She once more regarded the gaping drawer, and absently placed the letter back on the desk. Next, she righted the drawer on its brackets and slid it partially in, but still wide enough for her to reach in. She stopped with her hand in midair and stared at her palm, at a fine brown substance caught in the creases.
“Where did that come from?” she murmured. The letter had been balled on the floor—dusty, yes, but this.... She moved the paper aside and discovered a fine coating of the same brown powder on the blotter. The substance must have been on the desk and transferred onto the back of the paper when she smoothed it open, and from there onto her palm. Phoebe gasped, and before another thought quite formed she brushed her hands together, and then wiped them on her coat. Speculation ran rampant through her mind. The desk drawer once again captured her attention.
She peered inside. The contents had clearly been rummaged through, with pens, pencils, notepads, and clips jumbled together in a manner a woman like Miss Sedgewick would never countenance. Phoebe reached in, carefully lifting things, moving them aside, looking . . . she didn’t know what for.
Her fingers touched something cool and smooth, obviously glass. A pot of ink? No, it seemed too narrow. She closed her hand around it and drew it out, and found herself looking at more of the same brown powder as on the desk. The vial was nearly empty but for a quarter inch or so at the bottom. She slipped out the stopper and sniffed. A bitter scent made her wrinkle her nose and turn away quickly.
In an instant she gained her feet and bolted for the front door.
* * *
As Eva watched the mantel clock in the servants’ hall tick away the minutes, the small amount of breakfast she’d consumed sat heavy in her stomach. In another twenty-five minutes the clock would strike nine and the Countess of Wroxly would expect her students to file into the Petite Salon for morning lessons. Only, two of those students, Amelia and Jane, and Lady Phoebe as well, might not be present at the allotted time.
“Hurry home, Lady Phoebe,” she murmured under her breath. Because if they didn’t return soon, at exactly nine o’ clock, she, Eva, would be forced to concoct some excuse for them.
Lie to the Countess of Wroxly. Lie! Eva didn’t know if she could, and even saying nothing, pretending she didn’t know where Lady Phoebe and the girls had gone, would in itself be a lie. She stared down into her teacup and said a little prayer.
Almost immediately after her amen, a jingle sounded on the long panel of bells set high on the wall. Eva’s pulse jumped as she looked up to see where the summons originated. At the same time, Douglas, one of the footmen, poked his head into the room and glanced at the bell board.
“Ah, that would be Mr. Giles ringing for me. Lady Phoebe must be home and I’ll have to take her car round to the carriage house. Please tell Mrs. Sanders I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment from Eva, not that she could have made one. Her relief was too great to allow her to form words just then. She drained the last of her tea, brought the cup and saucer into the scullery, and began the climb to the first floor. She met Lady Phoebe in the corridor outside her bedroom.
“I’m so glad you made it back before the girls’ lessons, my lady.” Eva gathered Phoebe’s coat, hat, and driving gloves from her mistress’s arms. “I was fretting over what I’d tell your grandmother.”
Lady Phoebe flipped on the overhead light, and Eva saw her properly. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed out of breath.
“Did you run all the way up the stairs, my lady?”
Lady Phoebe didn’t reply. She was too busy rummaging through her handbag. Apparently finding what she searched for, she held up a small, cylindrical item that caught the light and flashed it back at Eva.
“What is that?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I found it in Miss Sedgewick’s desk. A desk that looked as if it had been hastily abandoned.”
Eva set the outerwear down on the foot of the bed and took the container Lady Phoebe held out to her. She raised it to the light. “It looks like some kind of spice. Cinnamon, or nutmeg.” Her breath caught and the blood drained from her face. “My lady, do you think this could be . . .”
“Open it, take a whiff. Tell me what you think.” When Eva started to comply, Phoebe grasped her wrist. “Be careful. You don’t want to inhale any.”
“Goodness, no.” Eva thumbed the stopper from the vial and held the contents beneath her nose. A sharp odor burned her nostrils, accompanied by a lighter, sweeter scent. “Almonds,” she pronounced in a flat voice. “This is no spice, my lady.”
