the staring eyes of all the others in the room. She shrank back against the wall. Dear Roberta reached and took her hand.

  “I cooked the veal.” Martha spoke slowly and deliberately, step by step. “Mrs. Plackett and Mr. Godding ate the veal. Then they died. One after the other.”

  Amanda Barnes faltered. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth. A tear spilled down her cheek.

  The sight of the daily woman’s grief cut Alice to the quick. Remorse stuck like a stone in her throat. “Oh, Barnes,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” When her words brought no response, Alice went on. “I know Mrs. Plackett could be harsh toward you, and perhaps she was a bit unfeeling, but of course, as her faithful domestic, you would take her passing painfully.”

  Amanda Barnes’s knees buckled. She toppled to the floor, nearly dragging Constable Harbottle down with her. The two constables lifted her drooping form off the floor and carried her to the couch.

  “Have you any smelling salts in your bag, Doctor?” Mrs. Godding asked. “These heartless constables ignored this poor woman’s distress until it was too late.”

  Dr. Snelling lowered himself to his knees again, opened his bag, and searched for salts. He found the bottle and unscrewed it under Barnes’s nostrils. She awoke with a gasp.

  There was a loud crash. Dour Elinor had dropped a stack of dusty books onto the floor. “Doc-tor Snelling!”

  The doctor jumped where he knelt. “In the name of Mike, what is it, young lady? You keep on saying my name!”

  Mrs. Godding placed a hand over her heart. “Are you trying to wake the dead, child?”

  “No.” Dour Elinor’s black eyes were so wide, so piercing, they gave Alice chills. “I’m trying to ask a question. I want to know…” She reached into Dr. Snelling’s bag, pulled something out, and held her prize high. “I want to know what Doctor Snelling is doing with Mrs. Plackett’s stolen ebony elephant.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “An elephant?” asked a stunned Constable Quill.

  “An elephant,” declared Dour Elinor.

  “Doctor Snelling, how could you?” Disgraceful Mary Jane hissed. “For shame!”

  “He’s the thief!” Stout Alice cried. “Arrest him!”

  Constable Harbottle scratched his head under his helmet. “Didn’t we switch to talking about murder? Or did I miss something? I got confused around the veal part.”

  Kitty jumped up from her chair. “Constable Quill,” she said, “tonight this home was savagely invaded, ransacked, and searched. You’ve seen it. Windows were smashed and dishes, brasses, and silver stolen. Our little dog was nearly drugged to death. And one thing we know for certain was taken was Mrs. Plackett’s ebony and gemstone elephant. Miss Elinor Siever just fished it out of his bag. He’s the thief.”

  “Well, Doctor?” the constable said. “What say you to all of this?”

  Dr. Snelling rose to his feet. “Constable, you know exactly what I was doing this evening. I smoked cigars outside the parish social, as half a dozen other men can attest,” he said. “I followed you to the police station afterwards. Now, pray tell, exactly what are you accusing me of doing tonight?”

  “Doctor Snelling.” Pocked Louise stood cradling little Aldous close to her, but she spoke pointedly. “You tucked a scrap of fabric into your pocket this evening. May I see it?”

  The doctor bent to fasten his bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What scrap of fabric?”

  Louise met his gaze defiantly. “The one the dog sneezed up as he revived. Won’t you show it to us?”

  He shouldered his bag and turned as if to leave. Constable Quill coughed suggestively. Dr. Snelling paused, looking much put-upon, then inverted the liners of his vest and jacket pockets. “See? No scrap of fabric. You must have imagined it, owing, no doubt, to a surplus of hysteric nerves.”

  “It was your right trouser pocket,” said a relentless Louise. “You pushed the scrap all the way down in, with your handkerchief. It was damp from being in the dog’s mouth.”

  Dr. Snelling’s upper lip twitched, as though words wanted desperately to escape his mouth that oughtn’t to be said in ladies’ company. He plunged his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled forth the small scrap of black-and-white checked fabric. The sight of it puzzled Smooth Kitty.

  “Appears the girl’s memory is correct,” he said. “I’d forgotten. I was just getting it out of the way. Always shoving things in my pocket; my forceps just the other day. Couldn’t find them when—”

  That’s when it hit Kitty. “Trousers!” she cried.

  Constable Harbottle scratch
ed his head. “How’s that?”

  “More hysteria,” said Dr. Snelling, diagnostician.

  Kitty nodded vehemently. It was all becoming clear. “Gideon Rigby’s trousers!”

  Constable Quill snapped to attention. “Whose trousers?”

  “Gideon Rigby’s,” Kitty said. “He came here collecting donations for retired basket weavers. He runs an antique furniture shop.”

  “Not in Ely, he doesn’t,” said Constable Harbottle.

  Constable Quill flipped through his notebook so quickly, the pages might have caught fire. “Gideon Rigby,” he said, “is another name for Gainsford Roper. He’s a surgeon from Haddenham, out past Witchford, and if I’m not mistaken, one of Dr. Snelling’s friends from their university days.”

  “You’re babbling,” said Dr. Snelling. “You’ve taken laudanum along with that dog. So I have a friend from Haddenham who wears trousers. What are you accusing me of? Murder?” He smoothed his waistcoat. “A doctor won’t stay in business long if he murders his patients.”

  “Right now I’m only accusing you of running an illegal betting parlor,” said Officer Quill. “I’m arresting you for it, too.”

  Dr. Snelling laughed aloud. “Betting parlor? You must be daft. I’m a man of medicine.”

  “And a rich man,” said Pocked Louise, “though you said yourself that a country surgeon can never be wealthy.”

  Constable Quill took the ebony elephant from Elinor and examined it. “From the looks of things, you and your friend Roper used rather extreme means to collect unpaid gambling debts. Breaking and entering. Aggravated theft. And that’s just for starters.”

  “On what evidence?” demanded the doctor. “How do you know I didn’t come by that … rhinoceros in a perfectly reasonable way? Buy it in a shop?”

  “Elephant,” said Dour Elinor.

  “Aldous bit the evidence right out of your friend’s ghastly trouser leg,” snapped Smooth Kitty. “Your doctor friend nearly drugged him to death for it.”

  Pocked Louise spoke before the officer could. “You yourself said you had no time. If you had no time to steal it, you had no time to buy it at a shop. It was here before we left for the social. The thief must have broken in, stolen it, then slipped it to you at some point during the strawberry social, perhaps when you were outside smoking cigars. I wonder what else is in that bag of yours.”