Bitter Herbs

by Amandine Moxon

  Edmund nodded slowly, encouraged at the thought of positive action he might take. “I think it might be encompassed without too much difficulty and Annie’s help, but I must be careful to act in such a way that throws no blame on her or any of the other servants.”

  “True. Stay, I have it. Let me seek an opportunity in the coming days to go there, as a fellow herbalist, seeking her advice on a simple for a cough, perhaps. Mr Simmonds’s cough is bad and I would welcome another remedy. Let me take Deborah too, ostensibly to carry a basket for me. I will ask Mrs Amos how she finds her herbs, what her recipes are and so absorb her in conversation. Who knows? She may even let slip some indiscretion that will give us some further clue. Deborah meanwhile will carry the phial that Daniel found in the garden, which we will wash well beforehand, and fill it with water. While I talk to the mistress and engage her full attention, Deborah could try to abstract one of Mrs Wood’s bottles and substitute our harmless vessel so that she will not miss it.”

  Edmund looked at his sister with admiration for the ingenuity and completeness of her plan.

  “You should have been a general, Harriet. You are a master tactician.”

  “Well,” she said, with a smile, “let us see if my plan works first.”

  “Ah, but wait - what if all the other bottles contain coloured fluids and our bottle would stand out too sharply by contrast?”

  Harri considered. “In that case Deborah will spill it some onto the floor and the rest into the rag within the basket we will otherwise use to wrap the glass in and leave the empty bottle on the floor, in an inconspicuous place, so that it looks like an accident the old lady may have caused herself. I shall talk to Deborah first thing in the morning; we can rely on her capability and her discretion, I am sure. She will be more than willing to assist your investigation if it helps her poor aunt.”

  Edmund was much comforted by his sister’s ready sympathy to enter his project as by as her practical advice and sturdy resolution of will. As the hour was late, he kissed her and retired for the night.

  Chapter 26

  While Edmund slept soundly, Harri’s resolve wavered like a candle flame in a draught several times through the night as she lay awake thinking of all that might go wrong with her plan. Would Deborah agree? If she agreed, could she perform the substitution deftly, even supposing Harriet could contrive the right diversion by engaging Mrs Wood’s attention so thoroughly? For heaven’s sake, would she even be admitted to the house in the first place? If the old lady was unwell or in a bad temper she might fail at the very outset. No matter, she could repeat the attempt there. The great difficulty, once admitted to the house, would be penetrating to the inner sanctum of the old lady’s room and store of medicines. Never mind, she admonished herself, she had promised her brother and she would do her best.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Harriet held a conference with Deborah who understood at once the importance of the task. She had no qualms about the taking of the bottle, for substitution was no theft, she felt, in such a case of necessity.

  Soon afterward, Harriet and Deborah were to be seen making their way down Barrow Street. An Impartial observer, knowing nothing of their object, might nonetheless have deduced that they had a firm purpose in view since both of them subconsciously held their heads very erect and spoke little to each other. They were soon at the door and after exchanging an affirmatory nod with Deborah, Harriet rapped firmly on the door with the knocker. It was opened by Annie who smiled brightly at the sight of Miss Bredwardine and her maidservant.

  “Yes, Miss. Missus Amos is in,” she replied to Harriet’s request, “I will show you up.”

  Missus Amos sat up very upright, her arms wrapped in her pale blue woollen shawl. Harriet was relieved that the older woman’s face, if not smiling a welcome was equally not frowning a dismissal.

  “Well, Miss Bredwardine. It is good of you to visit an invalid. I trust you and all your family are well.”

  “We are all in health, praise be, ma’am, even my dear Aunt Morrall; she does find the cold weather something of a trial.”

  “Hmmm. Thin-blooded, I daresay. Your great grandmother was known for it, according to my mother. A common affliction in the old.” Mrs Wood, who spoke with great condescension, was at least two years older than Aunt Cecily, but Harri bit her lip at the aspersion thus cast on her aunt’s antecedents and remembered that her mission was not to ruffle the old dame.

  “I was sorry to hear that you have been unwell yourself; I was much relieved to find you up and about again. It was for that reason that I presumed to call. I thought you might benefit from some of my ginger cordial. My mother will drink nothing else when her digestion is disordered.”

