The Tale of Holly How

by ALBERT, SUSAN WITTIG

  Miles stared at him. “Why, man, attempted murder, of course! On the testimony of that servant you talked to this morning. Miss . . . whoever she is. And then we’ll go and look for the flypaper and—”

  “But Ruth Safford cannot swear that the poison was administered to her ladyship,” Heelis pointed out. “Arsenic-water has other purposes.”

  “Heelis is right,” Butters said heavily. “Mrs. Maybrick argued that she intended to use it for cosmetic purposes. Simple possession proves nothing, I’m afraid.”

  “But then what?” Miles asked, throwing up his hands. “We can’t just stand by and let murder be done!”

  “Right, old chap,” Heelis agreed, with a glint in his eye. “So let me tell you the plan that Miss Potter proposed to me, and to which I have agreed. Caroline has been detailed to work in Miss Barwick’s bakery here in the village for a day or two, where she can no doubt make herself useful whilst she is being kept safely out of the way. And Miss Potter is going to Tidmarsh Manor to conduct a brief inquiry.” At Miles’s astonished look, he added, rather sheepishly, “She insists that it is entirely safe, of course, or I should not have allowed her to go.” He took out his watch and looked at it. “She’s probably on her way by now.”

  “ ‘Allowed her to go, ’ ” Miles muttered ironically, shaking his head. “I doubt if anyone in the world could keep that woman from doing anything she pleases.”

  28

  Miss Potter Conducts an Inquiry

  Beatrix was indeed, as Mr. Heelis had said, on her way to Tidmarsh Manor. She had gone first to Hill Top, commandeered Winston and harnessed him to the cart, and was within sight of the old house. It seemed more melancholy than grim to her, now that she knew more about what was going on inside. It was interesting, she thought, the way one’s perception of a place—or a person—changed when one knew something more. Just now, she couldn’t feel anything but pity toward Lady Longford.

  She tied Winston to the post and went up to the front door and knocked. When Emily admitted her, she spoke a few words to her, and was then shown into the morning room, where Miss Martine was engaged in writing a letter.

  “I was so sorry to hear about her ladyship’s indisposition,” Beatrix said in her most earnest tone. “I do hope she is feeling better this morning.”

  “Somewhat.” Miss Martine’s frown discouraged other queries. “You’ve brought Caroline back, have you? Has she been sent upstairs?”

  Beatrix made a slight gesture. “Since her ladyship seemed so very ill last night, Mr. Heelis suggested that it might be better if Caroline did not return immediately. Youngsters can be so annoying at times, and I know from what you have said that she is not as obedient as one might wish. Mr. Heelis has arranged for her to be looked after in the village.” She smiled gently. “I felt that your nerves might be under a strain, too, Miss Martine. Perhaps it would be best if I retrieved the little creature I left yesterday. With Caroline gone, it’s really not fair to ask you to care for him.”

  “Well,” said Miss Martine huffily, “it’s good that someone is considering my nerves, which have been quite badly frayed in this ordeal—her ladyship deathly ill and that doctor totally unable to find a remedy, and then the girl disappearing.” She sighed the sigh of a woman who is terribly put upon. “Yes, indeed, take the wretched animal away with you. If you can find him, that is. Emily says he was not in his box this morning.”

  “I’ll ask Emily to help me look for him,” Beatrix said, although she knew very well that poor little Tuppenny was lost on Holly How, and that there was no chance of finding him at the Manor. But reclaiming the guinea pig was not the purpose of her visit, in spite of what she had just told Miss Martine. She had come to have an uninterrupted talk with Emily, and when she went upstairs to the school room, she did just that.

  “I’m so sorry about the little fellow, Miss Potter,” Emily said, twisting her hands together, a despairing look on her round, rosy face. “As you can see, the creature’s box is empty. I can’t think how he might have got out of his box, or where he’s gone off to.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be found under a bed or behind a curtain,” Beatrix said in a comforting tone. “When he’s discovered, just pop him into his box and take him down to the kitchen, and I’ll come and get him.”

  “Oh, I will, miss,” Emily promised, her blue eyes very serious. “As soon as I find him.”

