A Pinch of Poison

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “It’s rather late,” she said. “Perhaps we should talk in the morning.”

  Amelia scoffed. “It is not late. Besides, it’s not as though I must wake early for lessons tomorrow. Grams has no intention of allowing me back at school until all questions about Miss Finch have been resolved. Oh, Phoebe, do you really believe she was murdered? That is what you told Grams and Julia earlier, isn’t it?”

  “No, I most certainly did not, and that is exactly why Grams made you wait outside the classroom. You’re letting your imagination run away with you.”

  Clearly chastised, Amelia compressed her lips and offered up one of her innocent, who me expressions. Phoebe decided to take pity on the child, for as she had just pointed out, Amelia had let her imagination run wild. An ounce of truth would help rein those notions back to a manageable degree.

  “All right,” she said, taking her sister’s hand, “let’s sit. You’ll be thrilled to know you can be of help.”

  Amelia’s eyes brightened and she drew in an audible breath of excitement. “Come, Eva. You sit, too.”

  “Why don’t the two of you make yourselves comfortable on the settee, and I’ll stand behind you and take down your hair?”

  This time it was Phoebe and Amelia trading smiles. Amelia knew as well as Phoebe that Eva always sought to maintain the boundaries between them. Phoebe had come to realize her lady’s maid duties were Eva’s anchor, her way of establishing where she belonged in the scheme of the world, and she took those duties as seriously as a soldier takes his orders from the chain of command.

  Thus situated, with Eva searching for hairpins, Phoebe bade Amelia to explain what she knew about the goings-on at the Haverleigh School for Young Ladies.

  “What don’t I know,” the girl said with a puffed-up sense of importance Phoebe immediately forgave. “First, I can tell you Miss Sedgewick and Miss Finch never did get on well. They put up appearances, but any of the students, especially the older ones, could tell you they wasted little love on each other.”

  “And why is that?” Phoebe turned her head slightly so Eva could find more hairpins.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Miss Sedgewick is genteel, and Miss Finch was not. In fact, some of the girls suspected she might have hailed from even lower than the middle class. It does happen, that somehow a girl manages an education— Sunday school, a scholarship—” Her mouth formed an O, and Amelia twisted around to look up at Eva. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “No offense taken, my lady,” Eva said lightly. “I am a farmer’s daughter who, as you said, managed an education in just that way. I’m grateful for it, and grateful to be here serving you and your sisters.” She smiled as she spoke, and if secretly Eva Huntford did feel anything resembling resentment toward her lot in life, Phoebe detected not one hint of it—not in her expression, her words, or her cheerful attendance to her daily tasks. Eva ran her fingers through Phoebe’s hair, unraveling it and fanning it out over Phoebe’s shoulders. Then Eva did the same with Amelia’s darker golden locks.

  “Go back to what you were saying, Amellie.” When they spoke privately like this, Phoebe often reverted to Amelia’s babyhood nickname, a name Amelia herself had coined in her inability to achieve the correct pronunciation. “How do you know Miss Sedgewick held Miss Finch in low regard?”

  “Actually, I think the disdain went both ways. But Miss Sedgewick often looked at Miss Finch in that way—you know, that way women particularly have.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t know.”

  “Like Miss Finch wasn’t worth her notice, and as if she caught Miss Finch trespassing in her private garden.”

  At this, Phoebe chuckled. “And what exactly does that look like?”

  Eva came around the sofa to face them, and Amelia said, “You know, Eva, don’t you?”

  “I do, my lady. As if Miss Sedgewick caught a whiff of something sour.”

  “That’s it.” Amelia turned to Phoebe. “You see, Eva understands.”

  A little pang clutched at Phoebe’s heart. “Have people shown you that look, Eva?”

  “It doesn’t matter, my lady.” Before Phoebe could protest, Eva went briskly on. “So Miss Sedgewick didn’t particularly esteem Miss Finch, which in turn caused Miss Finch to return the sentiments, at least discreetly. How did the students feel about the headmistress?”

  Amelia held out her hand and waggled it a bit. “Some liked her, others didn’t. She makes—that is, she made—us work much harder than Miss Osbourne ever did. You don’t know how easy you had it, Phoebe. Miss Finch was demanding and accepted no excuses.”

