“Up from your bed so soon, Miss Davish?”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better. How are Mr. Reynard and the others?”
“Freddie and most of the others are better, though not nearly as recovered as you. Father is still quite ill, I’m afraid. I think the sickness hit him the hardest.”
“That remains to be seen,” the policeman said, without looking up from his notes. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook may have died from the same poisoning that incapacitates your father.” Adella’s cheeks flushed. She was a woman not used to being contradicted.
“Do you suspect another cause?” I asked. The policeman looked at me sideways and a slight smile lit his face.
“And you are?” he asked in an almost-teasing tone.
“This is Miss Davish, Sir Arthur Windom-Greene’s secretary, Officer Corbett,” Adella said. “And Sir Arthur would find me remiss if I didn’t insist she return to her bed until Dr. Gunderson arrives.”
“Is Sir Arthur here?” I asked, ignoring her order back to bed. I didn’t know Sir Arthur to rise before nine o’clock.
“Yes, he’s in the library with Papa,” Adella Reynard said. “I’ll be in the nursery if you need me, Mr. Corbett.” She left the room without waiting for his response.
I turned back to the policeman. “Do you think Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook died of something other than food poisoning?”
The policeman hesitated, looked down at his notes, and smiled out of the side of his mouth again. I think he found my questions amusing, but I ignored him. I wanted to know the answer.
“We won’t know until the autopsy of course, but it’s possible. We have to consider both, that it may have been food poisoning or poison in the food. The medical examiner will run tests to determine which.”
“You suspect foul play?” I asked. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook was an elderly gentleman. The timing of his death could be a mere coincidence.” The policeman looked up and gave me the smile again.
“That is true, Miss Davish, but considering that the house was burglarized at the same time, we are investigating Mr. Holbrook’s death as intentional.”
“Murder,” Mrs. Cassidy whispered.
“Yes, Mrs. Cassidy, murder,” Officer Corbett said, a cold, stern tone replacing his more casual one. It reminded me of Walter, capable of both playfulness and professionalism but never mixing the two. “Now, if you will, tell me how poisoned food was served from your kitchen.”
CHAPTER 14
“Come in!” someone shouted when I knocked on General Starrett’s library door. Unlike the last time I was here, when the general was ensconced in a warm, cozy room smoking a pipe, the room I entered was in chaos.
“Hattie!” Sir Arthur exclaimed with more enthusiasm than surprise. “You’re feeling better, I take it?”
“Yes, sir, much better, thank you.”
“No need for a doctor’s advice after all,” he said.
“No, sir. I definitely don’t require the services of a doctor,” I said.
“I’m amazed, my girl,” General Starrett said. “Frederick, Henry, and Sir Arthur’s guests are all still bedridden. Though maybe it’s a woman thing. Mrs. Triggs is also feeling much better, I hear.”
“It probably has more to do with moderation than constitution,” Sir Arthur said. It struck me as an important insight, but I didn’t have the time to figure out how before Sir Arthur said, “This is a job for you, Hattie.”
He explained that he was assisting General Starrett in cataloging the contents of the room. “I had planned to help him myself, with you incapacitated, but since you are fit for duty . . .” He handed me the tablet he’d been using.
“Shouldn’t the girl be recuperating, Sir Arthur, and not sitting in this stuffy room?”
“Oh, no, General. You don’t know Hattie. She’d prefer to be here helping you than lying in bed all day. Right, Hattie?” He did know me well.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Sir Arthur said. “If the police need me, Hattie, you know where to find me. And let me know when my guests are fit to travel and I’ll send Harvey over with the sleigh. Good day, General.” And with that he turned to take his leave.
“Sir,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Before I came here, I was in the kitchen while a policeman interviewed Mrs. Cassidy, the cook. They think someone might have deliberately poisoned the food.” I now had Sir Arthur’s and General Starrett’s undivided attention.
“What else did he say?” General Starrett said, inching up to the edge of his seat. Sir Arthur sat down again.