  “Thank you,” said Beatrix, and turned as if to leave. Then she turned back, shutting the door as she did so. “Oh, Emily, I nearly forgot. I wanted to pass along a remark I’ve heard. About your work, I mean.”

  “A remark, Miss Potter?” Emily’s hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened with distress. “Oh dear! What have I done? I hope I haven’t—”

  “You haven’t done anything, my dear,” Beatrix said with a reassuring smile. “I wanted to let you know that her ladyship commented to the doctor yesterday that she just couldn’t get along without you.” It wasn’t true, at least to Beatrix’s knowledge, but if Lady Longford could stop thinking about herself long enough to think about Emily, she might say something of the sort.

  “That’s very kind of her ladyship,” replied Emily, with evident relief. “I worry, you know, especially since Miss Martine let Ruth go. But I think she likes me more than she liked Ruth,” she added. “Miss Martine, I mean. It’s not always easy to please her, but I try to help her all I can—and her ladyship too, of course.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Beatrix said gravely. “You must be an enormous help, especially now that her ladyship is ill. I imagine you do all kinds of things for Lady Longford. Changing her bed linen, caring for her clothes, making sure that she has her medicine—”

  Emily, who had been nodding all the while that Beatrix spoke, suddenly opened her eyes wide. “Oh, I’m not to meddle with medicines. Miss Martine does all the nursing and handles the medicines and such like.”

  “Oh, of course,” Beatrix said. “She makes up her ladyship’s medicines, does she?”

  “Sometimes,” Emily said. “Dr. Butters prescribes things, of course. And Miss Martine wrote away to a friend who’s a doctor, and he sent a remedy that Dr. Butters didn’t have.”

  “How very thoughtful of her,” Beatrix murmured. “She made up the medicine, then, did she?”

  Emily nodded brightly. “It comes in a strip, you know, rather like a flypaper, only of course it’s not. It’s to be soaked in warm water, in a basin. I wouldn’t have known about this, but I happened on her making it a few days ago, you see, and she told me all about it.” She smiled confidentially. “I don’t like to brag, but Miss Martine tells me things. She says I have promise—as a lady’s maid, I mean. She thinks I should go to London, and she’s promised to help me find a good place.” She tilted her head, her eyes darkening a little. “Of course, I would be sorry to leave Sawrey. But Miss Martine has ever so many friends, and all of them are quite wealthy and live in very fine houses, and they are always wanting ever so many maids, especially good ones. And she says that once I am in London, I will have such fine dresses as you can’t think. Silk dresses, and ribbons and lace and—”

  “Why, of course,” Beatrix said. “I’m sure you will do quite well in London, Emily, although your sister will certainly miss you.” She paused. “And after you saw Miss Martine mix the medicine, did you see her administer it to her ladyship?”

  Emily nodded earnestly. “In her tea. That’s what Miss Martine’s doctor told her to do, you see. Use the water to make her tea. It might take a little time to cure the infection, and she might have to give her ladyship several more doses. But she’s bound to be better soon, the doctor says.”

  “I’m sure,” Beatrix said. “I can see why her ladyship thinks so highly of you, Emily. You are a very great help to her, indeed.” She smiled and opened the door “You don’t need to see me downstairs, my dear. Stay and get on with your work.”

  And Emily would soon be an even greater help to Lady Longford, Beatrix thought, for she was the perfect
witness, so innocent of any imagination of wrongdoing that she did not hesitate to report truthfully what she had seen. And that made her a danger to Miss Martine. As she went down the stairs, Beatrix thought that she wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the letter Miss Martine had been engaged in writing was an effort to find Emily a place in London, in order to get her out of the house.

  But Miss Martine was doing much more than that. As Beatrix reached the second-floor stair landing, she looked down and saw Dr. Gainwell, dressed for traveling, set down his valise and step into the morning room, closing the door behind him.

  Now, Beatrix was not the kind of person who intentionally eavesdrops, but even she had to concede that there were times when one was compelled to set aside one’s scruples. She hesitated for only the briefest moment, then went down the stairs and stood close to the morning-room door, which Dr. Gainwell had neglected to close completely.

  Inside the morning room, Miss Martine looked up from the letter she was writing to Mrs. Morant, owner of the Acme Employment Agency, to see her brother enter the room.

