by Sonia Parin
“That’s very commendable, Ned. Thank you for your time.” Turning to Tom, she asked, “Is the bee still in my bonnet?”
“I wish I’d thought of something else to ask Ned,” Evie said as they made their way back to Halton House.
“That’s assuming we’re on the right track,” Tom said.
“Well, nothing else springs to mind. My reasoning tells me honey might have something to do with Mrs. Sheffield’s death, and I reached that conclusion because she seemed to have a penchant for it.”
“That’s all well and good,” Tom argued, “but how exactly will it tie in with her death? And what if she died of natural causes?”
Evie gave it some thought and then said, “The police must have their suspicions otherwise they would cease their investigation. Oh… I do wish I’d brought up the subject of the police when we visited Mr. Sheffield but I had been too sensitive of his grief. Mr. Sheffield might have let something slip. According to the detective, the family asked the police to look into Mrs. Sheffield’s death. Mr. Sheffield must surely have some sort of suspicions. Otherwise, why would he insist the police become involved? Now I’ll have to think of another excuse to visit him.”
“Or you could wait until the funeral service.”
“True, but that’s not until Sunday. I would prefer this unpleasant business be wrapped up by then.”
“Well, if you think about it,” Tom said, “Mrs. Sheffield hadn’t lived in the district long enough to attract enemies. Oh, wait… I forgot about you.”
“Tom, how could you? Surely, not even in jest. Although, you do have a point. If Mrs. Sheffield died under suspicious circumstances, then someone must have wanted her dead.”
“I nominate her sister-in-law.”
“Really? Elizabeth Sheffield? On what grounds? Her grief appeared to be genuine and profound.”
Tom tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “We know enough about Mrs. Sheffield to believe she could not have been the easiest woman to live with. What if she made Mr. Sheffield’s life miserable?”
“You actually think Elizabeth Sheffield would take matters into her own hands to liberate her brother from an oppressive wife? She’d have to be quite cold-blooded.”
“What exactly is your point?” he asked.
“She didn’t strike me as being cold-blooded. On the contrary. She seemed to be quite sensitive.”
“That can be faked,” Tom reasoned.
Yes, appearances could be deceptive. “I’m not prepared to form opinions just yet. Remember, they are in mourning. People don’t always react the way one expects them to. I tried to soldier on, but in the end—” Evie broke off. She didn’t like talking about her loss. Sighing, she removed her hat and inspected it.
“Are you making sure you don’t have a stowaway?”
She smiled at him. “Bee in my bonnet, indeed.”
As they approached the Halton House gatehouse, Evie found herself thinking about bees and blossoms. “Here’s something else I wish had occurred to me.” She tapped her hat. “I wonder if there are any flowers bees should stay away from.” They had recently learned about plants which could be poisonous to animals. So, there might be certain flowers bees needed to keep away from…
Tom brought the car to a stop and turned to her. “We could go back to the apiary tomorrow and ask Ned or… We could spend some time in the library researching it. I can’t think of a better way to avoid the scriptwriters. They are determined to give me a role in their play.”
“You seem to forget the scriptwriters are working in the library.”
“No, they’re not. I heard them say they wanted a change of scenery and would be working in the pink drawing room.”
“In that case, doing research in the library sounds like a solid plan. I’ll join you shortly.” Evie excused herself saying she wanted to check in on the scriptwriters.
Easing the door to the drawing room open, she looked up in time to see Henrietta rushing toward her.
“Evangeline. You cannot be here right now. You’re not in this scene and we’re all talking about you. It would be quite awkward for you to be present.”
“W-why?”
Henrietta looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “You’ll make Edgar nervous and uncomfortable.”
“Surely not. He is accustomed to having me around.”
“This is different. If you must know, Lord Edgar rescued you from the poorhouse. Now you’ve killed Mrs. Sheffield. We are trying to decide your fate and if you insist on being here, I’m afraid Edgar will feel obligated to go easy on you.”
“Heavens, and we can’t have that.”
“No, we can’t.”
Moments later, Evie walked into the library, her lips slightly parted.
Tom laughed. “What news do you bring from the drawing room?”
“At some point, that will cease to be humorous. You won’t believe this. I have been asked to keep out of the drawing room because I might disrupt the flow of creativity and lessen the harsh punishment they feel I deserve. I would ring for some tea but I’m afraid of disrupting the footmen who are no doubt standing by the other door to the drawing room with their ears pressed against it.”
Tom drew a book out from the shelf and studied it. “Are you about to say you have become superfluous in your own house?”
Glowering at the library door, Evie said, “I feel I should storm in there and plead my case.”
Tom handed her a book. “Put your mind to good use.”
“Oh, I see we do have books on bees. Why am I surprised? We seem to have books on every subject under the sun.” Evie settled down to read but she didn’t get beyond the title page.
The door to the library opened and Caro and Millicent stepped inside.
“Is this a good moment, milady?” Caro asked.
“Come in. Come in. Dare I ask? What news do you bring?” She gestured for them to sit. As expected, both Caro and Millicent hesitated. “Oh, please do sit down.”
They both obliged and sat on the edge of their seats.
