by Sonia Parin
“I really don’t see what possible harm it would cause,” Evie mused.
“Right… well, in that case,” the detective cleared his throat. “The dressmaker, Mrs. Green, described Mrs. Sheffield as looking pasty. Would you say Mrs. Sheffield looked off color during the afternoon tea party?”
“Are you trying to find out if the condition she succumbed to was actually present days before she died?” Evie thought that must be the case, otherwise, he would have requested to speak with Henrietta who had been present during Mrs. Sheffield’s final moments.
“Yes.”
Evie gave a slow shake of her head. “No, she didn’t look unwell. I now realize this is something I noticed at the time. Her cheeks were colored. If I had to form an opinion about it, I’d say she’d been excited by the gathering and meeting new people.” As she spoke, Evie tried to think what else might cause a person’s cheeks to color.
“Can you recall what Mrs. Sheffield ate?” the detective asked.
“I believe she enjoyed some fruitcake, but I can’t be sure. You must understand, there were several people present that day.”
“I assume you served tea.”
Evie nodded. Sitting back, she remembered Mrs. Sheffield studying Evie’s tea service. “Do you wish to know the blend of tea we use?” Evie stifled a gasp. Not long ago, the beverage she had served at an afternoon tea had come under suspicion.
“Actually, I wondered if Mrs. Sheffield made any specific requests for something she alone might have consumed.”
Evie gave it some thought. “No. If she had, I would have complied.”
When he gave his eyebrow a slight lift, Evie added, “At the risk of sounding too sensitive, she came across as being the type of person who would take exception to not getting her way. Had she asked for fresh goat’s milk, I believe I would have sent someone out to find a goat and milk it right in front of her.”
The detective got up. “Thank you for your time, my lady.”
Surprised by the brevity of his visit, Evie rose to her feet. “My pleasure, detective. I’m only too happy to assist.” But, had she? Evie watched the detective leave and then turned to Tom. “At the risk of sounding like the dowager, what just happened?”
Tom brushed his fingers across his chin. “I’m not sure.”
Evie tapped her foot. “For a moment there, I thought he might divulge some pertinent information.”
Tom agreed. “Yes, I expected that too.”
“I think he tricked me.”
Tom nodded. “He provided you with a false sense of self-worth and made you believe he would confide in you.”
“I wonder…” Evie tapped her chin.
Half an hour later, Tom steered the motor car along the road leading to the village and asked, “Are you still wondering? You issued instructions to get the car ready but you failed to share your thoughts.”
“The detective didn’t say how Mrs. Sheffield died but he showed interest in how she had looked days before she died. I’m thinking they are still trying to work out a cause of death and are, quite possibly, considering something that…” Evie shook her head. “No, I can’t put my finger on it.”
Tom said, “If it helps, I do believe you are on the right track. Either the detective thinks Mrs. Sheffield had a condition which led to her death or something she ate contributed to her death.”
“Yes.” Evie brightened. “Yes. That’s it. He’d wanted to know if she had made any special requests. Now, we need to figure out what that something is. What sort of special request would she have made at an afternoon tea that might possibly… maybe bring about her death?”
“Something she might have been allergic to,” Tom suggested.
Frowning, Evie said, “Some people are allergic to certain types of fish, but that’s not something I would serve at an afternoon tea party. Oh… I served lobster sandwiches once but not on the day in question.” Evie twiddled her thumbs. The detective had been quite underhanded. In the next breath, Evie argued with herself thinking the detective had merely used the necessary tactics to gain her co-operation. “He’s up to something.”
Tom glanced at her. “Sorry, I missed that.”
The roadster hit a bump on the road. Evie’s hand flew to her hat. “I’ll tell you when we stop.”
Tom slowed down for a farmhand making his way across the road with his horse and cart. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I would prefer to avoid it but needs must. Besides, I believe we are expected. If you need to advice against it, now is the time.”
He nodded. “I think visiting Mr. Sheffield is a bad idea.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Admit it. This isn’t just about paying your respects. You want to delve.”
Evie lifted her chin. “You can blame the detective.”
“How so?”
“He… taunted me into taking action and becoming involved.”
“That’s the part I don’t quite understand.”
Evie pushed out a breath. “You said it yourself. He led me to believe he would be sharing information with me and he didn’t. He only dangled a carrot by suggesting Mrs. Sheffield had been suffering from some sort of malaise which had been exacerbated by something she ate or drank at my tea party.”
“And now you feel it is your duty to fill in the gaps.”
“The alternative,” Evie said without sounding too defensive, “is to throw myself into gardening and we know how badly that turned out last time.”
“I see there is no talking you out of it.” With the road now cleared, Tom put the car into gear and drove the rest of the way into the village.
Evie pointed ahead. “The Sheffield house is two rows away from the vicarage.”
“So the land Mrs. Sheffield inherited is not attached to the house,” Tom mused.
“I guess not. That’s not unusual.” The house came into view. It appeared to have a sizable garden around it with mature fruit trees and a few ornamental ones. Tom parked the motor car outside the iron gates.