  “I’ve come to tell you goodbye, Mabel.” His mouth tightened. “My bags are packed, and I’ve asked Beever to bring the phaeton round.” He paused and added emphatically, “Mabel.”

  “Packed!” Miss Martine exclaimed, feeling suddenly frightened. “You’re not leaving me here alone, Kenneth! You mustn’t! You can’t!”

  “Why not?” Kenneth said testily. “There’s no reason for me to stay. The position that you promised me went to someone else—and it’s clear that I wouldn’t have been any good in the job, anyway, in spite of your saying I would. And now that I’ve met the girl, I can tell you that I won’t have anything to do with harming her. If she’s in the way of your getting the old lady’s money, you’ll just have to deal with her yourself, Mabel. This whole thing was your idea, anyway.”

  “It may have been my idea,” Miss Martine said pettishly, “but you were glad enough to get the jewelry I sent you, and to sell it and buy yourself those fine clothes. And now—”

  “I did that because you promised there wouldn’t be any difficulty. You said you were making arrangements for a new will, and when the old lady was dead, we’d sell this place and go abroad.” Kenneth gave her a bitter glance. “According to you, it was all going to be so easy.”

  “It was—until the girl came. And then you promised to help me get rid of—”

  He shook his head violently. “I never said I’d do that. Killing’s not my line of work, no more than school teaching is.”

  “But if she’s still alive to inherit—”

  “Oh, leave off, Mabel,” Kenneth said disgustedly. “And leave off that dreadful fake accent. I’m not going to help with this scheme of yours, and that’s flat.” He grinned crookedly. “Don’t bother to see me off, my dear. I’ll write to you when I get to London.”

  “I beg you, Kenneth,” Miss Martine said desperately. “I need your help. I can’t do this without you. I—” And she began to cry.

  Out in the hallway, Beatrix felt she had heard all that she needed to hear, and she didn’t want to be caught. She went quickly to the front door and, trying to look as if she wasn’t in a hurry, went down the walk and past Mr. Beever, who was waiting behind Lady Longford’s pair of smart grays. Untying Winston, she climbed into the cart and picked up her pony whip.

  “Winston,” she said, low and determined, “we must beat those grays down to the village. If you have it in you to go like the wind, now is the time.” She flicked her whip lightly on his firm brown rump.

  “Go like the wind?” Winston’s head snapped up. “Beat those grays?” He lifted one hoof. “Well, now, I call that a fine challenge. Hold on to your hat, Miss Potter! Here we go!” And with that, they were off like a shot.

  Beatrix, not quite understanding Winston’s warning, failed to hold on to her straw hat. It sailed off her head and into the meadow long before they reached the village and pulled to a stop in front of Captain Woodcock’s house—well in advance of Lady Longford’s grays.

  29

  Bosworth Proposes a Plan

  Breakfast was one of the very best times of day at The Brockery, it seemed to Bosworth. The breakfast table was always crowded with a great many animals, some permanent boarders, some temporary lodgers, others staying just for the night on their way somewhere else. They were all at their best in the morning, rested and full of exuberant energy and interesting plans for the day ahead—always a wonderful day, because animals rarely worry or imagine the worst of what is to come, as people do. They were generally planning a picnic, or a foraging expedition, or the pleasant completion of chores, or just loafing on a quiet riverbank, listening to the whispering water and whistling birds and watching butterflies whirl through the transparent air.

  Breakfast this morning was a particularly lively affair, in part because the table was full. Bosworth sat in his usual place at the head, whilst Parsley sat at the foot, passing the marmalade and toast and boiled eggs and rashers of bacon and pouring additional cups of tea. On the bench to Bosworth’s left sat Flotsam the rabbit, and next to her sat her sister, Jetsam, both wearing white aprons and maids’ caps. Then a small hedgehog named Thistle who had wandered away from her family and now helped Parsley in the kitchen, scraping vegetables and doing the washing up. Then Parsley, and to Parsley’s left, Ramsey Rat, his gray whiskers thick with egg. To Ramsey’s left sat an elderly ferret, too blind to see which side of his toast was up, so that he was constantly having to lick butter from his paws. And on the bench next to the ferret, at Bosworth’s right, sat Tuppenny the guinea pig, who was happily telling everyone that he was a visitor down from London on the train, and that he lived with Miss Potter, who was a famous artist and made books for children, and that she planned to make a book about him someday, and then he would be famous, too.

