by Sonia Parin
“It will be interesting to hear her take on the detective’s questions.” Had he asked Phillipa if she gardened?
“I’m glad to say I’m off the hook,” Phillipa called out. When she reached them, she laughed as she said, “Would you believe it… I asked why they had sent a detective all the way from Scotland. I know I can be a bit of a dag, but he asked for it by not explaining Scotland Yard is based in London. How could I have known that?”
Both Evie and Tom tilted their heads.
“Dag?” Evie asked.
“Socially inept,” Phillipa explained. “Strange in an odd sort of way. Eccentric. It’s actually what we call the lock of wool matted with dung hanging from the hindquarters of sheep. Anyhow, the detective didn’t seem to appreciate my sense of humor. He thought I needed to take the matter more seriously. Although, he didn’t exactly lead by example when he asked if I gardened.”
Evie clicked her fingers. “That must be a clue of sorts.” Turning, she walked around in a small circle. “He didn’t ask any specific questions about gardening. What’s so special about it?”
“Gardeners know about plants,” Phillipa suggested.
Evie clicked her fingers again. “Tom and I recently came across a case of a young girl suffering from a rash brought on by exposure to a plant.” She looked into the distance. “I think we need to pay Henrietta a visit and ask her about the committee ladies. Let’s find out who enjoys gardening.”
“I thought you were trying to avoid Lady Woodridge,” Tom said.
Evie noticed his lips twitched. Almost as if he wanted to smile. “There’s no point in avoiding her. She has already proposed her reckless idea and nothing will stop her from going ahead with it.”
An afternoon tea for the committee ladies. With the funeral service only two days away, would Henrietta hold the tea before or after?
“Reckless?” This time, Tom smiled.
“Surely, it’s asking for trouble.”
“Perhaps Lady Woodridge has a plan,” Tom suggested.
“She does. Henrietta wishes to reinstate herself as the rightful organizer of the Hunt Ball. Are you about to suggest we can use the opportunity to learn something about the ladies attending the tea?”
“Yes. You now know the detective is keen to learn who is interested in gardening.”
True.
Tom added, “He is also interested in finding out where Mrs. Howard-Smith went after she stormed out of your house.”
She could have visited any number of people but would any of them be willing to admit it?
“What sort of motor car did she have?” Phillipa asked. “I might have seen her out and about. I’ve been doing quite a bit of driving in the area.”
“I have no idea. I suppose I could ask Edgar.” Her butler would have noticed.
When they strode back to the house, Phillipa said, “I assume you have a gardener.”
Evie had to think hard about it. Of course, they had a gardener, but had she met him? “Oh, it’s one of the tenants. He’s a bachelor and lives with his brother. I remember the previous gardener retired right before I left. I asked the dowager if she could take care of it and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it all. Secretly, of course, she relished the idea of being at the helm again. I believe she engaged the agent to search for a replacement. She must have written to me about it.”
“Do you think we could speak with him?” Phillipa asked.
“Whatever for?” Evie glanced around the estate wondering where he might be found at this time of the day. Too close to midday for him to be out and about, she thought. “We could try the buildings near the stables.”
As they changed course, Evie noticed Edgar heading toward them so she slowed down. When he reached her, he said, “There is a letter for Mr. Winchester. It has been forwarded from the London house.”
“Thank you. I’ll hand it to him.” Evie turned to rejoin the others only to stop. “Edgar.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Do you remember what Mrs. Howard-Smith’s car looked like?”
“I’m afraid not, my lady. I’m not much of a car connoisseur. However, I do recall the color. Green. Forest green.”
“Would anyone else have noticed?”
“I shall ask the footman, my lady.”
Nodding, she turned only to again stop. “By the way, what is the gardener’s name?”
“George Mills, my lady.”
Thanking him, Evie hurried to catch up with the others. “There’s a letter for you, Tom.”
He opened it and drew out another envelope. “It’s a telegram. It must have been sent to the London house.” He read the message.
Evie tried to read his expression, but his face gave nothing away.
Instead of sharing the contents, he returned the page to the envelope and tucked it inside his pocket.
“Nothing terribly bad, I hope.” Would he tell her if something bad had happened?
“No. Nothing bad.”
She didn’t push him for more. It would hardly seem fair since she had as yet to share the contents of the telegram she had received. Evie slanted her gaze toward him. What if both telegrams contained the same information?
Phillipa pointed toward the yard. “I see someone with a wheelbarrow. I suppose we could call out ahoy there.”
“No need. His name is George Mills.”
Phillipa cupped her hands around her mouth and called out his name. “I suppose I should apologize but, as I said, I’m from the bush.”
“The bush?” Tom whispered.
“That’s the back of beyond,” Evie explained. “Did you have a school house nearby?”
Phillipa shook her head. “We would have had to travel two days to reach the nearest one. So, we had a governess.” Huffing out a breath, she added, “She practiced strict discipline for two hours at a time with breaks in-between where she let us loose and encouraged us to have fun. I will never have to wonder why I grew up so confused.”
Having heard his name called out, George Mills pulled off his cap and greeted them.