  “Granted no quarter,” Eva said with a grin.

  “None,” Amelia confirmed.

  “I do know that Zara Worthington’s parents didn’t approve of Miss Finch’s curriculum, and neither did Zara,” Phoebe said.

  “No, but she always does well.” Amelia scrunched her brow. “I never can quite understand it. Zara never seems to study, is never working on assignments when the rest of us are, and during lessons she always has the most bored expressions.” She shook her head and shrugged. “She must be some kind of genius.”

  Phoebe doubted that. But Amelia’s comments piqued her curiosity. Perhaps Zara’s school records bore looking into.

  “I have a question I’d like to ask you, my lady,” Eva said to Amelia. “It’s about Nurse Delacy. I noticed you and she didn’t return immediately to the dining hall, and when you did return, Julia was with you.”

  “The oddest thing, it was as if Nurse couldn’t understand me. I might have been speaking another language entirely. She merely stood there in the middle of the infirmary, staring back at me with a blank expression. I pleaded and urged, but she didn’t move. Then Julia came and Nurse snapped out of it.”

  “That’s very odd indeed.” Phoebe traded a look with Eva. “You mentioned she seemed nervous when you spoke to her this afternoon.”

  “More than nervous, my lady,” Eva replied. “Downright frightened.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Before Amelia could call “Come in,” the door opened and Grams crossed the threshold. A crescent-thin eyebrow rose in assessment. “So, a lengthy dinner, chess, and reading aloud isn’t enough to tire you out and send you all to bed, eh?”

  Amelia came to her feet. “Phoebe and I were just talking while Eva took down our hair, Grams.”

  “I should go and see if Lady Julia needs me,” Eva murmured, and started toward the door.

  “Stay right where you are, Eva. You three are as thick as thieves.” Grams closed the door behind her with a soft click. She approached the sofa, and Eva ran to bring a side chair closer. Grams lowered herself into it and clasped her hands in her lap. “Now then, tell me everything you know.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “My lady,” Eva said the next morning as she laid out Phoebe’s clothes, “there is something I didn’t tell you last night. Something I learned from Constable Brannock.”

  Phoebe slipped from between the covers and swung her feet into the slippers Eva had just placed closer to the bed. “And what is that?”

  Eva selected a plaid, waist-length jacket to go with the matching narrow skirt she had just draped across the foot of the bed. “Constable Brannock believes he knows what kind of poison killed Miss Finch, and if he is correct, it’s less likely her death could have been an accident.”

  “You’re only telling me this now? Why did you wait? Oh, never mind.” Lady Phoebe gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Had you told me this news yesterday I’d have had to tell Grams last night or be forced to lie to her.”

  Eva nodded in agreement, then went into the dressing room to retrieve a pair of leather and canvas lace-up boots. When Lady Wroxly had demanded her granddaughters tell her everything they knew, she had not pressed Eva in the same way, but seemed content with Eva’s murmured accordance with what ladies Phoebe and Amelia told her. The sisters conveyed merely what they knew to be true, that the cause of death appeared to be an accidental poisoni
ng, but the police were taking no chances and were exploring every avenue. If Lady Phoebe had chosen to leave out her own suspicions, Eva could hardly fault her for that.

  When she returned with the boots, Phoebe asked, “So tell me. What kind of poison does the constable think was at work?”

  Eva took the liberty of sitting on the bed beside her young mistress, cradling the meticulously cleaned boots in her lap. “Cyanide, my lady.”

  “My goodness. Is he certain?”

  “Those blue tinges, especially beneath the fingernails, are apparently a telling sign.”

  “But how would such a thing as cyanide make its way to a girls’ school here in the country?”

  “He said some rat poisons and cleaning chemicals contain the poison. Now more than ever, the constable will want to know if anyone bore a grudge against Miss Finch.”

  “Then help me get dressed. We need to return to the school as soon as possible, not only to continue with our questions, but to help make arrangements for the remaining students to leave Haverleigh. They can’t stay now, not with a shadow of murder hanging about the place.”