  “G’wan,” said Ramsey Rat scornfully, helping himself to his second soft-boiled egg. “What’s an insignificant scrap of a thing like you ever done that’s important enough to make a book about?”

  Tuppenny’s face fell, and Bosworth patted his paw. “Don’t pay him any mind, Tuppenny. Every animal has a story, and you will have one, too—some day. You just have to be a little patient. Stories don’t grow on trees, you know.”

  Bosworth might have gone on in this reassuring vein, except that he was interrupted by the loud clang of a bell. Someone was tugging at the bell-pull at The Brockery’s front door, an authoritative tug, from the sound of it, as if the fellow outside knew exactly what he had come for and meant to have it. There was a second pull, equally authoritative, and Bosworth put down his fork.

  “Go and let whoever it is in, Flotsam,” he said to the rabbit on his left. “It’s been wet outside, so tell him to leave his galoshes in the hall.”

  A few moments later, Flotsam returned, in the company of quite an unexpected visitor. “Professor Galileo Newton Owl to see you, sir,” she squeaked. “And here is your newspaper. It was lying on the doormat.” She wrinkled her nose as she handed it over. “It’s a bit dampish, I’m afraid, sir.”

  “Why, Owl, old chap!” exclaimed the Badger, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “Goodness gracious, what a delightful surprise this is! We hardly ever see you down here, you know.”

  It was quite true. The owl regularly and generously entertained his friends and colleagues in his beech-tree home, and had even installed a ladder for the convenience of those animals who were not naturally tree-climbers and could not fly up to his lofty tree house, which had (or so it seemed to Bosworth) the giddy habit of swaying in the wind. But when it came to returning social calls to those who lived underground, Owl usually extended his regrets. He was known to feel that there was something . . . well, a bit cramped and closed-in underground, where if he so much as lifted a wing without thinking, he was bound to brush a friend’s book off his table or a picture from a wall. The professor much preferred the open reaches of sky, where he could stretch his wings to the buoyant wi
nds and soar high and wide above the fields and vast fells.

  However, Bosworth did not push the matter, for he was well aware that the Sixth Rule of Thumb forbade a courteous badger from criticizing other animals’ choices as far as living and dining arrangements were concerned—to each his own, as it were, no questions asked. So he motioned to Tuppenny to slide down the bench and begged a clean plate and cup from Parsley. In a moment, Owl was settled before a comfortably large helping of eggs and bacon and toast and a cup of steaming tea. Flotsam and Jetsam went off with their feather dusters; Parsley and Thistle disappeared in the direction of the larder, to confer about the day’s meals; and the rat and ferret excused themselves to go to their rooms and get on with their morning naps, the first activity in their plan for the day. This left only Bosworth, Owl, and Tuppenny at the table.

  “Well, Owl, what brings you out at such an early hour?” asked the badger, refilling his teacup and sitting back comfortably in his chair.

  “Late,” corrected the professor, with a yawn that almost split his beak. “It is a very late hour for me, and I must be getting home tooo bed. However, I felt the need tooo consult with yooou on an urgent bit of business, Badger. It concerns an event that’s scheduled tooo take place tooonight, in the field behind the Sawrey Hotel. An appalling event, I’m sorry tooo say.” He suddenly became aware of Tuppenny, and scowled. “The story isn’t fit for young ears,” he said sternly. “Whooo are yooou?”

  Tuppenny twitched his nose nervously. “I’m Tuppenny, please, sir,” he twittered. “I’m a guinea pig.”

  “Not a pig,” said the owl firmly, spooning marmalade onto his piece of toast. “Yooou are definitely not a pig. Pigs dooo not have fur, and yooou dooo not have a pigtail.”

  “I’ve been all through that with him, Owl,” said Bosworth, “and it’s no use. He insists that he’s a pig, and no amount of talking will change his opinion.” To Tuppenny, he said in a kindly voice, “Tuppenny, my boy, I expect that Parsley might have a chore or two for you, if you wouldn’t mind giving her a hand. Off with you, now, that’s a good fellow.”