by Issy Brooke
But halfway there, they were waylaid by the sudden and very unexpected reappearance of Florence Spenning.
“I have just been to a druggist,” she said, and held out her hand. There was a small paper bag in it. “For I have been as you are now, Miss Johnson, and this might help. I know that you do not trust me but … you need to trust me, now. For I can keep secrets. You know that, you of all people. And I do have your best interests at heart. Good night, and God go with you all.” She pressed the bag into Emily’s hand and darted away before anyone could finish saying “What is it?” and “Thank you.”
Emily stared at the paper in her hands. Then she tucked it almost automatically into her bag, and they carried on out of the hall, heading for home.
13
They rode home in the carriage in sullen silence. The sullenness, in truth, was emanating from Emily Johnson with such force that it quite put a thick blanket upon the other occupants. As soon as they got back to Litton, Emily retired to her room, refusing to have any food sent up. Anne and Adelia snacked on a little light food by a low fire in the cosiest parlour in the house, but there was a general air of disappointment hanging over them.
“I am peeved,” Adelia said. “What lies between Miss Johnson and Mrs Spenning? If she could only be honest, I am sure that much of this might be avoided. Do you think there is a matter of blackmail? Bribery? Threats?”
“She is a woman torn,” Anne replied, toying with a half-eaten slice of cold toast. “She hates Mrs Spenning, it is true, though she didn’t use to be so vehemently opposed to her.”
“I know that she thinks Mrs Spenning killed her husband. Has she another reason to loathe her?”
“I don’t know.”
Adelia frowned. She thought that there must be.
Anne went on. “The problem with our dear Em is that she sees things in a very clear-cut way. You are either good, or you are bad. You either do the right thing, or the wrong thing. Once a person errs and falls from Em’s favour, then that person is irredeemable. There is no room for forgiveness in Emily’s world.”
“How awful for everyone around her!”
“No, mama, don’t you see? This causes her great personal pain and anguish. For the world is not black and white. She hates Mrs Spenning now but she did not always do so, and one cannot turn one’s emotions on and off like a tap – God knows, if one could, I would have. And anyway, what I mean is, it’s even worse for herself.”
“What do you mean?”
Anne sighed and looked up at a painting on the wall. It was a nondescript yellowish landscape with faded tall trees and a curving river. Anne was willing herself into the scene. She said, “Who holds you to the highest account, mama? Aside from the Lord above, of course.”
Adelia thought about it. The stock answer of “My husband” was not correct even though that was what she’d say in public. Eventually she said, “I hold myself high. I set my own standards.”
“Exactly so. We are all harder on ourselves than we ever are to our friends. Bernard has helped me in that regard. He has shown me that the expectations I place upon myself are in fact injurious to myself. And as for Emily, well, if she sees the world in black and white and she allows no straying from the path of righteousness, what then happens when she, herself, inevitable slips and stumbles?”
“We all do from time to time.”
“Indeed. And she cannot forgive such stumbles in another. So how do you think she feels about herself?”
“I see what you mean. She must feel awful and torn in two, all of the time. But all she has to do is stop being so rigid!” Adelia exclaimed in exasperation.
“Just like that? So simple? I was gripped by melancholia yet all I had to do was cheer up, and all Mary had to do was be honest about how she had been pressed into the mould of ‘sick woman’ when she was not, and all Felicia had to do was to stop being so silly … so simple, so easy, why don’t we all just change, instantly, into perfect human beings?” Anne focused once more on her mother. “Why don’t you?”
“I take your point,” said Adelia.
“You’re not going to argue with me?”
“No, for you are right.”
Anne started to laugh. “Once, you would have argued anyway, just to win.”
“I know now that winning isn’t as important as the truth.” She’d made painful mistakes over the past year. She didn’t know how much Anne knew about the business with her brother, but she suspected that Anne had heard everything.
Anne simply smiled.
The next morning, Emily did not come down to breakfast and when Mrs Macauley came to call, Emily refused to see her. Mrs Macauley had heard, as one always did on the rural grapevine, what had happened at the workhouse talk in Great Yarmouth, and had hurried over to Litton to offer her assistance.
She was rather stunned to discover that her assistance was not wanted.
She stood in the hallway, clutching a small bag to her body, and frowned at Adelia and Anne who were side by side. Anne had gone up to Emily’s room herself, and returned with the bad news that Emily was not receiving visitors.
“I am not a mere visitor! I am her friend. What has happened? How does she look?”
“I did not see her. We conversed through the door. She assures me she is well but not up to meeting anyone today. Well, she muttered as much; she seemed groggy with sleep. She sent her apologies.”
“Did she send anything else?”
“Such as…?”
“A note, or a book?”
Anne shook her head. “I am sorry.”
Just before Mrs Macauley turned away, Adelia asked her a question that had been on her mind since the night before. “Miss Johnson carries small pills in the bag around her wrist. Do either of you know what they are, or for what complaint they are prescribed?”
“I don’t think she’s prescribed anything,” said Anne. “No doctor is ever called here for her.”
Mrs Macauley also shook her head. “As far as I know, she is fit and well. They might be tonics, as all of us women need from time to time, especially as … forgive me, Lady Calaway but…”
“Yes, yes, as we all get older.”