  “No, indeed, my lady.”

  After attending to Phoebe, Eva made short work of readying Lady Amelia for her day, not difficult since she would not be attending school and would be spending at least the morning hours at home. Lady Julia was another matter.

  “I’d like to look my best today, Eva,” the eldest Renshaw announced as Eva helped her into her satin wrapper.

  Eva’s heart sank, but she merely smiled and said, “Are you going somewhere special today, my lady?”

  “I’m meeting a friend in the village and then we’re off to Cheltenham for lunch and a bit of shopping.”

  “How lovely, my lady.” Eva thought it unusual for Julia to have planned to meet in the village rather than here at home, and that in turn made her wonder who this friend might be. Did Julia not wish her grandparents to know with whom she planned to spend the day?

  She didn’t ask. Only a few months ago she had attempted to advise Lady Julia about her personal life, and had been swiftly cut off at the knees. Today she dressed Julia’s hair as her ladyship wished and helped her into a stylish Worth suit of burnt-orange wool trimmed with beaver at the collar and cuffs. Lovely for spring, yet warm enough to ward off any lingering winter chill. Julia dismissed her, and Eva breathed a sigh of relief.

  By midmorning, she and Lady Phoebe arrived at Haverleigh. Upon entering the building, Eva swallowed against the faint queasiness that always assailed her whenever she traveled by motorcar. She doubted she’d ever get used to it, but no use complaining, as automobiles were here to stay.

  Muffled voices drifted from behind closed doors, yet even so, the place held an unnatural stillness for a school day. “I don’t suppose they’re holding regular classes after what happened,” Eva whispered.

  Phoebe gestured to a nearby classroom. “Nor are they leaving the girls to their own devices. It sounds as if the French mistress is talking to the students rather than conducting a lesson.”

  “They must be discussing what happened. I’m sure the girls are terribly upset and bewildered.”

  Phoebe nodded and moved on, leading the way down the hall to the administrative offices. She knocked on the door marked MISS VERITY SEDGEWICK, ASSISTANT HEADMISTRESS, but it was from the room next door that a voice called out to them.

  “If you’re looking for me, I’m in here.”

  The door that bore the placard MISS HENRIETTA FINCH, HEADMISTRESS stood ajar, and Phoebe opened it wider and led the way inside. Miss Sedgewick, a woman perhaps two or three years older than Eva, sat behind the paneled oak desk, ledgers open before her, a pen in her hand. She was an attractive woman, with glossy raven hair and eyes rimmed with sable lashes, and skin so pale as to be nearly translucent, but for a pleasing blush of color in her cheeks. Eva sometimes wondered whether her striking looks were entirely natural, or helped along with a skillful use of the cosmetics slowly becoming popular with even respectable women.

  “Good morning, Miss Sedgewick,” Phoebe said in greeting. “I hope we’re not interrupting you.”

  The woman placed her fountain pen in its holder beside a matching inkwell. “Not at all. What might I do for you, Lady Phoebe? I noticed Lady Amelia did not come back to school today, or have you brought her with you?”

  “No, my grandmother has chosen to keep her at home presently.”

  “I’m most sorry to hear that. Is the poor dear terribly distraught over yesterday’s tragic event?”

  Were her sympathies a smidgen overplayed? Her sweetness rather cloying? Eva watched Miss Sedgewick closely as Phoebe replied to her question.

  “My sister is aggrieved over what happened, of course, but my grandmother’s decision to keep her home is a precaution. One that might be best exercised with all the girls.”

  “Why do you say that?” Miss Sedgewick tilted her head and arched her bold brows. “All possible contaminants have been removed from the pantries and iceboxes. Why, just this morning, another delivery of fresh foodstuffs arrived, so there can be no more accidents. My students are quite safe, I assure you.”

  My students, she said. Eva stole a sideways glance at Phoebe. Had she noticed the slip? For a slip it had to have been. There had not yet been time for the school’s governing body to determine who would replace Miss Finch.

  “Can you be so certain, and is it worth the risk?” Phoebe persisted.

