A Pinch of Poison

by Alyssa Maxwell

  She smiled down at their joined hands and partially rejoiced that the embarrassing blushes that typically plagued her in Owen’s presence seemed to have permanently subsided. “Actually, the constable asked Eva and me to see what we could find out from the staff and students. It’s easier for us to talk to them than for him, as I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Speak with whom?” a voice behind them asked.

  As if being caught doing something elicit, Phoebe slipped her hand from Owen’s. She lamented the loss of his strong fingers around hers for a second or two, before Miss Sedgewick swept toward them, her raised eyebrows indicating she did, indeed, just catch them at something. Or was that merely Phoebe’s imagination?

  The woman’s rolling, feline stride made her flowing skirt undulate in gentle waves. She extended her hand several paces away, acting very much the hostess welcoming a guest. A cloud of perfume enveloped Phoebe.

  “Miss Sedgewick,” she said after clearing her throat, “this is Lord Owen Seabright. He has brought more donations from his own mills, and he has offered to help us transport everything to the Red Cross distribution centers.”

  “My deepest condolences on the loss of your headmistress.” Owen grasped her hand and bowed slightly over it before releasing her.

  “Yes, thank you.” Miss Sedgewick’s sorrowful look lasted all of an instant before she gazed up at him with a beaming countenance. “My lord, your assistance with the donations is most generous. On behalf of the entire school, I cannot thank you enough.”

  “You’re very welcome, but it’s Lady Phoebe you should thank. This was all her idea, from what I understand.”

  “Oh?” Miss Sedgewick smiled a bit too prettily for Phoebe’s liking. “Well, it was, after all, a joint effort. Without the school—”

  “That’s true,” Phoebe interrupted her. “Without Miss Finch’s gracious cooperation, we would not have achieved nearly so much. And of course there was the hard work of the students. They truly rose to the occasion. I’m very proud of them all.”

  Miss Sedgewick’s smile, frozen in place, lost a measure of its enthusiasm. She turned her attention back to Owen in a manner obviously meant to exclude Phoebe. “I do hope you’ll stay and be my guest for tea. Would you care for a tour of our little school? We’re very proud of what we accomplish with our young ladies.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Owen replied with another deferential bob of his head, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline both, for now. We need to load these boxes. I believe we’re waiting for your handyman, if he’s available.”

  “Now that’s odd. I sent Lady Phoebe’s maid out for him some minutes ago. She should have returned by now.” Her lips curled at the corners. “Lady Phoebe, is your maid in the habit of becoming lost?”

  “No, she is not,” Phoebe all but snapped. A brisk clicking of heels sounded in the main hall.

  Miss Sedgewick chuckled. “Why, that must be her now, and from the sounds of it, she is alone. If you’ll excuse me, I suppose I’ll have to go and find Elliot myself.”

  Before Miss Sedgewick could leave, Eva came through the doorway, lines of anxiety etched in her face. She and Miss Sedgewick assessed each other from head to toe, and then Miss Sedgewick once more excused herself and swept away.

  Phoebe gestured for Eva to join her and Owen. “What’s wrong?”

  Her maid came to a breathless halt. “I can’t say with any certainty, my lady, but I just tried to engage the handyman’s services, and he reacted in the queerest way.” She described the encounter.

  “This is the second person to behave this way since yesterday.” For Owen’s benefit, Phoebe explained, “Yesterday, Eva tried to speak with the school nurse, and the woman reacted in a similar manner. Isn’t that right, Eva?”

  “Indeed, my lady.” Eva’s expression conveyed bewilderment. “Perhaps it’s me.”

  “It is most certainly not you,” Phoebe assured her. “But something very odd is going on at this school. Do you think the nurse and the handyman could have been afraid of Miss Finch?”

  “I suppose, but it was when I mentioned Miss Sedgewick to the handyman that his nervousness turned to fear and he babbled about not having done—well, whatever it was. He never made anything clear.”

  “You say he seemed disoriented and childlike?” Owen asked.

  “He did, my lord.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say dangerous. I had no sense of that. Merely fearful. Before I went looking for him Miss Sedgewick told me he was something of an idiot—to use her word.”