“And here, there’s more.” Lady Phoebe returned to her handbag. From it she extracted a folded sheet of paper that looked as if it had been retrieved from the garbage bin. “Read this. I found it crumpled on the floor near Miss Sedgewick’s desk.”
Eva scanned the missive.
“Miss Sedgewick wanted that headmistress position,” Lady Phoebe said. “She murdered Miss Finch for it, didn’t she?”
“It seems so, my lady, though by this letter her hopes appear to have been dashed. But where would she have gotten this?” She held up the vial. “How would a woman like Verity Sedgewick know where to find a poisonous substance? And where would she learn how to use it?”
“I suppose that’s for Constable Brannock to discover. I telephoned him before coming upstairs and he should be here shortly. I might have called him from the school, but I didn’t wish to risk having Miss Sedgewick discover me there.” Lady Phoebe sighed. “Inspector Perkins has no choice but to reopen the case now.” She fell silent, her brow creasing.
“What is it, my lady?” Eva replaced the stopper in the vial.
“Just an odd feeling. A sense that I should remember something important.... I don’t know.” She shook her head again as if trying to work through a muddle of ideas. She retrieved the vial from Eva and began to pace, as she habitually did when confronted by a perplexing conundrum. “As you said, this looks very much like powdered cinnamon or nutmeg. I remember learning in chemistry class only a few years ago that the natural form of cyanide is prussic acid, which is present in many kinds of fruit seeds.” She continued her pacing, tapping the vial lightly against her palm. “Miss Sedgewick might have known this, too. Fruit seeds . . .”
The sound of an approaching motor on the drive drew Lady Phoebe to the window. “It’s Constable Brannock. I’ll go down and speak with him. Eva, it would be best if you bring the girls down to the Petite Salon for their lessons. They’re safe here, and there’s no reason to upset their routine.”
“I’ll go collect them now, my lady.”
* * *
The sight of Owen Seabright’s tall figure looming beside Constable Brannock shouldn’t have surprised Phoebe. She hadn’t expected him, but she was glad he had come.
“I asked the constable to keep me informed of any major developments in the case,” he said half-apologetically. “This certainly qualifies.”
She went to him and placed her hand in his offered one. “It certainly does.”
She led them into the little-used receiving parlor off the Great Hall and shut the door behind them. She wasted no time in showing them Miss Sedgewick’s letter and the vial of what she believed to be prussic acid.
The constable perused the letter and handed it to Owen. Then he took the vial from Phoebe, removed the stopper, and sniffed. His features tightened and he held the vial away. “That’s certainly no cake spice.”
“Do you think it could be what killed Miss Finch?” she asked.
“I’d say it’s a good possibility,” he replied, “but I’ll want to have it analyzed at the police lab in Gloucester.”
Owen held out his hand. “May I see that?” When the constable handed it to him, he waved it beneath his nose and made a face. He regarded Phoebe. “You say you found this in Miss Sedgewick’s desk?”
“That’s right, and the letter was crumpled on the floor. The office was left in rather a shambles.”
Constable
Brannock retrieved the letter from Owen, folded it, and slipped it into his coat pocket. “And what, might I ask, were you doing at the school so early in the morning?”
“Looking for my sister and one of our guests. That’s another story, but not one you need concern yourself with, Constable.” No, she thought, this new evidence surely removed suspicion from Nurse Delacy and set it squarely upon Miss Sedgewick’s shoulders.
The constable held out his hand to Owen again, but this time Owen didn’t notice. He was too focused on the item the constable sought—the vial and its contents.
Phoebe studied his frown. “What is it? Tell me what you’re thinking. Does it have anything to do with how prussic acid is made? It is from fruit seeds, isn’t it?”
“Fruit seeds,” he repeated absently. “Fruit seeds . . . Good grief, that’s it. Peaches. Apricots. Why didn’t I realize it then?”
He didn’t need to elaborate, for his words shook Phoebe’s own memory loose, and simultaneously, they cried out, “The vicar’s orchard.”
The constable took the vial from Owen’s grasp. “What are you two going on about?”
