by Sara Rosett
“I had no idea the inquest was today.” It explained why Inspector Longly hadn’t arrived at Blackburn Hall this morning.
“Maria’s done her best to keep it quiet.”
I slipped between the table and the bench. “Who was at the inquest?”
“The police surgeon, Colonel Shaw, Inspector Calder, and Inspector Longly, and most of the village, it seems.” Serena moved to the back of the room and took a teapot from a cabinet. “Care for a cup of tea?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
She filled the teapot with water from a spigot at a small sink I hadn’t noticed before. She plunked the teapot down on the Bunsen burner, opened another cupboard, and removed two thick mugs.
“I’m surprised they didn’t want me at the inquest as well,” I said. “After all, I was with you when you discovered Mayhew’s body.”
She shrugged. “Apparently, they only needed my testimony.”
“Did they reach a verdict?”
Serena closed the cabinet door. “Accidental death.”
“Really?” I was shocked. Hadn’t they taken into account the state of Mayhew’s cottage?
Serena put out sugar, spoons, and a tin of crackers. “At least Maria will be happy,” she said, then cringed. “That sounds terrible. I only mean Maria will be glad the inquest is over, and the verdict was accidental death.”
I lined up the spoons in a row. “Why is Lady Holt so set on Mayhew’s death being declared accidental?”
Serena crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the table as she waited for the water to boil. “Because Maria doesn’t want even a hint of scandal attached to Blackburn Hall. It doesn’t fit with”—Serena waved her hand in a motion that encompassed the grounds and Blackburn Hall—“the image she wants to portray. I’m sure it will only get worse with the publication of her etiquette book.” Serena sighed. “Maria will have endless reporters down and expect proper behavior from all of us—and she’ll be more irked with me than usual.” She tilted her head toward the table with the boxes of dirt and then glanced at the cabinet with the specimens. “I’m not exactly conventional. Maria finds me a trial.”
Air steamed out of the teapot with a whistle, and Serena switched off the Bunsen burner. “The only other interesting tidbit of information that came out was Mayhew’s father died six months ago. Just a quick mention. I didn’t understand why that was entered into evidence, but apparently it was important.”
I stopped shifting the spoons around. “Oh.” If Mayhew’s father had been dead for months, then he couldn’t have had anything to do with Mayhew’s death.
Serena carried the teapot over. “You know why it’s important?”
“Mayhew was afraid of him,” I said, thinking that was general enough that it would satisfy Serena’s curiosity but not so specific that it broke the promise I’d made to Colonel Shaw about keeping Mayhew’s past a secret. It sounded as if they’d decided to skip over Mayhew’s connection to May and the infamous Pikenwillow pixies. I was sure if the pixie connection had been mentioned, it would have been the first thing Serena talked about. I sensed Lady Holt’s influence in the inquest’s outcome. I’d bet Colonel Shaw and the investigators had kept it out of the public proceedings to keep Lady Holt happy. If word got out that Mayhew was actually Veronica May, who was associated with the Pikenwillow pixies, every gossip sheet in London would send down a reporter.
Serena paused, the teapot poised over the mugs. “I see.” She poured the steaming liquid, handed me a mug, and sat down opposite me, putting the teapot on a felt potholder.
“Did anything else interesting come out at the inquest?” I asked.
“No. It was all quite cut-and-dried.”
So in addition to skipping over Mayhew’s real identity, the investigators were also keeping Mayhew’s vocation as a novelist quiet. A tactic to make sure reporters didn’t descend on Hadsworth and Blackburn Hall? I cradled the mug in my hands. “Did Pearce’s death come up today at the inquest?”
“No.” Serena stirred her tea. “I expected his name would be mentioned, but no one said a word about him.”
I had been about to take a sip of tea, but I pulled the cup away from my mouth. “How odd. I’d thought two deaths so close together in such a small village must be connected.”
“But Mayhew’s death was an accident. The situation around Pearce is completely different.”
I wasn’t convinced Mayhew’s death was an accident, but unless I wanted to broadcast the fact that I’d been snooping around the cottage, I couldn’t argue my point.
Serena sipped her tea, then said, “Enough about that. You didn’t want to talk to me about the inquest. Did you want to chat about golf?”
“Golf?”
“Our tee time is tomorrow morning, remember? If you’re feeling nervous, don’t. I’ll show you a few simple swings to get you started, and then it’s always best to dive right in. Don’t think too much—that’s what can ruin your game.”
With everything else that had happened, I’d completely forgotten I’d agreed to play golf with Serena. “I’m sure it will be an enjoyable time.” I was interested to give golf a try, but it wasn’t what I wanted to focus on right now. The tea was too hot, and I put down my mug. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something completely different—asthma cigarettes. After what happened last night, I read up on them. I had no idea they contain such dangerous ingredients, like belladonna and datura stramonium.”
Serena’s brows puckered. “Really? I didn’t know that either. I don’t have asthma and neither does anyone else in the family.”
“I thought you might have researched them for some . . . scientific reason.” I glanced around the workroom from the boxes of dirt to the table with the Bunsen burner.