  “Perhaps the poor man was wounded in the war, and left permanently addled.” Phoebe turned to Owen. “Is that possible?”

  “Certainly. I’ve seen it before. Almost anything can set off an episode—thunder, sudden noises, surprises . . . Many soldiers continuously relive the horrors of the battlefield, even believe bombs are dropping or they’re about to be caught in machine gun fire.”

  “How horrible. I did take him by surprise,” Eva said with dismay. “Had I known of his condition, I certainly would have approached him differently.”

  Phoebe patted her hand. “I’m sure you would have. It wasn’t your fault. Miss Sedgewick should have been more specific. But if the man is a war veteran, perhaps something can be done for him. Perhaps a doctor can help him. This is what the RCVF is all about—helping those who served our country. But some needs are beyond the comfort of blankets and warm clothing. I think this bears looking into.”

  “Yes, it does. We’ll need to find out more.” Owen went to the table and hefted a crate. “In the meantime, since our handyman appears to be missing in action, I’ll carry these out, while my lorry driver loads and arranges.”

  “I’ll help.” Eva lifted one of the smaller parcels, still a sizable load. Phoebe picked up another. Miss Sedgewick returned, this time with a slender youth whose shoulders barely filled his work shirt. He stood with his head bent, eyes on the floor.

  “I found him,” Miss Sedgewick said, “right where I said he’d be, Miss Huntford. Funny you didn’t see him.” Her tone implied it wasn’t at all funny, but an oversight that caused her considerable inconvenience. “My dear Lady Phoebe, you mustn’t carry that, you’ll strain yourself. And you, Lord Owen—we can’t have you injuring your back.” She darted an order over her shoulder. “Don’t stand there sulking at your shoes, boy. Go and take those cartons this instant.”

  The youth stepped forward but halted, his gaze shifting from Phoebe to Owen to Eva and back. He obviously didn’t know whom to relieve first of his or her burden. “Never mind, this is nothing,” Phoebe said, despite the slight ache already spreading across her shoulders. “Not heavy at all.”

  “Nor is this.” Owen stepped past the young man. “And we’ll finish much more quickly if we all lend a hand.” With his chin he gestured toward the table holding the donations. The handyman—Elliot, Phoebe believed Miss Sedgewick had called him—straightened his shoulders and hoisted the largest of the crates, one Phoebe would have thought needed the strength of two men. Yet he accomplished the feat as if the container held nothing more substantial than goose down. With a sure stride he left the dining hall.

  Now it was Miss Sedgewick who appeared uncertain as to what to do next. She hesitantly walked to the table, eyeing the various bundles. Owen followed Elliot into the main hall, and Eva went out next, clearly ignoring the assistant headmistress.

  “Perhaps, Miss Sedgewick, you might open the front door for us,” Phoebe suggested.

  “Oh . . . yes, of course.” The woman trotted out after the others, and with a mocking grin and a shake of her head, Phoebe trailed after her.

  * * *

  With the truck loaded and ready to be off, Eva left Lady Phoebe and Lord Owen to say their good-byes. She felt no qualms about doing so. In fact, quite the contrary. If something were to grow between them, as Eva felt fairly certain it would, she would feel safe in the knowledge that her lady could not do better. Events at Christm
as had more than proved that. But Lady Phoebe wasn’t ready, not for something lasting. She had more maturing to do, more confidence to gain, more knowledge of the world to acquire. But someday, the several years’ difference in age between her and Lord Owen, which now seemed so formidable to Phoebe, would shrink away to nothing, and Phoebe would know herself to be his equal. Then, and only then, would a commitment between them be possible.

  As Phoebe asked her to do, she returned to Miss Finch’s office. Upon being beckoned with an offhand “come” in response to her knock, she entered and said, “Miss Sedgewick, I’d like to ask you about the handyman.”

  The woman, her nose once more practically buried in school documents, looked up with a scowl. “I’m frightfully busy, Miss Huntford. Miss Finch, I’m afraid, did not leave the most accurate of accounts, and I am burdened with the task of making sense of them.”