  “That is a kind thought, Miss Bredwardine. Its efficacy is well known in the town. I look forward to trying it for myself.”

  Harri grew worried that the old lady, although clearly pleased with the gift, might be about to dismiss her. She tried again.

  “I feared that I might be too presumptuous in offering it to you, for I know that you take pride, as I do at home, in providing tonics and simples for your own family,” she continued, a little desperately.

  “Ah, Miss Bredwardine, you and I still profit from the example our grandmothers set us. People are too ready to run off to the apothecary these days for the lightest ailment. You and I know better, I am pleased to say. It becomes us to learn from each other. I know your reputation too, Miss Bredwardine. It would be interesting to compare receipts with you. Will you take some tea?” Harriet acquiesced gladly but still worried that Mrs Wood might send Deborah off to the kitchen at this point where she might be far less useful. Fortunately, however, in this case, as was her wont, Mrs Amos did not have much consideration for the needs of servants and was quite prepared to let Deborah stand respectfully in the background, carrying her mistress’s basket. She rang the bell and ordered tea for two from Annie, which she brought up promptly.

  “Fie, the stupid girl has forgotten to bring up the sugar tongs again. Neglectful sluts, all these servant girls, do you not find, Miss Bredwardine?” said the older woman, ringing the bell furiously. Harri blushed for the old woman’s rudeness to Deborah, but dared not suggest she leave.

  “No, ma’am, we are most fortunate in our servants.”

  “Harrumph! You must be fortunate indeed, or they manage cleverly behind your backs, perhaps. They are often sly.” Here she cast a look of contempt at Deborah, who gave no outward sign but continued to stare stolidly at the wall furthest from her. Her thoughts, however, would not bear being repeated in company.

  “Oh no, ma’am, our girls are thoroughly dependable and honest. However, we were talking of recipes. I was hoping to consult you on a matter of one of our parishioners, Mr Simmonds, you know. His cough is very persistent this winter. I have tried the usual horehound mixture, but I wish I could find something stronger that would see it off and make him more comfortable. Could you advise me?”

  Mrs Wood’s pride was bolstered by this request.

  “Ah, yes, yes, horehound is effective but I have a better recipe. Old people like Mr Simmonds know nothing of the nuisance they cause, hacking away into their handkerchiefs in church, without shame, because he is blind and completely unaware of everyone looking at him askance, tut.”

  Harri was forced once again to bite her lip at this selfish nonsense from the old woman. Mr Simmonds had coughed two or three times discreetly during the service last Sunday but he had disturbed no one else.

  “Yes, a stupid, selfish old man, lacking in respect,” Mrs Wood was muttering to herself. “He trod on my foot in church last Sunday and hardly bothered to apologise. In fact I think he did it on purpose. Sometimes I wonder whether he can actually see a great deal more than he lets on.” She began to mutter less coherently under her breath and Harri looked at her in concern. Was the old woman actually descending into madness? She drew a deep breath and soldiered on.

  “Well, ma’am, it would be a Christian kindness to him a
nd of course it would stop him annoying you in church. I use alehoof (*9) and colt’s foot with the horehound, in equal parts.”

  “Mmm. I have a decoction in which I use elecampane instead of the alehoof. It is good for the kidneys also. Have you considered an electuary of bryony roots and honey? Old Culpepper says it is good for any old strong cough. I have some upstairs, I think.”

  “Bryony? No indeed, I fear to use it as it is so poisonous.”

  “Pah, the old herbalists were not so squeamish, my girl. Carefully used, it is of great benefit. True, it is best not used by the ignorant, but you are an intelligent woman.”

  “Do you brew all of your own medicines, ma’am?” Harriet managed to convey in her voice just the right hint of being an innocent disciple at the feet of the mistress which puffed up the pride of the older woman sufficiently to the right level to encourage her to make further disclosures about her methods.

  “That I do, Miss Bredwardine. Let those careless girls do it? I think not. Nor do I let them see what I am about. I do it all privily in my room, away from prying eyes. I keep all safe that way.”

  “You truly do it all in your room, then, but with what equipment? You have your grate and kettles to be sure, but it must be inconvenient, ma’am, so far from the pump?”

  “Ay, ay, I do need the water lugging up, but safer so, safer so.”

  “it would be such a privilege, ma’am, to see your store and how you work.”