“No. I’m focused on studying decomposition right now—well, I have a few side projects like the pen that doesn’t have to be refilled and the improvements to the vacuum, but those are more for a break from my real work. Palate cleansers, if you will.”
“Then I wonder how this got to be in a medical book in the library.” I took the paper out of my pocket. “It was marking the page with an entry about datura stramonium. It’s yours, isn’t it? I thought you might be looking for it.”
Serena took the paper, her forehead wrinkling. She scanned the page, then her face smoothed. “Oh yes. I did look up a recipe for diffusible creosoted fluid, which must be on the same page. The entries are alphabetical.” She said it as if that answered my question. “I don’t need this.” She lifted the paper. “This is an old draft—scrap paper. I must have grabbed it to mark my spot in the book.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Diffusible . . . ?”
“Diffusible creosoted fluid. It’s a preservative.” She nodded toward the specimens in the glass-fronted cabinets. “I knocked over one of the jars. It cracked and some of the solution seeped out. I had to look up the proper recipe for the solution to refill it. I don’t use the specimens, but they could be useful to someone else for scientific study.”
It was a perfectly logical explanation, and Serena didn’t look at all worried. Perhaps finding Serena’s paper in the medical book near the entry about datura stramonium was a coincidence.
Serena dropped her handwritten notes on the table. “I wonder if Mrs. Shaw knows what’s in her cigarettes? Perhaps I should mention it to her.”
“I think that’s a good idea. They’re quite dangerous. One of the signs of an overdose is dilated pupils. You looked in Pearce’s eyes. Were they dilated?”
She nodded. “They were huge. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was actually very interesting—scientifically speaking, you know.” Serena gave a little shake of her head and reached for her tea. “And that’s what gets me in trouble.”
“I’m sorry?”
She took a long sip, then said, “Inspector Longly and Colonel Shaw had a few questions for me after the inquest.”
“About Mayhew?”
“No, Pearce. Take my
advice and don’t pick up a hobby that involves anything related to death. Apparently, it makes you a suspect.”
“What?”
“According to Colonel Shaw, I’m a rather strange woman with a fascination with death.” She lifted her mug toward the boxes of dirt and the specimen jars.
“Your specimens make you a suspect?”
“The colonel is old-fashioned. He thinks a woman should marry and have children. I make him uncomfortable with my scientific studies and my interest in decay. And the specimens, of course. Those make him extremely uncomfortable. Not an appropriate thing for a woman to own, you know. The funny thing is, those aren’t even mine.” She lifted her mug in the direction of the cabinet with the specimens. “They belonged to Great Uncle Jonas. This was his workroom. He was one of those Victorians with the mania for classification. He spent his life collecting and preserving specimens.”
“How does Colonel Shaw even know about the specimens?”
“Everyone in the village knows about them. Most people find them . . . distasteful. And Colonel and Mrs. Shaw live across the street from the church, so there’s that too.”
“What does the church have to do with it?”
“I like graveyards. I go there when I need to think. I find graveyards very peaceful. I like to stroll and read the dates on the tombstones. Helps me clear my head.” She sipped her tea then set down the mug. “Thankfully, owning specimens and walking graveyards doesn’t provide a foundation strong enough for them to arrest me and charge me with Pearce’s death.”
For a moment, I toyed with the idea that Serena’s scientific mind combined with her interest in death had prompted her to put the datura stramonium in Pearce’s cup of coffee. Could she have done it to watch someone die firsthand? It seemed an absurd theory. I pushed it from my mind. While her scientific interest might not be considered ladylike, I didn’t think she was mentally unbalanced. And she didn’t seem unduly worried. In fact, her head was tilted to one side as she fingered the square felt potholder the teapot rested on. “I wonder . . . I haven’t tried felt . . .” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the table with the pens.
“Well, I should let you get to work.” I stood. “Thank you for the tea.”
“Of course.” She said it automatically. “I think I have some leftover felt. If not, then Mrs. Jones will have some . . .” She was talking to herself. She moved to the cabinets and began opening doors and scanning the contents. While she was occupied, I picked up the paper I’d found in the medical book. She’d tossed it down casually on a messy stack of papers. I doubted she’d miss it. Serena didn’t even seem to be aware I was still in the workroom as I moved to the door. She was pulling drawers open and rummaging through them. She was in a state I’d seen often with my father—preoccupied with her own thoughts and only dimly aware of what was going on around her.
I paused at the door. Serena was so focused, perhaps I could ask one more thing and she’d answer without thinking. “Do you ever consult Lady Holt’s herbal?”
She pushed a drawer closed and opened the one under it. “No,” she said without looking up. “I’m never sick, and I’m not interested in beauty lotions and potions.”
Chapter Twenty
After lunch, I motored away from Blackburn Hall to visit Anna. As I left the Hall’s grounds and turned in the direction of the village, I spotted a familiar blond figure walking toward me. I stepped on the brake as I came even with Jasper, who raised his fedora. “Good morning. Where are you off to?”
I swallowed. “To visit Anna.”
“Capital. I’ll come along.” Jasper settled his hat on his head and climbed in and closed the door. “What’s the delay? You were speeding along like a fireman on the way to put out a blaze.”