“Tell us everything that was said,” Sir Arthur said.
Although I hadn’t been taking physical notes, I had made mental notes in anticipation of this moment. I knew Sir Arthur would want to know everything.
“Officer Corbett asked Mrs. Cassidy to explain how the food came to be poisoned,” I said. I told them how Mrs. Cassidy had denied any wrongdoing, insisting that anyone had access to the kitchen and that several people (which was highly unusual) had visited the kitchen last night: Adella checking up on the cook’s progress, Frederick Reynard looking for Adella, Oscar Killian, the grocer, personally delivering the “fancy food,” the children running in and out. Mrs. Cassidy also had caught a strange man in an old black suit rummaging around in her pantry. He said that he hadn’t eaten dinner and was looking for something to take with him on his long journey home. She had assumed, since he was in the house, he was a guest of the house and packed him a basket.
“I think Mrs. Cassidy might’ve met Mr. Mott,” I said. Sir Arthur shook his head.
“I don’t know of a Mr. Mott,” he said.
“Mott, Mott,” the general said. “I don’t know that name either.”
“I met Mr. Mott in the hallway after he’d been speaking to your son in the back parlor. He was a strange little man.”
“When was that?” Sir Arthur asked.
“It was Sunday afternoon when I took the general’s dictation,” I said. “But before that, I saw him coming out of Enoch Jamison’s house and then again last night during dinner when Captain Starrett was called away. I was seated where I could see the visitor in the hall mirror.”
“I could see the mirror from my chair as well,” the general said. “Why didn’t I see him?”
“He was only visible for a moment, and at the time you had your head turned, speaking to me.”
“We’ll have to ask Henry about him then,” the general said.
“Yes, we will,” Sir Arthur said. “Go on, Hattie.”
“Mrs. Cassidy also admitted to leaving the kitchen twice before dinner, once to fetch a serving tray in the dining room cupboard—the one she had planned to use was chipped—and once to ‘get a bit of fresh air.’ It was upon her return the second time that she found Mr. Mott in her pantry, where the household poisons are kept on a high shelf in the back.”
“Well, there you go,” General Starrett said. “This Mott is the culprit.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Sir Arthur said. “We still don’t know if it was poison added to the food or it was simply spoiled food as Dr. Gunderson said.”
“Not to mention that the strychnine she keeps in the pantry to kill rats isn’t the only poison available about this house,” I said.
“What on earth do you mean?” General Starrett said.
“Mr. Reynard grows a variety of poisonous plants in his greenhouse,” I said, “Narcissus, azalea, mistletoe, even the tulips and the holly in the floral centerpiece on the dining room table are poisonous if eaten.”
“Hattie is an amateur botanist,” Sir Arthur said to answer the quizzical expression on the general’s face. Then Sir Arthur pulled out his watch. “Well, I must take leave of you now, General,” he said, standing. “Keep me informed, Hattie.”
“And don’t go nibbling on any mistletoe either,” General Starrett said, laughing under his breath. “Who would’ve known Christmas could be so dangerous.”
The general and I wor
ked for a couple of hours before the policeman found us in the library. We’d been interrupted moments earlier by Adella, followed by Priscilla Triggs, her face pinched and pale.
“Papa, are you smoking that pipe again?” Adella said, taking the pipe from where the general had hastily tried to hide it in his lap. “Do remember we have sick people in this house. Speaking of whom, Mrs. Triggs is feeling slightly better and didn’t want to be alone in her room. I have my hands full tending to the children and helping Mrs. Baines nurse Father. Would you mind if she sat quietly here with you?”
“Shouldn’t she be with her husband?” General Starrett asked peevishly, eyeing the pipe now out of his reach.
“He was the one that suggested I find company, sir,” Priscilla Triggs said, taking the seat beside me. She looked at me and managed a weak smile. “I promise not to disturb yours and Hattie’s work.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Adella said, kissing his forehead. “I’ll have Mrs. Becker announce luncheon.” Priscilla’s face blanched. I knew what she was feeling. The thought of even the toast I had attempted to eat earlier was unsettling.