“I meant to say, as we flower into maturity.”
“I’ve quite gone to seed, but I appreciate your discretion.”
That made Mrs Macauley smile. She said, “And how goes the investigation?”
“It is progressing.”
“Is that all you can tell me?”
“Is it, I am afraid, all that I will tell you.”
Mrs Macauley turned to Anne, and Adelia thought she was about to try to pump her for information instead, but she said, “Please do let me know as soon as Emily is able to see me. And … I do not think less of her for this. Treat her kindly. For still waters run deep, and you do not know the depths indeed of an old maid and how it is for them, ever to be overlooked.”
She left, and Adelia said to Anne, “I really do want to find out what’s in those pills. There is something more to Emily that we know. Still waters can hold all manner of things. Sea monsters, for a start.”
“I agree. We ought to get hold of them and ask papa to examine them closely.”
“Asking papa will have to wait. He told me that he was off chasing wild geese – he and Bamfylde are relentlessly speaking to every businessman who has ever had dealings in or around Norwich, on the trail of connections between Calcraft and Spenning.”
Dinner that evening was a lively affair. Theodore and Bamfylde had returned at the last minute, full of information and tales. Bernard, Anne and Adelia were keen to hear them. Only Emily was not in attendance. She had not been seen all day, but had assured a maid, through the door, that she was well.
The maid had been concerned when she told Anne and Adelia. “It is her favourite pudding tonight, my ladies, but she said she did not want it and she was not to be disturbed again.”
“She does have her ways,” Anne had replied mildly and Adelia bit back any unkind rema
rk that sprang to her lips.
Although Emily was not there, young Patrick insisted on being present and having an audience for the first part of the meal, though he really should have been taking his meals in the nursery. Anne indulged him and he was passed from knee to knee until he was quite full of pieces of bread and pâté. Once he was hauled off to bed, talk turned to the murder.
Theodore took the lead. “Walter Spenning and Edwin Calcraft were definitely involved together. We had wondered if it were a business or a charity. It was all one thing together, and it was some sort of charity…”
“The workhouse!” Adelia exclaimed.
“No. It was nothing to do with the business in Great Yarmouth at all,” Theodore said. “It was based in Norwich and it was some philanthropic endeavour which gathered money from rich benefactors and put it to work for the benefit of … well, we don’t know yet.”
“But knowing Spenning, it was to the benefit of himself and himself alone!” Bernard boomed. “He might have called it a charity but he would have done nothing for others.”
“Quite possibly, for we can find no written records, as yet. And they argued mightily over something in this business, or charity, or whatever it was, and went their separate ways most acrimoniously.”
“When?”
“About ten years ago. Although the charity wasn’t properly wound up them. It may have persisted but in a dormant state, doing nothing officially.”
“Ten years!” exclaimed Adelia. “But this is impossible. Who kills a man over a bad deal enacted ten years ago? If the charity isn’t even active any longer, what would be the point of killing over it?”
“We don’t know yet, but at least this confirms there is a link there.”
“We need to know more of a link than this,” Adelia argued.
“Of course, of course! Give us time,” Theodore retorted. He was laughing but she could tell he was just a little irritated. He wanted to be showered in plaudits for what he had discovered. So she conceded to him that it was a positive step forward.
They all wanted to go in different directions now and things got a little heated.
Bernard still wanted to dowse for the answer. Anne was happy to let it all drop. Adelia wanted to focus on Florence Spenning and perhaps Emily Johnson; Theodore and Bamfylde were keen to investigate Calcraft.
“He simply puzzles me,” Theodore admitted at last.
“And Emily puzzles me,” Adelia said, with an apologetic look at Anne.
Anne merely shrugged.
“What next?” Adelia asked.
“Let us continue to tug at these threads of connection and see who unravels first.”
“That sounds very fine but what are we going to do next?”
Theodore went a little pink. “I don’t know but I am sure, after a good night’s sleep, the answer will come to me in the morning.”
In that, he was wrong.
Something dreadful came to them all in the morning, and it was not an answer at all.
14
It started with screaming.
In most of the grand houses and castles where Adelia and Theodore’s daughters lived, there were wings set aside for guests and usually visitors found themselves with whole suites of rooms, often at a distance from the main part of the house. Litton, however, was somewhat crumbling around the edges. Adelia and Theodore had a few rooms close by all the others, and so when Anne started to scream, everyone heard it.
It was early in the morning. Servants were up, but the other members of the household were still only just emerging. Adelia was in the dressing room but only half-dressed, and she shot to her feet. Smith grabbed a nearby housecoat and threw it around Adelia’s shoulders. She knew, of course, that her mistress would undoubtedly run towards the sound of screaming. Theodore was still in his nightgown and he cared not one bit for propriety. He came running out of the bedroom and joined Adelia and Smith in the dressing room. Smith turned away with a tut.
They rushed out into the corridor. Anne was standing at the open door of Emily’s room, hanging onto the door frame, gasping for air. Bernard was immediately at her side, while little Patrick briefly appeared, only to be hauled away again immediately by an ashen-faced maid.