A woman dressed in black emerged from the house. Walking past them, she glanced at Evie and, recognizing her, she smiled and hurried away.
“How long do you think it will be before news about your visit spreads?” Tom asked.
“Half the village will have heard about it by now. I hope Millicent is still hovering around the village. It will be interesting to know how much information that woman will pass on.”
A butler dressed in black welcomed them and led them through to a lovely drawing room perfectly situated to receive the afternoon sunshine.
“The Countess of Woodridge and Mr. Tom Winchester,” the butler announced.
Mr. Sheffield approached them and extended his hand. Offering her condolences, Evie apologized for the intrusion.
“We are glad of company, my lady,” Mr. Sheffield said and introduced his sister and his sister-in-law.
Elizabeth Sheffield gave her a warm smile. “How very kind of you to call on us, my lady. It is unusual for a house in mourning to open their doors to visitors,” Elizabeth Sheffield said, “But my brother and I felt Miriam would want it this way.”
Miriam?
Charlotte Davis, Mrs. Sheffield’s sister, gave a small nod. “Yes, my sister would have found the company comforting. Miriam always enjoyed good company.” Reed thin, the woman wore severe black and clutched a handkerchief in her hands. She looked to be about Evie’s age. Perhaps older.
Miriam. Understanding dawned. Somehow, Evie had difficulty thinking of Mrs. Sheffield as Miriam. The name sounded too gentle for someone with such a determined character.
The butler appeared with a fresh pot of tea. In no time, they were settled around the fireplace drinking tea and scrutinizing each other. When no one spoke, Evie wondered if they were waiting to take their prompt from her.
As often happened, some people felt compelled to become reserved when in the company of someone with a title.
This left Evie wi
th the arduous task of leading the conversation. She also needed to decide if she should be tactful and avoid asking any indelicate questions...
Before she could decide how to proceed, Mr. Sheffield cleared his throat.
He spoke in a calm tone, “The service is set for this coming Sunday. My daughters are making their way as we speak.”
Mrs. Sheffield’s sister, Charlotte Davis, huffed. “One would think they would want to be here and help you in your hour of need. Their mother would have had something to say about that. They only think of themselves.”
It seemed Charlotte Davis shared a common trait with her sister.
“The girls will be here as soon as they can make the necessary arrangements,” Elizabeth Sheffield said, her voice heavy with grief. “You know they have households to run and cannot abandon everything at a moment’s notice.”
“Still… It seems rather callous of them,” Charlotte Davis continued.
Evie didn’t dare look at Tom for fear they might both give away their surprise at such a conversation.
Charlotte Davis turned to Evie. Smiling, she offered her some lemon cake.
“It looks delectable. Thank you.”
“It was very gracious of you to invite Mrs. Sheffield to afternoon tea, my lady,” Mr. Sheffield said. “She spoke very highly of you.” His gaze dropped to the table with the tea service and he sighed.
When his sister and sister-in-law followed suit, Evie glanced at the table. She didn’t see anything unusual.
A teapot. Teacups. A plate of fruitcake. The lemon cake Evie had been offered. Strangely, the fruitcake remained untouched.
As she looked away, she noticed something else.
A pot of honey.
She hadn’t seen anyone helping themselves to honey. Her granny always made sure to start the day with a spoonful of honey to ward off whatever might decide to attack her. She swore by it. Then again, she also swore by the glass of medicinal whisky she enjoyed every evening…
Evie leaned slightly forward. Yes, it was definitely honey. Noticing she had drawn everyone’s attention, she said, “It’s a pretty tea service.”
“My sister’s favorite,” Charlotte Davis said. “And, of course, the honey she loved so much. I understand you keep your own hives, my lady.”
Mr. Sheffield chortled. “Of course, Halton House took a ribbon last year.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had been living in the district that long.” In fact, Evie had been under the impression the Sheffield family had only recently re-settled in the area.
“We had tenants while we lived in town and I had a farm manager taking care of everything else. The tenants and the manager kept me abreast of all the goings on in the village.”
So, Mr. Sheffield had taken care of business. It made Evie wonder if he had land holdings of his own. “And are you from the area too, Mr. Sheffield?”
“Next county up. Wiltshire. Elizabeth and I still have family there.”
As Elizabeth Sheffield poured herself another cup of tea, Evie watched to see if she would use some of the honey to sweeten her drink.
She didn’t.
Her attention remained fixated on the ceremonial pot of honey. Of all the things that might have been used to commemorate Mrs. Sheffield’s absence, why honey?
Sitting back, she met Mr. Sheffield’s gaze.
He smiled and asked, “Are you entering your honey in this year’s fair, my lady?”
“Yes, I believe we are.”
He tapped his nose. “I think we might give you a run for your money this year. My beekeeper has been taking particularly good care of our bees.”
Elizabeth Sheffield sighed. “A blue ribbon for the best honey. Miriam would have loved that.”
Evie looked up from her teacup in time to catch Charlotte Davis grimacing. In disapproval?
Chapter Sixteen
“Folks are usually about as happy as they make
their minds up to be.”