Phoebe’s voice emerged at first as a rasp. She tried again. “Mr. Amstead grows peach and apricot trees in his orchard. Oh, but then how did that vial get into Miss Sedgewick’s drawer? And what about the letter that obviously angered her?”
“And where is she now?” Owen asked her.
“Good heavens, perhaps she went after the vicar. The man grows peaches and apricots, but that doesn’t mean Miss Sedgewick doesn’t have access to the very same fruits. They’re probably delivered daily to the school. . . .” She had barely completed the sentence when Owen started moving, heading for the door.
“Brannock, you and I need to pay the vicar a visit.”
The policeman hesitated. “I saw him only yesterday evening. He dropped all charges and we released Elliot Ivers into his custody.”
That stopped Own in his tracks, while Phoebe’s mind flooded with possibilities. Miss Sedgewick, the vicar—which one murdered Miss Finch? And was Elliot next? “Go,” she said. “Find the vicar.”
“And you’ll stay here?” Owen retraced his steps until he stood before her. He framed her face in his hands. He didn’t repeat his question or make any demands. He merely looked into her eyes and waited for her answer.
“I’ll be here waiting to hear from you.”
The two men hurried from the room, and Phoebe heard them letting themselves out the front door. Was Elliot in danger? Sudden tears pricked the backs of her eyes. In all of the confusion, she believed in one thing: Elliot’s innocence. She believed the young man had suffered the trauma of a church fire that took the life of a trusted vicar and changed his own life forever. She did not believe Elliot has started that fire. Then who had? She tried to remember what Pastor Davis had told her when he telephoned with information about Elliot.
There had been a curate, but according to Pastor Davis, the curate had been away at the time of the fire. Could he be certain about that—absolutely certain?
Her head began to throb.
“My lady.” Eva appeared on the threshold. “I can’t find Jane and Lady Amelia anywhere. I thought they returned with you, but—”
“With me? No, I sent them on ahead while I talked to Nurse Delacy.” The full impact of Eva’s words struck her with physical force. “Are you quite sure they’re nowhere in the house?”
Eva replied in an ominous whisper. “I’ve looked everywhere, my lady, and asked everyone. No one has seen them.”
CHAPTER 20
Phoebe’s first thought was to take the woodland trail back to the school in hopes of meeting Amelia and Jane along the way. She quickly discarded the idea. Better to return to the school as quickly as possible and alert the staff. Then the search would begin.
She had left poor Grams and Grampapa without much explanation, for there hadn’t been time to explain about Miss Sedgewick’s or the vicar’s possible involvement. Her grandparents knew only that the girls were missing. They had at first insisted on coming along, but Phoebe had persuaded them otherwise by advising them to remain at home in case the girls returned or Constable Brannock telephoned. Phoebe knew how worried they were by their lack of admonishments about how Amelia and Jane would be punished once they were found.
Beside her in the Vauxhall, Eva didn’t flinch as Phoebe turned so sharply between Haverleigh’s gates, the rear tired skidded over the gravel. She had barely brought the vehicle to a halt before Eva had the door open and her feet on the ground. Phoebe quickly followed suit, and together they sprinted up the steps and into the main hall.
The hum of conversation drew them into the dining hall, where Joanie, the remaining kitchen maid, and Mrs. Honeychurch were setting out breakfast on the sideboards. The teachers were helping themselves to coffee and tea. Phoebe saw no sign of Miss Sedgewick. The fear gripping her tightened by several notches.
“Excuse me,” she called out. When the voices only slightly lessened, she hurried between tables to the front of the room, where the podium at which she had spoken during the luncheon still stood. “Attention, everyone!” The room gradually quieted and fell silent. “We have an emergency. My sister Amelia and Jane Timmons are both missing. They were here only this morning, but failed to turn up after I sent them home.”
“What were they doing here?” asked a teacher holding an empty plate.
“Right now that doesn’t matter,” Phoebe replied. “We need to search for them. Miss Huntford and I will search the woodland trail that leads to Foxwood Hall. That is the way they should have taken. I need the rest of you to search this building and the grounds.” Even as she spoke, Phoebe didn’t think the girls would be found inside the school. The grounds, perhaps?