Theodore took charge. He strode up to Bernard and Anne, and peered past them into the devastation of Emily Johnson’s room.
She was lying on her bed surrounded by rumpled pillows and sheets. She was in her long white nightdress, and her hair was in a maiden-like halo all around her head. Her skin was white and even from the door he could see a sheen of sweat on her brow. He ran over to her and immediately felt for a pulse.
He turned and announced, “She’s alive!”
“Thank the Lord!” cried Anne.
Bernard said, “I’ll call for a doctor!”
“I am a doctor,” Theodore snapped, and turned his attention back to Emily. He shook her shoulders, calling her name. She moaned, and her head rolled, but her eyes did not open. Her hands flexed, her fingers opening and closing.
He looked around. There was a chair alongside her bed, and it had a scattering of pills on it. There was a glass on the floor, its contents staining the bedside rug dark, but it could have been innocent water. The window to the room was open and the air was chilly, the blue curtains pulled back hard to let in the light. The desk by the window seemed oddly bare.
He put one hand on her forehead. Her skin was clammy and cold.
He turned, and barked out, “We don’t need a doctor. We need the police – immediately!”
The servants at Litton were slack and lazy, generally, but they jumped to obey this. While Bernard oversaw one of the staff to fetch a police constable, Theodore set about making Emily as comfortable as possible. He examined the pills on the chair, but they were white and unmarked. Neither Anne nor Adelia could tell him what was in them.
“She was often anxious,” Anne said. “So they must have been calming pills or perhaps she took them to help her sleep.”
“From where did she get them?” Theodore demanded.
“I don’t know. There is no pharmacist or druggist in our village. The town has one – we should send word and ask them.”
“Do so.”
Anne hesitated by the door and he saw her glance towards Adelia.
“What is it?” he asked, brusquely. This was no time for shilly-shallying. A woman’s life might be in the balance.
“She was given some pills when we went to Great Yarmouth, the day before yesterday, by Mrs Spenning…”
“These pills?”
“She had some in her bag, which were small and white, and Mrs Spenning brought her some more. I didn’t see what they looked like.”
“And she took them?”
“It appears so…”
Theodore cursed. By the time they found out what had poisoned Emily, it could be too late. Anne scurried away to find out more about any purchases or prescriptions Emily might have made, and he turned back to see what he could do to ease the poor woman’s immediate symptoms.
Adelia came to his side. “Do we provoke vomiting, or bleed her, or plunge her into a cold bath, or what?” she asked.
“Give me a moment,” he muttered. He checked inside Emily’s mouth and there was no sign of burning or corrosion. He stripped back the mess of bedclothes and was pleased to see there had been no natural or unnatural purging; the linens were clean. He began to palpitate her abdomen and could not detect any hard lumps but it seemed bloated and a little too soft, as if fluid filled the cavities.
“A little emetic, I think, will be beneficial, and something to restore her waters,” he said, setting about tidying the bedclothes and pulling Emily into a more decorous position. He hauled her up, propping her on a few pillows. Adelia was quick to step in and help. “Perhaps some charcoal might be administered, which is a standard sort of treatment in these cases. Then all we can do is watch and wait, I fear.”
“Wait?”
“For any change. Good, or ill. We m
ay have another murder case on our hands, dear heart, though it will be quickly solved, at least. The culprit has as good as hanged themselves now.”
“There’s a comfort,” she muttered, with an edge to her voice, and he wondered if he’d expressed himself wrongly.
It hardly mattered. There were more important things at stake, currently.
Florence Spenning needed arresting – at once!
The man who arrived from the police station about an hour later was not a constable, but in fact an inspector. He was Scottish, with a shock of red hair and a low, calming voice. He didn’t seem inclined to indulge in idle conversation. He asked to be taken immediately to the victim.
Theodore had not left Emily’s side until the inspector had arrived. He met the policeman in the hall and hurried back to the bedroom with Inspector Menzies at his side.
“Has there been any change?” Theodore asked.
Adelia shook her head. “In the last three minutes since you were gone? No, she is still unconscious but she responds slightly to touch.”
Theodore leaned over and pinched Emily’s earlobe, making her twitch and mew. Her eyes fluttered but did not open. “She is no worse, at least. We have not been able to get her to take any medicines yet.”
“And you are a qualified doctor, are you, sir?”
“I am.”
“Hmm, well then. And you are saying this is a deliberate act by person or persons unknown?”
“Oh, they are very known. Two days ago, Mrs Florence Spenning gave Miss Johnson some pills.”
“And why did she do that?”
“My wife was there,” Theodore said, turning to Adelia.
The inspector didn’t glance her way. “And what did your wife see?”
Theodore bristled a little but he knew that Adelia’s annoyance would be far greater. He spoke for her, wearily – it was going to be faster to just respond on his wife’s behalf, as the inspector expected. “My wife and our daughter were in Great Yarmouth with Miss Johnson at a talk on philanthropy. Miss Johnson had an unexpected turn, I believe, and lost her balance. She sat down, and Mrs Spenning, who was also present, went to a druggist on her behalf – or so she said. She returned and gave her pills.”