  Miss Sedgewick’s lovely dark eyes turned to Eva. A manicured hand, smooth and white, pointed toward the wall. “Miss Huntford, do move that chair closer so your mistress may sit.”

  It was not the order that rankled, for indeed it was just the sort of thing a lady’s maid was accustomed to doing. Yet, a note in Miss Sedgewick’s tone had seemed intent on reminding Eva of her place.

  Well and good did Eva know her place. She didn’t need anyone to remind her.

  She brought the chair closer and held it while Phoebe settled into it. Then Eva backed up several steps and simply stood. As soon as the other two resumed talking, however, her pique faded and a sense of foolishness came over her. Had Miss Sedgewick really spoken with anything other than a desire to see Lady Phoebe made comfortable?

  She had to admit Phoebe and Amelia had spoiled her, treating her at times more like a friend than a servant. She could not and should not expect the same from others.

  “Indeed, Lady Phoebe,” Miss Sedgewick was saying, “a number of the students were whisked home yesterday by their mamas—understandable, perhaps, but in my opinion unnecessary. I believe they’ll soon see reason and return their daughters to school. In the meantime, I am easing the remaining girls back into their lessons. Carrying on is the best policy for them. Creating a panic through a mass exodus will do no one any good.”

  Phoebe glanced over her shoulder at Eva, her expression conveying a private message: what now? Eva gave a slight shrug and an even smaller shake of her head. There was nothing to be done, then, until the police reached a more definitive conclusion about Miss Finch’s death. While caution seemed the most reasonable course, especially where children were concerned, Miss Sedgewick seemed immovable on the subject of sending the students home. The assistant headmistress had, however, made one quite reasonable observation, which was that creating a panic would do no one any good. And Eva felt sure introducing the word cyanide to the conversation would send ripples of fear and panic throughout the school.

  No, they must wait for the police to make their official statement.

  Phoebe came to her feet, as did the assistant headmistress. Phoebe extended her hand and Miss Sedgewick shook it lightly. “Thank you, Miss Sedgewick. We won’t keep you any longer. If there is anything we at Foxwood Hall can do to assist you, you need only ask.”

  “Thank you, my lady. That is most generous of you.” She came around the desk. “I’ll see you out.”

  “No need. Eva and I don’t wish to keep you from your work. Besides, we thought we’d linger and
speak with the older girls, see how they’re holding up after yesterday.”

  Miss Sedgewick’s cordial smile slipped. “They’re doing quite well, my lady. It would be rather irregular—”

  “Yes, but you see, as a member of the governing body, my grandmother asked me to check on them.”

  “Did she?”

  Phoebe raised her eyebrows and nodded.

  “I see. Well, then, in that case. I believe half the sixth form girls are having their French lesson and the other half are”—she glanced at the locket watch pinned to her blouse—“at Etiquette and Elocution.” With a sigh the woman returned to her chair.

  “We’ll wait until their lessons have ended.”

  In the corridor, Phoebe drew Eva away from the doorway. “Perhaps as I talk to some of the girls, you might take Jane Timmons aside. She and Zara Worthington don’t get along, but Jane is quite able to stand up for herself. Something tells me the girl is an observant one. And I thought you might be the better choice to speak with her.”

  “I’d be happy to, my lady. Jane and I have a common bond in being the daughters of local farmers. Perhaps she’ll feel comfortable confiding in me.”

  The rumble of a heavy vehicle pulling up the drive and a blaring honk-honking drew them to the sidelights on either side of the front door. Not one but two approaching vehicles spit gravel from beneath their tires.

  “More deliveries for the kitchen?” Eva mused out loud.

  “Why, Eva, that’s Owen Seabright. What on earth is he doing here?”

  Before Eva could venture a guess, Phoebe hurried outside and down the steps to the drive. Eva followed and remained beside her while Phoebe waited for a lorry and, leading the way, a sporty motorcar to pull up. At the speed at which the latter was traveling, Eve didn’t feel entirely confident she would not have to push her mistress out of harm’s way.

  The motor car, its top down, was a three-wheeled Morgan Runabout with two wheels in front and one in back. Such lightweight cyclecars had been known to leave competitors behind in a cloud of exhaust in many a national race prior to the war.