“Perhaps they merely stopped to admire the spring flowers,” another teacher said. “You know how teenaged girls are.”
“I pray that is the case.” Phoebe glanced around the room. “Who is willing to help?”
Every hand went up, nearly twenty in total. It was then Phoebe’s gaze connected with Olivia Delacy’s. She stepped down from the podium. “Please break into groups to search each floor of the house and the grounds. Check everywhere, including the outbuildings and storage sheds.”
“Good heavens,” a gray-haired woman exclaimed. “I do hope nothing dread—” She broke off when a teacher beside her elbowed her in the ribs. “I only meant—” A second poke silenced her and the two strode briskly from the hall.
With everyone breaking up into groups and dispersing, Phoebe approached Nurse Delacy. “Do you know what happened to the girls?”
The woman compressed her lips. Sadness filled her countenance. “I don’t blame you for asking that, my lady. But no, I do not. I haven’t seen them, not since you sent them home earlier. I’d like to help search for them.”
Phoebe held her gaze another moment. “All right. Come with Eva and me. We’ll search the trail and the surrounding woods.”
The very notion of having to search through the woods sent an ill sensation sinking in Phoebe’s stomach. Months ago, she had been faced with a similar predicament, though in truth she hadn’t had so much invested in the individual who had disappeared. If anything happened to Amelia—her sweet Amellie—
Eva touched her elbow. “My lady, we should go.”
“Yes, let’s hurry.” She hastened across the room and outside, where several pairs of teachers were already spreading out and calling the girls’ names. She, Eva, and Nurse Delacy hurried down the drive until they reached the path that branched off to the chapel. The stone building stood between them and the woodland trail.
“Shall we check inside, my lady? One never knows.” Without waiting for an answer, Eva went through the gate and started up the walkway. She tugged at the door but it didn’t budge. “Locked. I don’t suppose they could be inside, then.”
“Let’s keep going.” Phoebe gathered her skirts as she prepared to enter the churchyard. Nurse Delacy stopped at the ga
te, rooted to the spot and staring up at the chapel windows. “What is it?” Phoebe asked her.
“The doors aren’t usually locked. The girls are encouraged to come in when they have free time. And the windows. . . they’re not typically kept closed at this time of year except in inclement weather, which it hasn’t been.”
“I don’t understand,” Eva said, but that queasy, prodding sensation sent Phoebe trudging through the grass to the chapel’s closest wall.
“The windows are too high to look through.” She tried jumping, but her efforts rewarded her with only the briefest glimpses inside.
Eva came to her side. “I’ll boost you up.” She crouched and threaded her fingers together. Phoebe quickly unbuckled her shoe, kicked it off, and stepped onto Eva’s palms. She braced her hands on the stones as Eva raised her up. Nurse Delacy helped steady her.
At first Phoebe could see little through the blues, reds, and greens of the stained-glass patterns. Grasping the sill, she leaned to the side where clear glass set in mullioned panes bordered the window. Shadows draped the sanctuary, and at first she could make out little beyond the dark hulking forms of the pews. With one hand she released her hold on the sill and held it cupped beside one eye.
Her heart lashed against her ribs. “I see them!”
At least, she thought it must be them. Two figures sat hunched together in the first pew, their shoulders touching and their heads leaning one toward the other. She wrapped her knuckles against the glass, hoping to catch their attention. Neither moved. Phoebe wrapped again, harder this time. Again, she received no response.
“Why don’t they move?”
“Is it them, my lady?” Eva called from below.
“I think so, but they appear to be unconscious.”
Eva tilted her face to gaze up at her. “Do you see any sign of anyone else?”
“No, no one. Let me down. We have to find a way to get inside.” Once on the ground, she retrieved her shoe and looked about. She doubted Eva’s hairpin would work on an outdoor lock. Months ago, however, she had witnessed another way to open a locked door. “We’ll have to break in. We’ll need a heavy rock.”
A Pinch of Poison Page 26