  “By all means, if you do not mind stepping upstairs.”

  It was as easy as that: the old woman’s pride was engaged and she enjoyed showing off her skill to Harriet, who paid her due tribute with intelligent questions. She expressed her puzzlement at the lack of labels on her bottles, but Mrs Wood, with a look of great cunning, explained that they were labelled only with numbers according to the code devised by herself, kept separately on a piece of paper which she took care to conceal from the servants. Deborah, having stepped upstairs unobtrusively with the two women, had waited calmly until the old lady, engrossed in conversation with her mistress as they discussed the efficacy of various herbs, had turned her back, thus enabling Deborah to make the substitution deftly. She perforce had to choose one with a clear fluid, as previously agreed, but now also one that had not yet been labelled. She put the secured bottle soundlessly into her basket, hidden beneath the cloth on top.

  As soon as they reasonably could, the two younger women retreated with their booty and hurried home, their hearts beating rapidly. Rather than being elated with their success however, Harriet felt only disappointment that she had not been able to espy any obvious or hidden poisons in the old lady’s store, beyond a small root of bryony, kept in a small cabinet of labelled drawers on the table beside her chopping board, knives and bottles. The only other circumstantial clue she could obtain had come when she asked Mrs Wood where she gathered her herbs, apart from the ones available in her own kitchen garden, such as mint and marjoram and so on, and Mrs Wood had replied that she had begged permission of Lady Harley to gather some from the priory ruins. It was well known that plants used by the monks for medicines still grew thereabouts. Harriet knew too that belladonna grew there, as she had seen it herself growing at the foot of a wall, some two years ago when she had attended a musical recital there. its large black berries glistening temptingly in the August sun.

  “It is hardly conclusive, though,” Edmund agreed, when she related her tale to him. “Let us see what science can do for us and ask Dr Peplow to subject this to analysis. What do you make of it yourself?” He passed the phial back to her; she uncorked it and sniffed at the contents with caution.

  “There is mint in it, I believe”. It may be a harmless syrup or a flavouring for another potion. I cannot be sure.”

  They were both disappointed, as was Deborah, when Dr Peplow reported that his tests for the common poisons had proved negative and he deduced that it was an innocuous wash for a mouth ulcer.

  Chapter 27

  The next day Deborah happened to see Annie at the market, buying butter. She greeted her and they chatted for a few moments, until Annie indicated that she must return home or she would get a scolding from her mistress. Deborah grimaced in sympathy with her fellow servant.

  I don’t know how you put up with ‘er, Annie,” she said, “I was there with Miss Bredwardine yesterday as you saw, and she was so uncivil about servants in general. She knew I was there but I could have been stone for all the consideration she had.”

  “Oh, dunna, Deborah. She just gets worse and worse. Do you know,” she carried on in a whisper, drawing her head close to the other girl’s ear, “do you know that I am convinced she is going mad. When I started there five years ago, she was sharp, and stood no nonsense, but she was fair and reasonable. She’s got more queer and snappish than ever since Mr Charles brought the young missus ‘ome, and then when poor Dilly died, well, she seemed to go quite demented for a time. Now she just seems so suspicious of everyone in the house, as though we were in league against ‘er. Just two days ago, I went to ‘er room to clean and she came in suddenly, just as I was picking up ‘er bottles to dust them, and she pounced on me like the old cat she is and almost deafened me, screeching at me to leave them be. She told me to get out like I was a thief or rogue. She said I was a spy and she was surrounded by spies. You should have ‘eard ‘er.”

  Annie was clearly overwrought and found relief in this outpouring of indiscretion.

  “She snapped a tiny drawer shut at the bottom of her cabinet. It was a secret one, it seems. I would never have even noticed if she hadn’t been so mistrustful of me and so bitter. I just caught a glimpse of some old dry brown roots in it, before she bustled me out, with the cleaning only half done, an then she’ll moan about that tomorrow.”

  “Annie,” said Deborah excitedly, laying a hand on the other girl’s sleeve,” do you think you could get a piece of those roots for me? My master would be interested to see what they are, I am sure.”

  Annie looked at her doubtfully. “What for?”

  “You munna say aught to anybody else, Annie, but my good master is afeard summat’s amiss in your place. He fears someone has poison in the house and he fears their motive for having it – he dunna think it’s to kill the rats.” Annie gasped in horror and covered her mouth in shock.