“May I just have a glass of water?” Priscilla asked.
“Of course, Mrs. Triggs,” Adella said. “I’ll have Mrs. Becker bring it right away.”
A polite rap on the door preceded the policeman sticking his head into the room. “Can I have a moment, sir?”
“I was wondering when you were going to join us, young man,” the general said.
“Had to take everyone’s statement, sir,” the policeman said, bowing his head to the ladies in the room without making eye contact. “May I take your statement now, sir?”
“Of course,” the general said. “I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Corbett, Papa,” Adella said. She pulled another travel book from the shelf, then quickly excused herself.
“My name’s Archibald Corbett, sir, and I’ve been assigned to this investigation. Now would you mind excusing us, ladies?”
“That won’t be necessary, Corbett. Miss Davish is here doing a job and Mrs. Triggs, well, she’s all settled in. No, I’ve nothing to hide.” Priscilla Triggs shot me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. Was that a smile?
“Oh, a-l-ll right, th-then,” the policeman stammered, opening his notebook. “Very well, sir. If you could tell me in your own words the events that took place here last night.”
“Do you want Miss Davish to take dictation?” the general said. “Sir Arthur says she’s very good.” Officer Corbett glanced at me and blushed. It was not the reaction I expected.
“No, no, no, thank you,” he said, burying his nose in his notebook again. “I’m used to taking my own notes. Now, if you don’t mind?”
As I continued to catalog the contents of General Starrett’s desk, the general detailed his account of the dinner party and subsequent illness, the ransacking of the library, and the theft of the contents of his safe. I recognized the cadence to his narrative; the disastrous night took on the same overtone as one of his war experiences.
“And did the thief take anything else beside the bank notes?”
“Can’t you see that’s what Miss Davish and I are trying to determine? So far, everything else is accounted for except for my great-grandson’s gun.”
“Gun? What gun?” The policeman’s head jerked up. The old man dismissed the concern in the policeman’s voice with a wave of his hand.
“It was a present to the boy from his grandfather. But what does that have to do with anything? Holbrook, poor chap, was poisoned, not shot.”
“That may be, sir, but now we know that the burglar may be armed and more dangerous. What type of gun was it, General?” Corbett asked. “In case it does turn up.”
“A LeMat revolver.”
“Thank you, sir,” the policeman said, standing. “If anything else turns up missing, or if you’d like to add to your statement, please let me know.”
“Did you get Mrs. Triggs’s statement, Mr. Corbett?” I asked. Priscilla Triggs put her hands to her mouth. Officer Corbett dropped his notebook. I didn’t know who looked more startled, Mrs. Triggs or the policeman.
“Oh, right. I’m sorry, ma’am. The general said you’d been ill. I didn’t realize you were at the dinner party last night.”
“How else did you think she’d gotten ill?” the general said.
“I apologize, Mrs. Triggs. I was under the impression that none of the ladies at the dinner had taken ill.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Corbett,” Priscilla Triggs said. “I had but a mild case compared to the others, especially poor Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook, of course.”
“Dr. Gunderson said Holbrook, my son, and the others were all poisoned last night,” General Starrett snapped. “Did you get that in your statements?” The policeman disregarded the old man’s discourtesy and continued.
“Most mentioned the illness, but I’ve yet to take the doctor’s statement, sir. Mr. Greene said the doctor would be coming by the house this morning. I thought that I wouldn’t jump to any medical conclusions until I spoke with him.”
“Yes, all right, I guess. But it’s not Mr. Greene. It’s Sir Arthur Windom-Greene. He’s a distinguished gentleman from England.” General Starrett seemed more out sorts than I’d ever seen him. I wondered if he too was getting ill.