  Were there discrepancies? Had Miss Finch been skimming off the school finances? And if so, had someone discovered her thievery and decided to be rid of her? That would seem to implicate a member of the governing body, for who else would have access to the accounting records? Except for Miss Sedgewick, of course. Eva would have liked to question the assistant headmistress, or better yet, look over her shoulder at the records. But had Miss Finch truly kept untidy accounts, or did Miss Sedgewick merely want the governing body to believe so? Eva felt inclined to believe the latter. Then Miss Sedgewick could take credit for restoring order and garner their praise.

  “I won’t keep you long,” Eva said. “Do you know what’s wrong with the handyman? Did he fight in the war?”

  Miss Sedgewick sighed. “What difference does it make? He is as he is. Honestly, I don’t know why Miss Finch hired him. True, the previous handyman retired, but there are others to be found in the world, aren’t there? This one simply showed up one day, and Miss Finch informed me he would be employed here from now on. I suppose she felt sorry for him or some such nonsense. If you ask me, he should be given the sack immediately.”

  “Does he not perform his job to your satisfaction? Just now we found him to follow directions to the letter, and my goodness, his strength. What else could anyone want in a handyman?”

  “He’s not right, I tell you,” the other woman murmured. She tapped the end of her pen on the desktop for emphasis. “Not right in the head.”

  “Which should earn him our compassion, not our disdain, Miss Sedgewick.”

  “Meaning exactly what, Miss Huntford?”

  Eva had already gone too far. Why stop now? “Meaning, I think you’re being very unkind.”

  “How dare you? Do you know whom you are addressing? That you, a maid, should be so impertinent. I’m no farm girl, Miss Huntford. If not for my father’s lack of a son, which led to some distant cousin inheriting my family’s wealth, I should be at this moment living in a great country house in Hereford. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Bennington Downs.”

  Eva kept her chin level and calmly replied, “No, I haven’t heard of it.”

  “No? Of course not. Why should you have?” She allowed her gaze to dip, as she had done previously, taking in every nuance of Eva’s serviceable attire. A pity she didn’t realize her scrutiny didn’t discompose Eva in the least. One of them felt satisfaction with her lot in life, and it clearly wasn’t Miss Sedgewick. Her origins would explain her penchant for expensive clothing, although not her means of coming by them. And yet she wore precious little jewelry, and what she did wear—the little pearl drop earrings, the locket attached to a gold chain—were commonplace enough. The clothing and the jewelry simply didn’t match, and Eva wondered why.

  “My concern is merely for Mr. Ivers,” she said. “If he is a war veteran, perhaps Lady Phoebe can arrange for him to be helped.”

  “Yes, lovely. Are we quite finished?” Miss Sedgewick flicked her wrist in dismissal. “As I said, I’m frightfully busy.”

  “For now.” Eva hesitated, weighing the wisdom of uttering one last comment. In the end, she couldn’t help herself. “Don’t worry, Miss Sedgewick. I’m sure the governing body will find a competent headmistress before too long. And then your burdens will be lifted.”

  She caught the merest edge of fury sharpening Miss Sedgewick’s features before pivoting on her heel and leaving the office.

  * * *

  Phoebe quickly discovered the difficulty in attempting to speak with the students individually. There were simply too many of them. She needed a way to winnow them down to the few most intimately tied to Miss Finch. In the common room used by the sixth form girls, she hosted afternoon tea, though she had asked Mrs. Honeychurch to provide sandwiches rather than cakes. The latter, she feared, would summon ghastly images of the day before and unduly upset the girls. They crowded onto every surface that might be used to sit upon, including pillows on the floor. They were not quite twenty in number now, however, for some had left yesterday with their mothers. Gently, Phoebe encouraged them to speak of their favorite subjects, favorite teachers, their plans after graduation. As yesterday in the kitchen, she found herself focusing on the same three students.

  Today saw them considerably subdued, their squabbles, for the moment, forgotten. Zara Worthington treated Jane Timmons to only the slightest curl of her lip when they found themselves seated close together. Lilyanne sat apart from the rest, but this struck Phoebe as a matter of habit rather than any present sullenness, for the girl seemed content to sip her tea and pluck sandwiches as the trays were passed around. Yet, unless Phoebe was imagining things, an undercurrent ran between all three, subtly connecting them. Whenever one shared her experiences at Haverleigh, the others paid close heed. Not so the other girls, whose attention wandered once someone else spoke.