  “Steady, girl, steady,” said Deborah. “If your missus is as mad as you say, and she has strange roots and potions and such like, she could be a danger to herself or to you or to anyone. My master will know what to do once the truth comes to light. You could help ‘im, Annie. Get a piece of that root and maybe Miss Bredwardine can work out what it is – she is skilled with herbs and roots.”

  “Ooh, I dunno. She locks her room now when she leaves it. I’d have to steal the key of the room and then find the secret of the drawer quick as you like, and restore the key. It wunna be easy.”

  “No, but it would help us a power.”

  Annie gnawed her lower lip as she pondered all the difficulties. Deborah was hopeful from the other girl’s attitude that Annie was nonetheless engaged by the problem and that her mettle was up. She encouraged her further:

  “There must be some chance you could take advantage of; watch and wait, that’s all.”

  “Ahh, but I could wait forever and a day and still get no chance. I must think how I could bring it about.”

  “However you do it, Annie, you must take care for your own sake. Dunna rouse the old biddy or heaven knows what might happen. At the very least you could end up by losing your character.”

  “I shall take care I dunna, you may rest easy about that,” Annie said grimly.

  * * *

  Annie was a resourceful young woman, and came to a bold decision that very evening. She knocked on Mrs Amos’s door, after everyone else had retired for the night.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am,” she said with deference, “but little Mary has had the toothache and she has been crying. Could I have some of your poppy potion to let her get to sleep? She�
��s keeping us all awake.” The old woman muttered at the lateness of the hour but nodded and curtly bade Annie wait. She shut the door on her but returned very soon with a little stoppered glass bottle. “Here,” she snapped, “enough for two nights. Make sure you are careful with the dose. Come back if she needs more, but come in the daylight next time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Annie humbly, and made for the bedroom she shared with Jessie and Mary, who preferred a truckle bed in their room to the bed in the attic in which Dilly had died. Mary slept soundly. Her toothache had been cured by a barber surgeon who passed through the town a week ago. Annie put the bottle in her own drawer and proceeded to watch and wait, as she had promised. She had forewarned Mary to say that, if the older missus were to ask about her toothache, that she was cured and that she slept well now, without vouchsafing the reason, which puzzled Mary a little but not enough to ask awkward questions for she looked up to the older girls. Three evenings later, on a chilly night, when the younger mistress had retired early to bed, claiming illness, and the master was out visiting friends, Annie took care to stoke up the fire in the drawing room and to encourage Mrs Wood to draw close. She served her tea as usual, with the addition of some of the poppy syrup to the pot, and some extra sugar in her cup to disguise the taste, as well as a little drizzle of the drug over the slice of fruit cake she urged upon Mrs Wood. When she came back to collect the tea things, which she took care to be slow to do, she found the old lady soundly asleep in her chair, so relaxed that she was even snoring a little. Annie approached her with care and touched her arm. No flicker of eyelid or any other movement disturbed her mistress’s slumber and Annie was able to abstract the key to her room from the chatelaine at her waist in seconds and put it into her own apron pocket. She left the tea-tray outside the room and ran swiftly and quietly upstairs, unlocking the mistress’s door, and so gained possession of the chamber. She leaned against the door, her heart racing, just for a moment, in order to gather her thoughts, but then wasted no more time in locking the door behind her to secure herself from surprise. She lit the candle she had brought up in her pocket and started to examine the cabinet of drawers. Annie had an uncle who was a carpenter and cabinet maker, whose employer was often commissioned to provide hiding places within the furniture he made for the secretion of jewellery to baffle thieves, or to keep legal documents such as deeds or wills secure. Annie and her brothers had delighted in discovering these on finished articles or watching her uncle create them. She took a deep breath and removed the two bottom rows of drawers first because the hidden compartment had been beneath these, and slowly and methodically, she explored the cavities with her fingers, pressing and probing, as her uncle had taught her, until she touched a slight depression which, with a satisfactory click, released the catch on a shallow drawer beneath, which obligingly came open. Inside were several dried roots, tied with raffia and a brown label. Annie puzzled over the writing, which was in Mrs Wood’s crabbed and of late, increasingly shaky hand.