“George. We’ve been admiring your handy work. Well done. The gardens look absolutely splendid.”
“Thank you, milady.”
“We were wondering if you could help us out. Are there any plants that might be dangerous? My knowledge of plants is very limited.”
“There are plenty of poisonous plants, milady. But none that are grown at Halton House. Although, at some point, there must have been foxglove grown here. There is a framed notice in the gardener’s tool shed forbidding the cultivation of foxgloves.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m told her ladyship lost a pup to it.”
“Which ladyship?”
“Lady Woodridge, milady.”
Evie smiled. “Lady Sara or Lady Henrietta?”
George Mills nodded. “Lady Henrietta, milady.”
“Does anyone in the district grow it?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that no one on the estate can grow it. Hollyhock Farm used to grow early bloomers and they won many prizes at the flower show.”
“So, apart from killing Lady Woodridge’s dog, why exactly is it forbidden?”
“It can be fatal, milady. Not only to livestock but to people too.”
Chapter Eleven
People can lose their lives in libraries. They ought to be warned – Saul Bellow
Library, Halton House
“A Manual of Poisonous Plants published in 1910.” Evie handed the book to Tom and came down from the ladder just as the mantle clock struck the hour. “We still have some time before we have to head off to Henrietta’s afternoon tea. And, if I happen to forget, I hope no one reminds me. This is one afternoon tea I do not look forward to attending.” She rang the bell. When the footman appeared, she asked for coffee. “Lots of it, please.”
“I had no idea there were so many poisonous plants,” Tom said as he skimmed through the pages. “But, so far, I can’t find anything on fox
gloves.”
“I’ll keep looking. There’s bound to be more books on the subject,” Phillipa suggested. “I’m actually surprised your librarian doesn’t have some sort of filing system. Oh, I spoke too soon.” Phillipa pointed at a set of drawers. “These are catalogue cards.” She drew one out. “They indicate the general location of the book by shelf number. I suppose that’s better than nothing and there appears to be some cross referencing here.”
“You sound knowledgeable,” Evie said.
“I have a spinster aunt who enjoys collecting books on every subject under the sun and can talk about nothing else. She has so many books, she employed a librarian to sort them out. She ended up inspiring my aunt to purchase more books and build more bookshelves. In less than a year, she filled them all.”
“There’s nothing here about foxgloves,” Tom declared even as he continued turning the pages.
“Perhaps I should have a look.” Evie leaned over his shoulder.
“I spoke too soon. Found something but it’s not much,” Tom said. “Digitalis Purpurea. Its common name is the Purple Foxglove. It is poisonous to man and livestock, especially horses. It contains the glucosides digitalin, which dilates the pupil.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing good, I’m sure.” He returned to the first chapter. “This is interesting. The use of poisons for criminal purposes, although not nearly so extensive at the present time as during the Middle Ages, still plays an important part in criminal law. In 1906, nearly two thousand people died from poisons.”
Evie shivered. “Golly. I feel I should hire a food taster. Then again, I don’t think I have it in me to place someone in danger just to save my own neck.”
Tom continued reading, “Poisoning of livestock is generally accidental. Large losses occur annually in this way.” He closed the book. “I guess Henrietta’s dog must have indulged in the wrong plant.”
Evie sighed. “Thank goodness they no longer grow foxglove here. I’d hate to think my puppy could have been in danger.”
“The puppy you have yet to find?” Tom asked. “Have you actually done something about it?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure the right opportunity will come along soon.” She looked up and asked, “Are you having any luck, Phillipa?”
“There are a number of books on plants but, so far, nothing specifically on poisonous plants.”
Tom got up to put the book away.
“No, leave it out. I’d like to read it just in case it lists any other plants we should ban from cultivation on the estate.”
The edge of Tom’s lip kicked up. “In case your puppy accidentally eats it?”
“You can laugh all you like.” The footman entered and set down a tray with coffee and cups. “Thank you.”
The footman nodded. “I’ve been asked to convey a message from the cook, Mrs. Horace. She apologizes but there will not be any poppy seed cake for this afternoon’s tea. She has prepared a walnut loaf instead, as well as finger sandwiches and the lemon cake you enjoy.”
“Oh, that’s fine, I’m sure.” Although, she couldn’t help feeling that might be a lot for only three people.
The footman turned to leave.
“Just a moment. Afternoon tea, did you say?”
“Yes, milady.”
“I don’t remember organizing it.”
“Six to eight guests for tea, milady.”
“Thank you.” Evie tried to remember when she might have made the arrangement. Striding around the library, she mused, “I have no recollection of inviting anyone to tea.”
“That’s not a good sign,” Phillipa teased. “Are you sure you didn’t kill Mrs. Howard-Smith? You might have forgotten.”
Coming full circle, Evie stopped in front of the table. “Oh, the coffee. I’ll pour. And don’t think I didn’t notice you both exchanging a look that questioned my focus and possibly suggested I’ve become absent-minded.”
Phillipa laughed and in the next breath, she shouted, “Eureka!”
“I take it you found something of worth?” Evie asked.
