Drew squeezed her hand. “Nonsense. They were perfectly charming fellows and quite concerned for my safety.”
Nick scoffed. “Right.”
“And if we’re totting up how many beans make five just now and our host was one bean, I’d wager your new putter that these fellows are our two beans. They fit in here somewhere. And, wittingly or not, they were kind enough to leave this behind.”
He opened his watch case, took out the little scrap, and saw it was a strip from a label—most of it too faded to make out. All that was clear was most of a capital letter and some decorative scrollwork.
“What’s D?” Will asked, studying it.
Drew looked it over again. “Any ideas, Nick? Tal? Is this something local?”
Tal shook his head. “Nothing I’ve ever seen. Looks like an advert of some kind. Maybe a label from a can or a box.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“We should go look in the pantry,” Will suggested. “I’ll go.”
“You just hold your horses,” Carrie said. “This isn’t playacting anymore. I don’t want you getting into trouble while we’re here.”
“I’ve been all over the place,” he said with a bit of a swagger. “Nobody’s even noticed.”
“Billy!”
“Not a good idea, old man,” Drew said mildly. “After what’s happened.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Carrie glared at him. “If you don’t behave, we’ll just have to go back home. I mean it.”
“Aw, c’mon, sis. It’s just the pantry, not some dockside opium den.”
“She’s right,” Drew said. “Nick and I get in enough trouble for poking our noses in where they don’t belong. Old Birdsong’s used to us by now, but he might not be so lenient with you.”
Will snorted at that but made no further objections.
“Do you think your mother would mind if we had a look in the kitchen?” Drew asked Tal. “Not that I think this came from the house, but I suppose there’s a chance it came from the local grocer and perhaps your cook bought the same thing.”
“Mother won’t mind,” Tal said. “But you might have to get round Mrs. Ruggles. She rules the kitchen with an iron fist and doesn’t care for intruders.”
“What won’t I mind, dear?” Mrs. Cummins came into the room, her pale forehead creased with worry, yet she gave them all a determined smile.
Standing just out of her line of sight, Drew gave a slight shake of his head, a warning to the others not to trouble her with the matter they were discussing. Then he put his arm around her narrow shoulders. “I was just thinking it would be nice to have some more of that apple cake we had last week. Might cheer us all up.”
Her smile softened. “I’ll ask the cook to make another one.” She turned to Madeline. “Speaking of staff, my dear, I hate to ask it of you, but our Josephine was feeling ill so I sent her to bed.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Madeline said, looking rather puzzled. “Is there something I can do to help?”
Mrs. Cummins held up both hands. “Oh, forgive me, I’ve got everything back to front as usual. I should have asked you first if your maid has ever served at table.”
“Beryl’s served at Farthering Place several times, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping you. She’s always been happy to do whatever I’ve asked.”
“Oh, lovely.” Mrs. Cummins squeezed Madeline’s hand, looking as if she might weep in relief. “Things have been so difficult since . . .” She glanced at Tal. “Well, since everything, you know, but I don’t want things to fall to pieces here while it’s all being straightened out. I could have Cook serve, but well, she’s not the most graceful thing and she does tend to spill. She makes the loveliest meals, mind you, but she was never meant for the formal occasion, if you understand me. Anyway, she thought perhaps your girl would be willing to help.”
“I’ll speak to Beryl right away,” Madeline said. “Please, don’t worry any more about it.”
Drew didn’t like to broach the subject, not with Tal in the room, but he couldn’t help wondering. Was it a mere coincidence that this girl Josephine should fall ill just now? Had the murderer tried to do away with her too, or was this just another instance where the celebrated amateur detective had gotten everything utterly wrong?
He’d keep quiet until he knew more.
Eight
That evening there was only quiet in the library of Winteroak House. Pleading another headache, Mrs. Cummins had retired shortly after dinner. Tal had made no excuses and shut himself in his room not much later. Nick had taken Carrie and Will to the cinema in Southampton, leaving Drew and Madeline alone together.