– Abraham Lincoln
“What an odd family,” Evie remarked as they drove away from Mrs. Sheffield’s house. “Even as I make allowances for their state of grieving, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that is how they behave on any given day.” Evie laughed under her breath. “Then again, who am I to talk? I’m quite used to the people in my life behaving oddly, but an outsider might perceive their behavior in a different light.” Following a butterfly as it made its way across the road and headed toward the meadows beyond, she asked, “Did you notice anything of significance?”
Tom shook his head, only to then shrug. “I might be wrong, but I think the husband looked just fine.”
“Are you suggesting he is not at all sorry his wife died?”
“As I said, I might be wrong.”
“He is very proud of his honey.” Evie tapped her finger against her chin. “Should we look into it? Remember, the detective alluded to something when he asked if Mrs. Sheffield had made any special requests at my afternoon tea party. He might have been thinking about honey.”
“And why would honey have had anything to do with her death?” Tom asked.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Or, you could share the information with the scriptwriters,” Tom suggested. “I’m sure they will be only too happy to assist.”
“Yes, I have no doubt they’ll want to help… By including the information in their play.” Evie pointed to a lane up ahead. “Make a turn there. From memory, it will lead us to the beekeeper’s cottage. He’s one of the few estate workers I never quite got around to meeting. I feel he might be able to provide some answers for us.”
Evie sat back to admire the pretty scenery unfolding before them. Rows of trees lined one side of the lane and they were all in flower. “Just follow the trees. I believe there will be a gate up ahead. The trees actually form a wall around the property.”
Tom laughed. “That’s one way to keep the bees happy and contained.”
“Yes, I think that is the point.” She looked into the distance and couldn’t help thinking out loud, “I wonder if our bees mingle with other bees.”
Tom brought the car to a stop and hopped out to open the gate.
Evie emerged from the car. “We’ll walk the rest of the way. I wouldn’t want to disturb the bees.”
“They’re probably too busy to notice us,” Tom said.
“I’m thinking about the fumes from the motor car. Bees respond to smoke, so they might also react to fumes. I wouldn’t want to annoy them. They are such industrious little creatures, they deserve our respect.”
Tom held the gate open for her. As Evie walked on through, he said, “You have a bee in your bonnet.”
“I suppose you think I have become obsessed with Mrs. Sheffield’s death. Do I need to remind you the police have called on me not once but twice?”
“I meant to say you have a bee on your bonnet. Would you like me to shoo it away?”
“You said it was in… Oh, never mind. It will fly away, I’m sure.” After a moment, Evie asked, “Is it still there?”
“It’s circling around the flower on your hat. I guess it’s not the brightest bee in the hive.”
They followed the path which eventually led them to a small cottage with a tidy yard and a pretty display of ornamental shrubs.
Evie looked around. “I hope someone notices us. I’m afraid I have never been introduced to the beekeeper.”
After a few minutes, they heard someone approaching from the rear of the cottage. A tall man with a bushy beard and a mop of wild hair greeted them.
“Good afternoon,” Evie said. “I hope we haven’t caught you at a bad time.” She introduced herself and Tom.
“Milady. I’m Ned Fordham.”
Evie smiled. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoy your honey, Ned. It is exceptional.”
“I have little to do with that, milady. The bees do all the work.”
“And so they do.” Pointing at the trees surrounding the property, she a
sked, “What sort of trees are they?”
“Apple trees, milady. They’re buzzing with bees at this time of the year.”
Evie wondered if that affected the flavor of the honey. “Ned, do they feed on anything else?”
“Our bees? No, milady. Of course, there are always a few strays who wander into the garden and settle on a flower, but they mostly want the apple blossoms.”
“What about other beekeepers? Do they plant apple trees too?”
Ned brushed his hand along his beard. “There are several orchards in the area. I’m sure the local bees find their way to the trees, but we’re the only ones in the district to plant the apple trees specifically for the bees.” Ned smiled and lowered his voice. “Then, we also have our secret ingredient.”
Evie’s eyebrows curved up in surprise. “Is that what makes our honey taste so exceptionally good?”
He nodded.
“What’s the secret ingredient? Or is it too much of a secret to share even with me?”
“Orange blossoms, milady.”
“Oranges? Isn’t it too cold here for orange trees?”
“Ordinarily, yes, milady. However, we have been nurturing orange trees for well over 300 years.” He nudged his head toward the rear of the property. “We have a large greenhouse and the trees are grown in tubs, which I bring out in the springtime.”
“Fascinating. I can’t remember honey tasting so good. I believe we will take out another ribbon at the fair this year.”
Ned grinned again.
Reading the expression, Evie said, “Ned, I think you have another secret weapon up your sleeve.”
“I do, milady. Last year, we introduced kumquats. Would you like to see the hives?”
“Oh, perhaps another time, Ned. I’m afraid we must be getting back and I really don’t wish to disturb the bees.” She turned to leave only to stop. “Actually, do you know anything about Mr. Sheffield’s bees?”
“Mr. Sheffield from the Davis farm?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t say that I do, milady. But then, I don’t really get out and about. I don’t like to leave the hives alone for any length of time.”