Phillipa waved the leather-bound tome. “An account of the Foxglove and Some of Its Medical Uses, published in 1785.”
“Fabulous.”
Phillipa climbed down from the ladder and settled at the table to study the contents, saying, “It seems to be both a killer and a savior.”
Tom and Evie huddled around her looking over her shoulder as she flipped through the pages. And that’s how Lady Woodridge found them when she strode into the library an hour later.
“Here you are,” Henrietta exclaimed. “Although, I have no idea what you are doing here. Your guests are waiting.”
Evie straightened. “M-my guests? Whatever are you talking about, Henrietta?”
“The committee ladies, of course. Let me remind you. We are humbly extending our hand of friendship and mending fences. I suspect we will be run off our feet. There will be so much to do but it will all be manageable with the extra helping hands.” The dowager turned to leave. “Oh, and we should be generous and not mention any of the nonsense that has been going on. This is a time for forgiveness and for forging ahead. Tally-ho.”
Chapter Twelve
The ship of democracy, which has weathered all storms, may sink through the mutiny of those on board - Grover Cleveland
The drawing room, Halton House
Tom and Phillipa had promised to join Evie for the tea party. Half an hour later and about to drink her second cup of tea, Evie knew they had deceived her. “Duped,” she said against her cup before turning and saying, “Mrs. Hallesberry, would you care for some more tea? It’s my own special blend.” She glanced over at Henrietta who smiled in approval.
When she had expressed her intention to extend the hand of friendship, or some such thing, to the committee ladies, Henrietta had failed to mention the event would be held at Halton House and it would be hosted by Evie.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Hallesberry said.
“Have some cake. It’s made with our own walnuts and the flour comes from one of our tenant farmers,” Evie thought to add even as she held images of wringing Tom’s neck for abandoning her in her hour of need.
Mrs. Hallesberry helped herself to some cake. “There’s something about the bereavement process that always manages to stimulate my appetite.”
“Mrs. Howard-Smith’s leadership will be sorely missed,” Mrs. Browning exclaimed as she had been doing for the past half hour. The doctor’s wife had produced a handkerchief and had continuously dabbed at the edge of her eyes.
Emotions were definitely running high as well as hot and cold, Evie thought as she noticed the committee ladies casting wary glances at Henrietta.
Had they accepted the invitation out of sheer curiosity or were they prepared to eat humble pie and meet the dowager’s demands of full compliance?
The Vicar’s wife leaned toward Evie and asked, “Did she seem out of sorts to you, Lady Woodridge? You were the last to see her alive.”
Evie wondered at the reason behind Mrs. Ellington’s slight exaggeration. “I’m sure others saw her after her visit here. She appeared to be in a hurry to get somewhere else.” If some people chose to overstate, Evie decided she retained the prerogative to understate. Mrs. Howard-Smith hadn’t just been in a hurry to leave. She’d been desperate. If Evie had been standing in front of her, the woman would have rammed into her, stopping at nothing in order to make her dramatic exit.
Evie remembered the day she’d met her. Mrs. Howard-Smith had been in a hurry to get somewhere else. If the police were trying to trace her movements, they must have reason to believe she had not gone straight home after leaving Halton House. And, if she had visited one of the committee ladies, they would have provided the information to the police.
She looked from one to the other. Yes, they would have told the police everything…
Evie noticed an exchange of glances between Mrs. Hallesberry and the Vicar’s wife and decided they knew somethi
ng but they would not share the information with her.
“I hear she got around quite a bit,” Evie said. “I’m sure mine was not the only invitation she accepted on the day.”
The furtive glances continued.
Evie looked around to make sure everyone had tea and cake. “In fact, one of my guests thinks she might have seen her about town. What color motor car did she drive?”
“Green with black trimming,” Mrs. Penn offered.
Henrietta’s spy earned a chastising look from Mrs. Browning. This struck Evie as odd. They were definitely hiding something. They might even be in collusion together… That didn’t make any sense to Evie. Any information withheld from the police would only hinder their efforts to get to the truth.
“That could be any number of vehicles in the area,” the Vicar’s wife exclaimed and set off a wave of agreement from the others.
“Mrs. Howard-Smith had been far too conscientious of her duties to stray from her usual route.” Mrs. Browning looked to the others for support and received it with more nods of approval.
Evie bit into a piece of walnut cake. There had to be a reason why they would employ subterfuge. Their deceit would surely do more harm than good. Even if they wanted to… What?
Evie tilted her head in thought. Had Mrs. Howard-Smith had a secret? Were the committee ladies trying to safeguard it?
Evie plunged headlong into thinking about secrets. What would a woman of Mrs. Howard-Smith’s standing wish to hide?
Her past?
Henrietta had joked about her family smuggling rum, but what if there was some truth to it? Would it matter that much?
Mrs. Clarissa Penn set her cup of tea down. “We appreciate this conciliatory afternoon tea. It was very gracious of you to extend the invitation, Lady Woodridge.”
Henrietta cleared her throat. “In times of loss, one must learn to put one’s grievances aside and look forward to a fresh start.” She waved her hand. “Bygones.”
