Baked to Death

by Dean James

  I smiled gently at her. “My dear Totsye, perhaps you overestimate my influence with the police. I cannot countermand the Detective Inspector’s orders. I fear you must wait until you can make a direct appeal to the man himself. I am sure he will consider your request seriously.”

  Her lower lip poked farther out. “Oh, Simon, I cannot believe you are going to disappoint me like this. Surely there is something you can do?” Again those eyelashes twitched in my direction.

  What on earth was the woman playing at? What possessed her to behave in such a coquettish way with me? Had she targeted me as her new beau, now that Luke was out of the way?

  No, that was too absurd even to contemplate. She was simply using what she perceived as her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. Unfortunately for her, those wiles were a bit too unappetizing to appeal to any but the most desperate of men.

  I addressed the young constable. “Is Detective Inspector Chase anywhere about? Perhaps someone could get in touch with him and relay Miss Titchmarsh’s request?”

  The PC smiled gratefully. “Yes, sir, I believe he’s still about here somewhere. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll see what I can do about contacting him.” He turned and moved several feet away from us, pulling out a mobile phone.

  “I’m sure you’ll have an answer soon,” I said soothingly.

  “I should hope so,” she snapped at me. “This whole situation is intolerable.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Not only was my poor, dear Luke horrendously and callously murdered right before my very eyes, now I cannot even get inside my own pavilion to retrieve very personal items that I desperately need.”

  She sniffed loudly as she pulled a bit of linen from its hiding place in the bosom of her tunic and dabbed delicately at her eyes and nose. “And as if all that weren’t horrible enough, I know they suspect me—me, of all persons!—of having done this to my poor Luke.” She sniffed and dabbed again. “After all, it was at my table that he was poisoned.”

  I laid a consoling hand on her arm. “Perhaps not.”

  “What do you mean?” she demanded in mid-sniffle.

  “If Luke was poisoned with foxglove,” I said, “then he would have been given the fatal dose earlier in the day. It takes time to act.”

  “Of course,” she said, her eyes widening. “What a silly goose I am! I should have thought of that myself.” She heaved a huge sigh of relief, and her bosom trembled. “Then the dear man could not have been poisoned by anything at my table.”

  “Probably not,” I said. “The only way you could have poisoned him would be if you had seen him earlier in the day and had given him something then.”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “Maybe I did kill him,” she whispered. Then she toppled into my arms in a dead faint.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Totsye’s neighbor across the way, who had so kindly offered the use of her tent last night, stepped forward to suggest that I bring the stricken woman inside. I gathered Totsye in my arms and carried her in the tent.

  Once I had settled her in a chair, I stepped back and let the neighbor see after her. Totsye’s eyelids fluttered as the good Samaritan gently chafed her hands.

  What on earth could the blasted woman have meant? I wondered. Was that a serious confession of guilt, or simply a neurotic bid for attention?

  In the excitement I had momentarily forgotten Giles, but when I turned to see where he was, I found him in the tent just behind me. He leaned forward to whisper to me, “They’ve sent for Chase. He should be here any minute now.”

  I nodded as I examined him. He seemed to be fine, but nevertheless I pointed to a vacant chair and whispered back at him, “Sit.”

  Though he rolled his eyes at me first, he did as I told him. I turned back to focus my attention on Totsye Titchmarsh. She had come round and was now trying to sit up, despite the protests of her erstwhile nurse.

  Totsye batted the woman’s hands away, none too gently. “I shall be fine, I tell you. I have no idea what came over me. I never faint. Never! None of those missish ways for me.” She started to get up from the chair.

  “Now, Totsye,” I said sternly, “I really do think you should sit there for a few minutes, just to be sure your head is completely clear.”

  She simpered up at me. “Well, if you think it best, Simon, I’m sure I don’t mind resting a moment longer.” She held out a hand to me, and I could not refuse to clasp it without looking like an utter cad.

