Page 11 of Mrs. Holloway's Christmas Pudding

I couldn’t blame him for snapping. At one time he had been the victim of arsenical poisoning, and he’d become quite ill. We’d feared he would not recover, but with Daniel and me nursing him, he’d come through.

“No,” Mr. Thanos repeated in a softer tone. “From what Lady Cynthia’s friend described, it is not arsenic. He does not have abdominal pain or jaundice.”

“He did heave up your dinner,” Cynthia informed me. “Hence why Auntie feared he’d eaten something untoward in our dining room. Don’t worry, Mrs. H. I won’t let her sack you for it as she threatens. The rest of us would have had our heads over basins if something had been in the food.”

“Very true,” Mr. Thanos agreed brightly.

“Conclusions,” Daniel broke in. “Either Mr. Whitaker simply has an ongoing illness, or someone managed to give him a dose that no one else received.”

I had listed all the possible ways Mr. Whitaker could have ingested poison, and now I read them out. “In his tea, sherry, whiskey, or other beverage before he arrived for dinner, suggesting a poison that acts within an hour or so. If someone wishes him to linger for a certain amount of time—weeks, perhaps—they could slip it into whatever he drinks before bed each night, or in any other draughts his doctor prescribes him. Some poisons can be rubbed into the skin, perhaps in a salve. Monkshood, for instance.”

“You do have a gruesome knowledge of noxious substances,” Daniel observed, his forehead creasing.

“A cook must always be careful,” I answered. “There are many things lying about households that might make their way into food if one is not watchful. Arsenic is used in dyes and also to keep away rodents, as is strychnine. Ergot of rye is a fungus that clings to rye and wheat and could get into the flour. It can be deadly. You usually deliver flour to me, Daniel.”

He blenched. “From a reputable source, I assure you. They make certain all they sell is pure.”

“Ergot of rye produces symptoms similar to Mr. Whitaker’s,” I continued. “Then there is ipecac, which is commonly given as a purge but is fatal in high doses. Tansy tea, which can also be a medicine, is present in many households, as is pennyroyal oil. Not to mention all the poisonous plants in the garden.”

“Damnation,” Cynthia said with fervor. “Makes me not want to eat another bite.”

“Mrs. Holloway’s cooking is always good,” Mr. Thanos said. “And safe.” He wasn’t being kind—he believed it. I sent him a smile.

“So, you see,” I went on, “the poison could have come from anywhere, even accidentally. If their cook had been careless, others would be ill, as Lady Cynthia has pointed out. Have any in their household been, do you know, Lady Cynthia?”

“My friend who shares the doctor with the Whitakers says not. Judith also had a chat with Mrs. Whitaker, who is an acquaintance of Judith’s mum. Mrs. Whitaker insists the only person in the house who is ill is her husband. None of the servants show any symptoms, and the nephew, who visits often, is right as rain. The old army friend, Mr. Hardy, who can’t pay Mr. Whitaker what he owes him, is another frequent visitor to the house. He is as vigorous as ever.” Cynthia poured droplets of tea from her saucer into her cup and took a sip. “Judith wonders if Mr. Hardy is looking to get his feet under Mrs. Whitaker’s table. Sounds as though he’s interested enough in her.”

“That is a possibility,” I conceded. “Suppose Mr. Hardy comes to visit as often as he can in the guise of a friend and taints Mr. Whitaker’s whiskey. If he and Mr. Whitaker meet at their club, Mr. Hardy would have opportunity there as well.”

“Hardy and Whitaker belong to the Oriental Club, as both did business in India some time ago,” Cynthia said. “They went out in the army and then stayed for a bit. It’s one reason Whitaker is so rich. Young Herbert wouldn’t be admitted to the club, except as a guest of his uncle, and not regularly. Herbert likely only visits Whitaker at the house in Brook Street.”

I sighed, discouraged. “Any of them could be hastening Mr. Whitaker to his grave.” I closed the notebook, but my voice hardened. “We cannot let them.”

Daniel’s affable persona fell away, and the grim man who chased criminals for the police appeared. “No, we won’t.”

This had gone beyond me proving I’d not served a contaminated meal and saving my job. Mr. Whitaker was a wealthy man, and several people stood to gain from his death. The nephew and the insolvent friend would benefit, and perhaps the daughter would too, if Mr. Whitaker had put her into his will. She might have decided she’d suffered from her illegitimacy long enough, and she’d had opportunity to doctor his tea.

I thought of the poor man suffering in his bed, and I determined to stop it. Daniel met my gaze, understanding. Cynthia and Mr. Thanos looked adamant as well. Between the four of us, I decided, the killer didn’t stand a chance.

Daniel escorted me from the sobering meeting at Mr. Thanos’s flat and the rest of the way to the Millburns’. We tramped down Oxford Street and over the Holborn Viaduct to Newgate Street in silence, making our way to Cheapside. From there we took a small turning called Clover Lane and arrived at the house where my daughter lived.

Grace greeted me with her usual loving exuberance, and I sank into her embrace. My girl was getting so tall, I realized as I pulled away to look at her. She was my height now and possibly would grow even more.

I’d have to decide soon what was to become of her. I did not want her in service, as I had been, but there were not many choices for the daughter of a domestic.

I pressed aside such worries to think about later. Grace was pleased to see Daniel and excited about our treat out today.

Daniel took us to the Savoy Theatre just off the Strand, a fairly new place of entertainment, lavish and shining. Though I protested I could pay our way, Daniel wouldn’t hear of it. He procured the tickets and ushered us inside, and I decided, for Grace’s sake, to cease my fussing.

James slid into the seat beside Daniel as the first play started. He gave me a surreptitious nod then greeted his father and Grace with his customary cheerfulness.

Several pantos would run today. The first was Puss in Boots, a favorite, with plenty of songs, antics, and actors in amusing animal costumes. The lady in the breeches part was quite comely, with her long legs displayed in white tights. I would never have the courage to wear such attire, but she was so lively and funny as the hero with his magical cat, that I soon forgot about these concerns and settled in to enjoy the play.

Grace bounced in her seat, most unlike her, loudly shouting the responses to the actors. I found my voice hoarse as I yelled along with her, collapsing into laughter with my daughter.

Daniel also bellowed with enthusiasm. James was a master at it, his words booming over the crowd’s. His voice had grown deep, James swiftly becoming a man.

Daniel squeezed my hand at one point, his broad smile warming me through.

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