“Yes—um, well . . . Anna won’t be expecting both of us.” I hadn’t told anyone Anna was Mayhew’s ghostwriter, and I wasn’t about to start now, which put me in an awkward position.
“Oh.” Jasper narrowed his eyes. “So this is more than a social call?”
“Perhaps.” I’d thought eventually Anna would have to tell Longly about her ghostwriting secret, but if Mayhew’s death wasn’t being investigated, she didn’t have to reveal the truth to anyone else.
“Intriguing,” Jasper said. “You know I love a good mystery.”
“As do I, but this isn’t my mystery to reveal.”
“Ah, I see. Been keeping secrets from your faithful assistant, have you?”
“I was sworn to secrecy,” I countered.
“Hmm. Well, a chap has to respect that, I suppose. It wouldn’t be cricket to talk out of turn.” He adjusted his lapels and settled himself against the seat. “Of course, since you suspect we have a murderer among us, I should accompany you. It would be ungentlemanly not to.”
I wasn’t getting rid of him, that much was clear. Jasper could be quite stubborn. I let off the brake. “Then you may have to take a turn around the garden at some point.”
“As long as I can keep you in sight, I don’t mind a garden stroll. Beautiful things, gardens. I always enjoy looking at lovely things,” he said. I could feel his gaze on me, but I kept my attention on the upcoming curve in the lane. I swooped the motor along the arc of the road.
Jasper gripped the top of the door with one hand. “Are you a good driver, by the way?”
“Excellent. I can drive on both sides of the road, you know. When I was going to university in America, one of my friends had a little Raceabout and let me drive it often.”
“As long as you stay on the appropriate side of the road now, that’s all I care about.”
I straightened the wheel as we came out of the curve, and I downshifted as we bumped over the small bridge.
Jasper released his grip on the door. “I have news.”
“If it’s about the inquest, I already heard about it firsthand from Serena. I had an interesting chat with her this morning.”
Jasper shook his head. “I should have realized. You know Mayhew’s death was ruled an accident?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t agree?”
I glanced away from the road to focus on Jasper for a moment. “How did you—?”
“Your tone of complete disbelief is hard to miss.”
“I suppose I should be more guarded.” I shook my head. “I just don’t believe two deaths in Hadsworth so close together aren’t related somehow.” I sighed. “I haven’t heard one hint of how they could be linked—other than Mayhew and Pearce’s business connection.” I told him what I’d learned about asthma cigarettes, Zippy’s late night telephone call, and my chats with Lady Holt and Serena.
“Goodness, how diligent of you.”
“Being questioned by an inspector from Scotland Yard tends to give one an incredible motivation to sort things out, particularly in a way that shows I didn’t have anything to do with Pearce’s death. But things are getting more confusing, not less so.”
A gust of wind hit us as we came out from behind a hedgerow, and Jasper reached up to hold his hat. “At least the question about whether or not Mayhew’s father might be involved was answered.”
“Answered very definitely.” I shifted, leaning out to get a view around a lorry that we were closing on quickly. The other lane was clear, so I whipped around the lumbering vehicle. “The inquest also explained why I haven’t seen Longly this morning. I was sure he’d show up first thing.” My hands tightened on the steering wheel as a nervous feeling swept over me. “Obviously, he was busy with the inquest, but I’m sure it won’t be long before he turns his attention back to Pearce’s death.” I slowed down as we traveled through the village.
Jasper scratched his cheek. “Possibly. When the verdict was read, he didn’t look pleased.”
I turned onto the lane that led to Dr. Finch’s house and surgery. “He didn’t?”
“No, more like he’d gotten a whiff of cream that had gone off.”
“That’s interesting.” I rolled to a stop in front of Dr. Finch’s resid
ence. “I wonder if he’ll keep investigating Mayhew’s death? The case is officially closed now, I suppose.”
“I imagine he’ll have to turn his attention to Pearce.” Jasper took a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, then pressed it to his chest as he turned to me. “But you still think foul play was involved in Mayhew’s death?”
I frowned at my reflection in the windshield. “Yes. I really do. There are too many things that feel off.”
Jasper gave a decisive nod. “I suspected you wouldn’t drop your interest in Mayhew’s death.” He presented the paper to me with a flourish. It was a list of names written in his careful block printing. Jasper pointed to the left column. “Guests staying at the pub on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.” He moved his finger to the top of the right column. “And a list of players on the golf course those same days.”
“Jasper, this is wonderful. How did you get it?”
“The pub was easy. The owner doesn’t bother to put away the guest ledger. I waited until everyone was busy, then jotted down the names. It’s only three, as you can see, so it didn’t take that long. They have four rooms, but only three of them were taken during the time we’re interested in. Getting the information from the golf course was more difficult. The starter wouldn’t talk to me, but his daughter works in the clubhouse.”
“Starter?”
“The person who runs the tee sheet, gets everyone off on time.”
“You mean there’s a record of everyone who played and the time they teed off?” I asked.
“Exactly.”
“And this person who manages the tee sheet has an attractive daughter, with whom you flirted.”