  Her grip was surprisingly strong as she attempted to draw me closer to her. I stood my ground, however, and after a start of surprise, she let go my hand. Her smile faltered.

  “Detective Inspector Chase is on his way,” I informed her. “I’m sure he’ll be most eager to speak with you, especially now.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” she said.

  “Don’t you remember what you said to me just before you fainted?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Now, precisely what did you mean when you said, ‘Maybe I did kill him’? Was that a confession? If it was, perhaps you had better wait until the detective inspector arrives.”

  “I’m here,” Robin Chase’s voice announced from behind me. “What is it you need to tell me, Miss

  “Titchmarsh?” He stepped closer until he stood right beside me.

  Totsye quailed a bit, with the two of us towering over her. “Oh, dear,” she whispered, “what a mess this is.”

  Robin cast about for a chair, but the only other one visible was the one Giles was occupying. Anticipating Robin’s request, Giles stood up. “Be my guest,” he said. He started to move the chair himself, but I intervened.

  “I’ll do that,” I said, ignoring the rolling of the eyes yet again.

  “Thank you, Dr. Kirby-Jones,” Robin said calmly, though I could see that he was curious over what had just passed between Giles and me.

  Seated in the chair, Robin faced Totsye at a less intimidating angle. “Now, Miss Titchmarsh, what is it you wish to tell me?”

  After a heartfelt sigh, she spoke. “Oh, Detective Inspector, I might have provided the means by which poor Luke was poisoned. I might have killed him, though I did not mean to, you understand.” Her hands fluttered restlessly in her lap. “I can never forgive myself, even though it was all done with the purest and most unselfish of motives. Oh dear.”

  “What was done, Miss Titchmarsh?” Robin asked, demonstrating more patience than I would have, had I been the one questioning her.

  “Someone must have poisoned the tisane I sent to poor, dear Luke,” Totsye said, her eyes puddling with tears.

  “What was in this tisane?” Robin asked. “And when did you send it to Mr. de Montfort?”

  “It was chiefly feverfew,” she said. “It has a number of medicinal uses, you know, and it can be an effective remedy for certain kinds of headache. My poor Luke was prone to headaches, you see, and he quite relied on my feverfew tisane for relief.”

  “I see,” Robin said. “Did he request this herbal remedy from you yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes,” Totsye said. "That serving girl of his, Etheldreda I believe she calls herself. He sent her to me in the early afternoon yesterday, asking whether I had any already prepared I could send to him.”

  “And did you?” Robin prompted when she failed to continue. “Have any already prepared, that is.”

  Totsye offered a wan and tragic smile. “Certainly, Detective Inspector. I am always prepared at these gatherings. There is quite a demand for my headache tisanes, and not just from poor Luke. Though naturally I made sure I reserved enough so that he would never have to do without.”

  “What was this tisane in?” Robin asked.

  “I have some special bottles I use, of varying sizes,” Totsye replied. “The one I sent Luke yesterday held about two teacupfuls of the mixture.”

  “Would that be one dose?”

  “Oh, no, Detective Inspector,” Totsye said. “Perhaps half a teacup
ful would be sufficient, unless Luke were having a really severe headache. Then he might want something even stronger.”

  “So it’s possible that some of the mixture might be left,” Robin mused.

  “Yes, I should think so,” Totsye replied.

  “We shall check into it,” Robin said. “And now, Miss Titchmarsh, could you tell me how you think Mr. de Montfort might have been poisoned with your tisane? Did you add any other ingredient to the mixture?”

  “Oh, no, Detective Inspector, I didn’t add anything to it,” Totsye said adamantly. “It was the same mixture as always. At least, I’m fairly certain that it was.” She frowned.

  “What do you mean, ‘fairly certain’?” Robin asked.

  Totsye fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Well, you see, I do take a wee dose of digitalis now and again for my heart. I had distilled a bit of it yesterday, and I might have mixed up the bottles, you see.” She drew a deep breath. “But I really don’t think I did. I’m sure I sent poor Luke the bottle of feverfew. Yes, I’m sure I did. But that doesn’t mean, naturally, that someone else couldn’t have tampered with it.”