  “She frightened me a little, sometimes,” Lilyanne Mucklow admitted in a particularly unguarded moment, in reply to Phoebe’s suggestion that they share memories of Miss Finch. “She was so . . .” Her brow creased as she searched for the right word. “So large.” When some of the girls giggled, Lilyanne blushed deeply and shook her head. “I don’t mean physically. I mean her way of speaking and moving and her insistence that we learn to do the same. I found it terribly off-putting and, well, discomfiting.” Her fair cheeks burned. “But I suppose I shouldn’t say such things. Not now.”

  There were a few nods of agreement, although whether they were agreeing with Lilyanne’s assessment of Miss Finch, or agreeing that she shouldn’t speak critically of the woman, was not clear to Phoebe. Most of the girls merely reached for another sandwich.

  “She wanted us to be able to assert ourselves,” Jane Timmons clarified in her husky voice. Phoebe heard a faint note of impatience, as if perhaps Jane and Lilyanne had discussed this before. “She wanted us to not only have knowledge, but be able to use it. The days of retiring young ladies are over, and Miss Finch wished to prepare us for the modern world.”

  “ ‘Modern world.’ ” Zara Worthington scoffed. “What does that mean, precisely? I never felt Miss Finch ever made it particularly clear. What are all these opportunities now open to women? No one can really say, can they? It’s not as though people are at all eager to put their health in the hands of lady doctors, or allow a female to oversee their finances. If you ask me, nothing much has changed at all. You either marry well and live a happy life, or you struggle as people have always struggled. How they struggle may have changed a bit, but the fact of it has not and there’s an end to it.”

  Nods of assent followed this declaration, much to Phoebe’s dismay. She had hoped these young girls possessed more of an adventurous spirit.

  “Our new headmistress, whomever she will be,” ventured another student, “might not share Miss Finch’s views. Doesn’t that mean school will go back to the way it used to be, with dance and French and music and the rest, but without all those other subjects Miss Finch insisted we learn?”

  “I for one will not miss algebra or chemistry,” said a pretty, plump girl with lovely golden hair that reminded Phoebe of Amelia’s.

&nbs
p; Remembering what Eva had told her earlier—that she believed Miss Sedgewick badly wanted the position of headmistress—Phoebe decided to test out the notion on the girls.

  “Perhaps Miss Sedgewick will take over for Miss Finch. Surely she will continue with Miss Finch’s curriculum.”

  “Hardly,” Zara said with a laugh.

  “Are you saying they disagreed on that point?”

  Several girls traded glances and nodded.

  Phoebe hoped she wasn’t pushing her luck with her next question, for she didn’t want the girls to realize the purpose behind her queries. “Was it a point of contention between them?”

  When no one volunteered a reply, but rather slid their gazes away, Phoebe prompted, “It’s perfectly natural for colleagues to disagree. In fact, it’s often desired. It creates a rather healthy balance.”

  Murmurs of agreement mingled with deeper sounds of dissent. Phoebe didn’t pursue the matter any further, at least not that aspect of it. “At any rate, Miss Sedgewick could very well be your next headmistress. Unless, of course, she doesn’t wish to be.” Though a statement, she let her voice rise as if asking a question.

  Jane, who sat near Phoebe, spoke so quietly, most of the others could not have heard her—but Phoebe most certainly did. “Miss Finch will be rolling in her grave if Miss Sedgewick takes over.”

  Zara apparently heard as well, for she gasped and then compressed her lips without commenting. Phoebe held Jane’s gaze a long moment. The girl obviously felt no qualms about what she’d said, for she showed no hint of taking it back. Defiance danced in her hazel eyes, and the confidence of her own convictions brought an entirely new dynamic to her unremarkable features, one that assured Phoebe that, though a farm girl she might be, Jane Timmons would venture far beyond those fields and pastures once she left school.

  Yes, Jane embodied just the sort of girl who would benefit from Miss Finch’s educational philosophies. Yet many people, including parents, would disapprove, of both society girls abandoning their traditional roles, and of ordinary girls taking it into their heads to rise above their stations.