“You should have gone with them,” Drew said. “Take your mind off all this.”
“Not if you wouldn’t go. I didn’t care to see the picture anyway.”
“No, of course not.” He put an arm around her. “Never mind it’s got that Cary Grant fellow in it and you’ve demanded to see everything he’s been in since I’ve known you.”
“I just wasn’t in the mood to see a picture about war and death, even with Cary Grant.” She shrugged. “I just thought it would be nice to have an evening to ourselves. After all that’s happened.” She paused, looking at him, then traced her fingers along his jawline. “I didn’t want to leave you here alone.”
He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I don’t much feel like being alone, though I don’t much feel like being with anyone but you either. And I was wondering too—”
“About the maid.”
“Exactly that. Perhaps Alice wasn’t the only one who’d seen something she wasn’t meant to. If the murderer put something in Alice’s drink, why shouldn’t he do the same for this Josephine?”
“You don’t think it’s as serious as all that, do you? Mrs. Cummins didn’t seem worried about more than having decent service at her table.”
He relaxed, if just slightly. She was probably right and no doubt much more perceptive than he could ever hope to be. “What do you think then, darling? Perhaps some coffee and a chat about something other than this wretched case?”
“That would be wonderful,” she replied.
Drew rang the bell and requested coffee. A few minutes later, a rather rotund little woman, red-faced and with her hair done up under a cap, waddled into the room and thumped down two cups, sloshing coffee on the end table.
“Beg pardon, sir. Madam.” She wiped up the spill with her apron, her expression taut. “Can I get you anything else?”
“You must be Mrs. Ruggles,” Drew said. “I’ve been meaning to send you my compliments this whole week. Your apple cake ought to be classified as a national treasure.”
The hostility in the woman’s expression softened into a mixture of embarrassment and grudging pleasure. “You’re very kind, sir, I’m sure.”
“We didn’t expect you to have to bring the coffee yourself.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble, sir. It’s just . . . well, I’ve been cook here nigh on to thirty years. I think I know my job, if you’ll pardon me.”
“I’m certain you do,” he said. “The meals this week have been perfection.”
“I can’t say that much of my own cooking, sir, though I thank you. But food poisoning? In my kitchen? No, sir. That I will not have.”
“I can hardly blame you. Who would make such an infamous accusation?”
“Dr. Fletcher. He says there’s no doubt of it. Oh, pardon me, it’s Josephine, our maid. She’s took to her bed. That’s why I had to bring your coffee.” The cook ducked her head. “Not that it ain’t a pleasure, sir, I’m sure, but I’m that mortified for anyone to hear something bad came from my kitchen. A baby could eat off that floor and no worry, and that’s the floor, mind. There’s not a bit of the whole kitchen not kept scrubbed and shined day in and day out, and all the food bought fresh, too. Nothing in tins. Where’s the food poisoning in that?”
“I certainly can’t see where you’d be to blame
,” he said, taking an appreciative sip of the coffee.
“But how we’re to keep things in good order with so many people staying, I don’t know, sir, and that’s the good Lord’s truth. It’s not so much the guests, mind you, but there’s hardly one of them doesn’t bring his own people along, and I’m the one as has to keep them out of mischief.”
Madeline’s eyebrows went up. “I hope our—”
“Oh, no, madam. Not to worry on that account. Beryl’s a love and always willing to help. And your Mr. Plumfield, sir, well he’s rather quiet, but never a bit of trouble. Not like some as I could mention.”
Drew nodded encouragingly. “I can see that you’d have a lot to manage.”
Mrs. Ruggles frowned. “You take that Mr. Adkins, who sees to Mr. Laurent when they’re in town. Why, I wouldn’t trust him with the jam spoon, telling you the truth. He’s got a look about him I just don’t like. Do you know, sir, that I found him in my pantry yesterday?”
Drew made his expression appropriately horrified. “No.”