  “How so?” Robin asked.

  I awaited her reply with interest. I had been studying her intently the whole time she had been talking to Robin, doing my best to get a clear read of her emotional state. Totsye didn’t seem all that difficult to assess. She was anxious, naturally, but I could detect no emotion stronger than that, other than her grief at Luke’s death.

  “Most everyone in the encampment would recognize those bottles of mine,” Totsye explained. “They are a very distinctive red, and anyone seeing one of them would know that it contained one of my tisanes. Not just of feverfew, you understand, but one of my little decoctions for various and sundry purposes.” She lowered her eyes modestly. “I am quite well regarded as an herbalist, naturally.”

  “Yes, I see,” Robin said. “Do go on.”

  “Isn’t it clear, Detective Inspector?” Totsye demanded. “Someone could have seen Etheldreda with the tisane, or could have seen it in poor Luke’s pavilion, and then added the poison to it.”

  “That is possible, I suppose,” Robin said, “and we shall certainly investigate all the possibilities.” He rose from his chair. “Thank you, Miss Titchmarsh, for your information. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to the investigation.”

  “You’re most welcome, Detective Inspector,” Totsye said, “but before you go, might I possibly have access to my pavilion? There are things I need quite urgently, and I cannot see that it would harm anyone for me to remove them. Please, Detective Inspector?”

  Robin paused. “I don’t see why not, Miss Titchmarsh. I shall give the proper instructions to the men on duty there. They will need to make a note of anything you remove from the tent, of course, and examine it all.”

  Totsye blushed. “If they must, they must, Detective Inspector. But when will you be finished with it completely?”

  “I hope by tomorrow sometime, Miss Titchmarsh,” Robin said. “Now, again, if you will excuse me.”

  Indicating to Giles that I wished him to remain inside the tent to keep an eye on Totsye, I followed Robin outside after a moment I waited patiently until he had finished issuing the instructions that would allow Totsye to do as she wished, then moved after him when he began to walk away.

  I cleared my throat, but before I could say anything, Robin spoke without turning around. “Yes, Simon, what is it?” He did not stop walking.

  “Now, Robin,” I said, catching up to him easily in a couple of strides. “Is that any way to behave, when all I want to do is help?”

  “Simon, I don’t really have time for any more taradiddles, if you don’t mind.”

  My, but he was testy. “What taradiddles have you been hearing, Robin, if I might be so bold as to ask? Could you by any chance be referring to what Totsye told you just now?”

  Robin halted, and I stopped beside him. “I don’t know why I even attempt to argue with you, Simon. It’s bloody useless. No matter what I say, you insist on thrusting yourself into the midst of my murder investigations.”

  I had never seen Robin quite this annoyed with me before. “Can I help it if these things happen around me, Robin? I don’t think so. It’s not my fault these people get murdered.”

  “No, I realize that,” Robin said.

  Suddenly stricken by a pang of conscience, however, I remembered what had happened to Giles a little while ago.

  “What is it, Simon?” Robin asked, alert to the change of expression on my face.

  “Someone bashed Giles over the head,” I said baldly.

  “Do you have any idea who, or why?”

  I shrugged. “I think it might possibly have been a fellow who calls himself Will Scarlet Apparently he goes around dressed in a scarlet tunic and hose all the time. Have you seen him?”

  Robin nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen him about.”

  “I’m looking forward to questioning him,” I said. “Now, Simon, I wouldn’t want to have to haul you to the pokey for assaulting someone,”

  Robin said, smiling slightly. “Why would this Will Scarlet have attacked Sir Giles?”

  “Jealousy, perhaps,” I said, but before I could explain further, Robin laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “What were you doing flirting with this Will Scarlet, Simon? I thought you were quite potty about Sir Giles.”