“Mission accomplished, milady,” Millicent declared. “I have befriended Miss Anna Weston.”
“Oh, that was fast work.” Evie waited for Millicent to reveal more but her maid’s attention had drifted to Tom. “Millicent, you remember Tom.”
Millicent grinned and nodded.
Tom looked up from his book. “Hello, Millicent.”
Millicent responded by fluttering her eyelashes and giggling.
Heaven help us all, Evie thought. She gave the young maid a moment to recover and then, clearing her throat, Evie asked, “Did you find out anything else?”
Shifting in her seat, Millicent finally managed to tear her eyes away from Tom. “Yes, milady. Anna Weston is full of anger and resentment. Mrs. Sheffield had promised to introduce her to a suitable man. And now she’s dead.”
“Really? Anna Weston wants to marry?”
Millicent nodded. “She mentioned several prospects slipping through her fingers over the years. I must say, at one point, I felt scared. She appeared to fixate on how her life should have been and blamed several locals for ruining her chances.”
“That’s not a good sign,” Caro murmured.
Evie felt compelled to agree. Not everyone had the ability to accept responsibility for their actions or their lives. “Yes, but at least it puts Anna Weston in the clear. Surely, she would not have harmed someone who had offered to help her.”
“Oh, does that mean Mrs. Sheffield was murdered?” Caro asked.
“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you or stoke the fires of suspicion.” Turning back to Millicent, Evie asked, “How exactly did you befriend Anna Weston?”
“I strolled by her cottage a couple of times and finally caught her attention. She had been tending to her garden. When she invited me in, she led me through to the rear garden where she had set up a table for afternoon tea. I asked if she’d been expecting someone because there were two teacups. That’s when s
he told me she had become accustomed to Mrs. Sheffield dropping in.”
“Did she happen to have a pot of honey?” Evie asked.
“Oh, yes. It was one of those earthenware brown pots with honey written on it. When I tried to help myself to some, she moved the pot away from my reach saying the pot was empty. I’m not sure I believed her. That’s when I had the feeling I should run for my life. She had this odd look about her. She stared at me without blinking. Of course, if you wish me to, I will return, but I can’t say I’ll be happy about it.”
Evie gave her a reassuring smile. “I wouldn’t ask you to do something that puts you in danger.” If she hadn’t been convinced before, Evie now believed she had reason to question Miss Anna Weston’s emotional stability. “Did she mention anything about attending the service?
Millicent nodded. “She said she would be preparing a special bouquet.”
Evie patted the book she still held. “Tom, it appears we might be on the right track after all.” Honey seemed to be a key element in this mystery.
“There’s something else, milady. Anna Weston doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“Did she say why?”
“Well, when Mrs. Sheffield received an invitation to attend Mrs. Ellington’s farewell afternoon tea, she suddenly had no time for Anna Weston. If you ask me, I’d say the woman had been biding her time until the local gentry accepted her into their inner circle. Anyhow, Anna Weston holds you responsible for breaking up her friendship with Mrs. Sheffield.”
Evie heard Tom put his book down.
“What do you make of that, Tom?” Evie asked.
“Anna Weston finds a new friend who promises to change her life by introducing her to a suitable man and then the woman abandons her.” Tom shrugged. “I’d say Miss Anna Weston has conflicting reasons to feel resentful.”
Evie would have to agree, but how far would Anna Weston go and what measures would she have at her disposal? That led Evie to entertain a stray thought. While she and Tom needed to refer to books, Evie knew there were people around who held the information they sought at their fingertips. Did Anna Weston know anything about honey? Did she know about Mr. Sheffield’s apiary?
“Millicent, do you know if Anna Weston ever met Mrs. Sheffield’s family?”
“She didn’t. I know that with absolute certainty because she made a point of telling me Mrs. Sheffield had found one excuse after the other to avoid inviting her to her house. So, Anna Weston went from politely inviting me to afternoon tea, to ranting about all her grievances. Including the ones she holds against you. Did I mention she doesn’t like you very much?”
Tom chortled.
Evie slanted her gaze toward Tom. “I find your amusement out of place.”
“My apologies. I couldn’t help myself,” Tom said.
“What exactly did you find amusing?” Evie held up a hand. “I believe I know. You think I’m torn.”
He smiled.
“In fact, you think I am torn between feeling sorry for Anna Weston and wanting to cast aspersions on her character.”
He agreed with a smile. “And now, you’re about to tell me Anna Weston is probably still in shock over her friend’s death and so she cannot be held responsible for her fluctuating emotions.”
“Grief is a difficult emotion to deal with. You find yourself needing to move on but you’re unable to. It’s a tug of war few of us are equipped to deal with.” Straightening, Evie noticed Caro giving Millicent a nudge with her elbow. It was enough to distract her.
Had her odd relationship with Tom given rise to widespread speculation among her household staff?
“Did you part ways on good terms?” she asked Millicent.
“Oh, yes. In the end, that is, when I suddenly surged to my feet and made an excuse to leave, Anna Weston smiled brightly and invited me to return.”
“You did very well, Millicent. Thank you.”