The policeman turned to Mrs. Triggs, careful to look over her shoulder and not at her face. “If you don’t mind giving a statement then, ma’am?”
“If it will be helpful, Officer,” Priscilla said, a lilt in her voice I’d never heard before. She shot a glance at me and smiled before turning back to the policeman. “Though I’m sure I have nothing more to add that my husband or the others haven’t already said.”
I think she’s enjoying this, I thought. At least one of us is.
“That’s fine, ma’am. Now tell me, in your own words, what happened last night.”
Priscilla spoke softly but assuredly, relaying the details of our arrival, the pre-dinner chatter, dinner itself, and then the discovery of the theft. I envied her memory. I would’ve had to refer to my notes to give such a precise account.
“So you saw the boy playing with the gun before dinner?” Officer Corbett asked.
“What? More about the gun?” General Starrett said. “I’m sure it will turn up.”
The policeman ignored the general’s outburst and turned back to Mrs. Triggs, patiently awaiting her response.
“Yes, the Reynards have such delightful children.” She smiled slightly at the memory, but then again, she hadn’t had the gun pointed at her. “Edward is a wonderful, playful boy and Gertrude is simply divine.”
“Playful? Divine? Ha! They’re little whirling dervishes,” the general blurted out. “You obviously have never had children of your own.” Priscilla Triggs’s eyes went wide, her mouth slack. Her secret was out and General Starrett was oblivious to the pain he had caused. Her body was taut as she sat on the edge of her chair. I didn’t know if she would lunge at him or bolt from the room. She did neither. She dropped her eyes to her lap, twisting her wedding band around and around her finger.
So that’s what she meant about it being too late, too late for her to have children.
“And you yourself fell victim to the sickness, ma’am?” Officer Corbett asked. “Ma’am?” Priscilla’s response was barely audible.
“Yes, though my husband suffered far more than I did.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the food poisoning or being childless. “Hattie was ill as well.”
The policeman looked up from his notes at me, surprised. “But I thought . . . You’re the secretary, right? You weren’t even at the dinner party and you still got sick?”
“She most certainly was at the dinner party, Corbett. She was the family’s special guest,” the general growled. He looked at me sympathetically and then shook his head. “Sorry, my girl. Didn’t mean to repay our gratitude by getting you poisoned and having old Holbrook die practically on top of you.”
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br /> “Ahem,” Corbett said, putting his fist to his mouth. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll have to take a statement from you as well, Miss Davish.” General Starrett started fidgeting in his chair and wringing his hands.
“Then get on with it, man,” he said curtly. “And by God, will you please sit down.” Officer Corbett obliged. Again I wondered what was wrong with the general, why he was becoming short-tempered, until he looked over at his pipe, where Adella had placed it out of his reach.
I pushed away from the desk and stood up. The policeman jumped to his feet.
“I can make my statement brief, Mr. Corbett, by saying that I agree with everything Mrs. Triggs said. Her memory was flawless and her impressions were similar to my own. We are lucky that both of us escaped the ravage of the sickness. But I do need to ask,” I said, “did anyone else mention Captain Henry Starrett’s visitor?”
“Yes, yes, they have, Miss Davish. Several have mentioned that Captain Starrett was called away from the table. But no one knew who the visitor was.”
“His name is Horace Mott.” General Starrett sat up straight in his chair while Mrs. Triggs stifled a sound that resembled a squeak. The policeman looked me in the eye for the first time.
“That’s right! I’d forgotten about him!” the general exclaimed, slapping his knee. “He’s your man.”
The policeman ignored the general’s outburst and continued staring at me. “How do you come to know this, Miss Davish?” The policeman’s tone was curious, not accusatory as I’d expected. I told him what I’d told General Starrett and Sir Arthur. He settled into his chair again.
“Can you describe him?”
“Short, pudgy, a few years older than me, wears spectacles and an old-fashioned foot-tall stovepipe hat,” I said. “Ambrose and Captain Starrett will be able to describe him as well.”
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