“Yes. Bold as brass he was. I’d been out to the garden to get some of the mint Mrs. Cummins grows. I came back in, and there he was poking about with who knows what. I should have made him turn out his pockets then and there, but I thought the master might not care for it, seeing as he and the French gentleman are such good friends.”
“And what do you suppose he wanted in the pantry? Mr. Adkins, I mean.”
The cook snorted. “He says he was looking for headache powders. Headache powders? In with the flour and sugar? Doesn’t seem quite right, does it?”
“Doesn’t seem right at all,” Drew said.
“Did he take anything?” Madeline asked.
“I didn’t give him a chance,” said Mrs. Ruggles, pursing her lips. “I caught him before he could take anything more than a look round. Don’t think I didn’t send him off quicker than he came and count the teaspoons afterwards!”
“I trust they were all safe,” Drew said.
“They were, sir, and they are, but I’ll keep my eyes open all the same. And now there’s this business of food poisoning, which is utter nonsense. I think I know my own cooking, thank you very much.”
“Could it have been something bad from the butcher?” Madeline suggested.
“No, madam,” she said, her china-blue eyes snapping. “I’ve bought from Mr. Gibbons nearly as long as I’ve been in this house. He knows better than to give me anything that’s turned, and I know good meat from spoilt. Besides, if that were the case, wouldn’t we all of us got sick?”
“Very true,” said Drew.
“That Dr. Fletcher, I say he don’t know food poison from a case of the mumps, that’s what I say.”
“And I hope Josephine will recover soon,” Madeline said.
The cook beamed at her. “Oh, yes, madam. The poor dear weren’t but half dead. I expect she’ll be back at work sooner than later. Anyway, sir, if I can get you anything else, you just send word. I don’t mind.”
“That’s very good of you, Mrs. Ruggles.” Drew took another sip of his coffee. “And if anyone brings up the subject of food poisoning in my hearing, I’ll be certain to set him straight.”
She ducked her head. “I’m obliged, to be sure, sir.”
Drew glanced at Madeline and then turned again to the cook. “I say, Mrs. Ruggles, do you buy all the food for the house?”
She stuck out her lower lip. “I tell you there weren’t anything gone bad in my kitchen. I know absolutely there couldn’t—”
“No, no, I’m sure you’re right. No doubt of it.” He took the scrap of label out of his waistcoat pocket. “I was just wondering if you recognized this.”
She wiped both hands on her apron and took it from him, studying it for a moment. “Can’t say as I do, sir. D. Hmmm. There’s Dovecote Wholemill Flour and Dunning Flavoured Coffee Beans we buy regular, but neither of them has a label like this.”
“Could it possibly be soap or some kind of cleaner?” Madeline asked.
“Not as I’ve seen, madam. I could ask Mrs. Brogan, who sees to that sort of thing. Is it something you’d like us to get for you?”
“No,” Drew assured her, reclaiming the tattered label. “Just wondering where this might have come from. But if you’d check with Mrs. Brogan for us, it would be much appreciated.”
“I’ll do that, sir. Leave it to me. Will there be anything else?”
“Not tonight, thank you. You’ve been more than helpful.”
“Only too happy, sir. Madam.”
She waddled out of the room, head held higher than when she had waddled into it.
Madeline took the scrap from him. “Could it be from a medicine of some sort?”
“Or tooth powder or motor oil or furniture polish.” He shook his head. “Any number of things. Maybe a bit of a circus poster or an advert for a new automobile.”
“Well, I won’t try to tell Mrs. Ruggles her own business.”
“Not more than once, I suspect,” Drew said.
Madeline grinned. “I think I’ll have a look in the pantry myself after breakfast tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see something she’s forgotten.”
“Fair enough, darling. And I’ll see what I can find out at the grocer’s.”
She nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Best let me see to this on my own. People seem to be a bit less on their guard with one person rather than two.”
She gave him a knowing nod. “Especially the women.”