  “I was not flirting with anyone, Robin,” I protested hotly. “And certainly not with this Will Scarlet, whom I have yet to meet. What I would have told you, had you allowed me to finish my explanation, was that this Will Scarlet was jealous of Giles and Tristan Lovelace.”

  “Oh, so Sir Giles has now taken up with Professor Lovelace? Why, Simon, I’m surprised.”

  “Stop mocking me, Robin. It’s not in the least amusing,” I said shortly. “Giles hasn’t taken up with Tris, but Tris has been chatting Giles up a bit lately. And I think he’s also been chatting up this Will Scarlet, and perhaps Will thinks Giles is a rival. Though nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “I see,” Robin said, making a valiant effort to suppress his amusement.

  “But Will Scarlet is only one of the suspects,” I said. “It’s just possible that Murdo Millbank could have done it, or it might have been this Guillaume, who seems to be a henchman of the king’s.”

  “And why would either of them want to hit Sir Giles over the head, might I ask?”

  “Because,” I admitted reluctantly, “Giles was nosing about a bit, at my request, and they might have overheard what he was doing. Maybe it was their way of telling him to mind his own business.”

  “I see,” Robin said, and suddenly he appeared to take the matter a bit more seriously. “I’ve warned you before, Simon, that sticking your nose into these things can be dangerous, and now you see what I mean.”

  “Yes, Robin, I do see that,” I responded, holding on to my temper by the merest hair. “And if I had thought that I would put Giles in any serious danger, I would never have suggested it. I wouldn’t want him to come to any harm.”

  “No, I know that,” Robin said. “Your feelings for him have been all too plain recently.”

  “Oh, really,” I said, “and why would you take notice, Robin?”

  “I’m simply observant,” he said. “It’s part of my job.” He regarded me with a bland expression.

  “I see,” I said. “Well, if I find out who it was that hit Giles on the head, I’ll let you know.”

  “You do that thing, Simon,” Robin replied. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  “Wait a minute, Robin,” I said sharply. “You still haven’t answered my earlier question, about that ‘taradiddle’ you mentioned. What were you talking about?”

  Chagrined, Robin turned back to face me. “Almost got away with it,” he said. “Very well, Simon. That story that Totsye Titchmarsh told me.”

  “What about it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think it
has any bearing on the case.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Until you determine how the poison was administered, don’t you have to check every possibility?”

  “Yes, I do,” Robin said with exaggerated patience.

  “But I had an update from the pathologist a short while ago, Simon, and what he told me put a whole new spin on the case.”

  “Can you possibly share that information with me, Robin?”

  “I suppose I’m going to have to,” Robin said. “We were wrong about the poison, Simon. It wasn’t foxglove after all.”

  “What?” I said, stunned. “What do you mean, it wasn’t foxglove?”

  “Once the pathologist ran the appropriate tests,” Robin said, “he ruled out foxglove completely. It was cyanide, Simon. The murderer used cyanide.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I stared at Robin in complete disbelief. Cyanide! What the bloody hell was going on here? “Professor Lovelace was wrong,” Robin said, watching me closely. “Although it’s easy to understand his confusion. Under stress like that, it’s not unusual for someone who isn’t a medical professional to make a mistake.”

  “I’m not following you, Robin,” I said. “What do you mean by Tris’s ‘confusion’?”

  “Some of the symptoms of the two kinds of poisoning are similar,” Robin explained. “Vomiting, nausea, for example, some respiratory problems. It could have looked like foxglove, or digitalis, poisoning to a layperson who knew a bit about foxglove or plant poisons. But cyanide causes some of the same symptoms. Others are quite different.”

  “I see,” I said, still trying to process the information. “And what about the emergency treatment? Is it the same?”

  “In some ways,” Robin said. “Gastric lavage, in either case. With cyanide poisoning, if proper treatment doesn’t take place within the first half hour, there’s not much hope.” He frowned. “What they should have done, according to the pathologist, was administer some amyl nitrite as quickly as possible, then do the gastric lavage.”