Caro stood up. “Well, if you’ll excuse me. I must return to the drawing room. We are in the midst of deciding what to do with you… milady.”
Chapter Seventeen
“If you want to be happy, set a goal that commands your thoughts, liberates your energy, and inspires your hopes.” – Andrew Carnegie
Unable to sleep, Evie made her way down to the library. The evening had progressed smoothly with all dinner conversation revolving around the weather and country pursuits. It had struck Evie as odd until Phillipa had explained they were all taking a break from discussing the play. Of course, Evie understood they were merely trying to avoid discussing her fate, or rather, the fate of her fictional character.
She had almost felt compelled to raise the issue and argue in favor of her character but it seemed their minds had already been made up.
Evie considered going down to the kitchen to prepare herself a cup of hot chocolate but then she remembered the last time she had attempted to prepare herself a drink. Mrs. Horace had caught her red-handed and had sent her away saying she would prepare the drink for her, never mind that it had been well after midnight.
The mantle clock chimed the hour. It seemed too late to wake anyone up just because she had a craving for hot chocolate.
Something had stirred her awake. She and Tom had poured through several books before and after dinner but nothing had sprung out at them.
She settled in the library to read yet another book about bees. After absorbing more basic facts than she would ever need, she couldn’t help wondering why humans were always compelled to domesticate creatures. Of course, it made sense to try to meet demands and control productivity…
Her thoughts jumped from domesticating bees to domesticating people. She didn’t need to exert herself too much. Mrs. Sheffield’s need to exercise her control over people had been clear from the start. She had tried to manipulate her. Had she also exercised her will over others? Had Anna Weston been held hostage by Mrs. Sheffield’s influence?
What could Mrs. Sheffield possibly have gained from that activity? Delight at having her own way with people? At commanding them? Had Mrs. Sheffield thought of herself as a queen bee?
Tom had been right in thinking Mr. Sheffield had not looked as grief stricken as one might have expected him to be. However, Evie insisted people had their own individual way of dealing with grief.
For all they knew, he might still be lingering in denial, hence the need to involve the police in an investigation.
She wished the detective had been more forthcoming with information. “It would save everyone so much trouble,” Evie murmured. And she wouldn’t have to do so much reading…
As she turned the pages looking for a relevant chapter, Evie came across a folded piece of paper. She strained to read the scratchy scrawl. The note made reference to the benefits of introducing orange trees to the bees. Skimming through the chapter, Evie smiled. The piece of paper had been slipped into the relevant chapter. Someone had done their homework.
Deciding she had done enough reading for one night, she put the book away only to notice another title of interest. She drew the book out and took it back to her room.
After reading a couple of chapters on the history of honey, she turned the page and began reading about something called mad honey.
It sounded intriguing but then, the lines began to blur, so she set the book down and made herself comfortable for the night. That included counting her blessings.
As she did, she wondered if Mrs. Sheffield had counted her blessings or if she had made lists of people she had wanted to fix.
What had made her want to meddle in people’s lives? Had she been unhappy with her lot?
Even without the privileges she enjoyed, Evie knew she could find something to be happy about. The sun warming her skin. The fresh air she breathed. Spring blooms. The fact she had eyes to see the beauty around her.
With that thought lingering in her mind, she forgot all about Mrs. Sheffield and drifted off to sleep.
Rising early the next morning, Evie dressed herself and
took her beekeeping book down to breakfast with her.
“Good morning, Edgar.” Her butler inclined his head. “Am I the first to come down?” she asked as she helped herself to some eggs and toast.
“Yes, my lady.”
Half an hour later, she still sat alone.
“More coffee, my lady?”
“Thank you, Edgar. I can’t help wondering where everyone else is.”
“They are in the library, my lady. The scriptwriters had an early start to the day and decided to have coffee there while they worked on the third act.”
“Oh… how industrious of them.”
The door opened and Tom strode in. “Ah, good. I see I’m in time for breakfast.”
As he sat down with a plate full of sausages and eggs, he glanced at Evie’s book. “Have you discovered anything new?”
“I read something interesting last night and thought I would browse through the chapter this morning to refresh my memory but…” she had been distracted by the fact she’d been alone.
She opened the book and flipped through the pages. “I recall reading something about crazy honey… No, not crazy. Mad honey. Yes, that’s it. There’s a part which describes the poisoning of Roman troops in the first century. They were marching to battle when they came across some honey. After eating it, they became confused and sick.”
“Did they win the battle?” Tom asked.
“I assume they didn’t. Sorry, I drifted off to sleep. Did you get anywhere with your research? I saw you take a book with you.”
“I believe I am now well versed in the history of beekeeping.” He looked at her book again. “That mad honey you mentioned sounds interesting.”
“I’d like to visit Mr. Sheffield’s hives today. I thought I might read more along the way.”
“Where is everyone?” Tom asked.
“They’re busy writing the third act.”
“Oh, yes. That’s the one where you take action and poison poor Mrs. Sheffield.”
“It’s actually Mrs. Hatfield and I suspect the scriptwriters might be trying to avoid me.” Evie glanced at Edgar. “They decided my fate yesterday and today they probably can’t face me.”