“Now, now, darling, don’t make assumptions. The only one behind the grocer’s counter may very well be old Mr. Worrywart with a bushy beard down to his belly, jelly-jar spectacles, and an ear trumpet. He’s not likely to be won over by my boyish charms.”
“And it’s as likely to be young Miss Worrywart with big brown eyes, bobbed hair, and a flask of gin tucked into her garter.”
“If it is, I promise I’ll tattle to her mother about the gin.”
She laughed and snuggled against him on the couch. “Bargain.”
Drew and Madeline went up to their room a couple of hours later. Madeline stepped into the bathroom to get ready for bed while Drew moved to the bed, where Eddie was lounging.
“Hello, love.” Drew took off his coat and put it over the back of a chair and then began scratching the cat between the ears. “I thought I left my book just where you’ve settled. What have you done with it, minx?” He raised his voice so Madeline could hear him from the bathroom. “Darling, have you seen my book? Darling?”
The water shut off, and Madeline came back into the bedroom. “What was that?”
“Have you seen my book? Or did Eddie carry it off somewhere?”
“It’s on the table by the bed.”
Drew picked up the book and put it down again. “This is Lord Edgeware. I finished it yesterday. I was looking for that new one by Allingham I started last night. Sweet Danger.”
She rolled her eyes. “You had it in the morning room and out in the garden. If it’s not in one of those places, I don’t know.”
“Right. Back in a jiff.”
Still in his shirtsleeves, he made his way down the stairs and into the morning room. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight for him to locate the book on the sofa. He snatched it up and tucked it under his arm and then turned to find someone blocking the doorway back into the corridor.
He squinted into the darkness and smiled faintly. “Hullo there. Is there something I can do for you?”
Laurent’s valet stepped into the rectangle of moonlight that fell from the morning room window and spilled onto the floor. “I’d say there’s something I can do for you, Mr. Farthering, seeing as you were good enough to understand about Mrs. Farthering’s pearls and not have me put in chokey for something I didn’t do.”
Drew raised one eyebrow. “Go on.”
“That American kid, he’d do better to keep himself to himself, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you’ve heard about curiosity and cats and all tha
t. I told him already he ought to let things alone, but maybe he’d be more apt to listen to you than me.”
“I see. And just which things has he not been letting alone?”
Adkins lifted his pugnacious jaw. “Just never you mind what things, Mr. Farthering. I’m just saying, friendly like and for his own good, he ought to let things alone. You wouldn’t do so very badly yourself to stay out of it as well. As I said before, Mrs. Farthering’s a nice lady. I shouldn’t like to see her a widow.”
“I don’t fancy that much myself.”
Drew heard the sound of a car engine and glanced over his shoulder to see Nick had pulled into the drive in the Daimler. He and Carrie and Will would be coming into the house soon. Adkins saw them, too.
“Just a word to the wise, Mr. Farthering. Just as a favor for a favor.”
Drew narrowed his eyes. “Does your master know you’re warning me off like this?”
The valet glanced toward the door and moistened his dry lips. “Monsieur Laurent’s a busy man. I don’t like to trouble him with trifles.”
Drew heard the latchkey in the front door. Tal had given it to Nick so he and Carrie and Will could let themselves in without waking the house. Adkins looked back toward the sound, then gave a little nod.
“A favor for a favor, eh?”
He was gone before Nick and the others were inside.
Drew tucked his book under his arm and went to meet them in the hallway. “How was the cinema?”
Carrie sighed, “That Cary Grant is awful nice-looking.”
Nick made a piteous face. “How’s a chap supposed to compete with that, I’d like to know?”
Carrie took his arm, smiling up at him. “He couldn’t possibly be sweeter than you, Nicky.”
Drew chuckled. “You see, Nick old man? Miss Austen was right. ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’”
Will rolled his eyes. “Spare me the hearts and flowers, will you?”
“And what have you been up to, Will?” Drew asked. “I understand you had a bit of a run-in with Mr. Laurent’s valet.”
“Aww, him.” Will made a face. “He’s nobody. I’m not afraid of that stooge.”
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