Page 58 of Mischief at Marsden Manor
“Well, if someone picked the pennyroyal out of the ditch here… by the way, do you have any idea which part of the plant one uses for tea? Is it the flowers, or the leaves, or the stalk? Or all of it?”
“I have no clue,” Christopher said and waved his free hand. “But carry on.”
“Well, whoever picked it would have needed to turn it into tea somehow. Or turn it into something that could have been mixed with the tea. I wonder if simply steeping the leaves or petals in water would be enough to do it? Would the water have to be hot, do you suppose, or would cold water from the tap be enough?”
And for that matter, would pennyroyal tea be enough to kill someone? Or would it have to be something more concentrated than that?
“A question for Collins,” Christopher said. “But what you’re saying is that if someone picked the plant here, they would have had to have the supplies and the know-how to turn it into poison.”
“Or something that works like poison, yes.”
Christopher nodded. “I could see that being an issue for someone. Especially if it came down to actually brewing the tea themselves. The guests can’t just wander into the kitchen and start using the AGA.”
No, definitely not. “But on the other hand,” I said, “if someone brought the pennyroyal liquid here already ready for use, that person must have known about the situation before coming here. It’s not likely that someone would be traveling with an abortifacient just in case they came across a pregnant woman, you know.”
“No,” Christopher admitted, “I suppose it’s not. She didn’t even look pregnant, did she?”
“Not to me. I don’t think she was more than a few months along. Not enough for it to be visible.”
“Who knew about Cecily’s condition before they arrived?”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “Not many people, it seems. We didn’t. Crispin didn’t seem to. She told him about it in her room last night, and he appeared shocked enough that I’m willing to stake money on the fact that he hadn’t known beforehand.”
Christopher nodded. “He’s a passable liar when he’s prepared. When he’s faced with things without warning, he gets flustered easily.”
I waved it away. “We’ve already decided it wasn’t St George, whatever he knew or didn’t know before yesterday. Lady Violet and Olivia both said that Cecily hadn’t confided in them, and Violet claimed to be Cecily’s best friend.”
“Had she not told them who she had been spending her time with?”
“They said she hadn’t. I don’t know whether they were telling the truth or not.”
“Hopefully whoever the murderer is believes them,” Christopher said, as we turned into the driveway of Marsden Manor and made our way up towards the house. “Because if he doesn’t, and if he truly killed Cecily rather than acknowledge her and the baby, he might decide to take out anyone else who knows who he is, as well.”
I made a face. “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess perhaps I did a good thing, bringing it out in the open like that at the luncheon table. At least he won’t think, assuming he was there, that people know things that they don’t.”
“Why wouldn’t he be there?” Christopher wanted to know. “The only person on the guest list who wasn’t at the luncheon table was me, and surely you’re not suggesting that I’m it?”
“Of course not.” Geoffrey had been there, and Reggie, and Dominic Rivers, and of course Francis and Crispin and Bilge Fortescue, as well. Everyone except Christopher had heard Violet and Olivia claim not to know who the father of Cecily’s baby was. Hopefully that would be enough to keep them both safe.
“At any rate,” I said, “if the pennyroyal was brought here yesterday because Cecily was expecting, then someone knew about her condition before this weekend. It’s still possible that it was Cecily herself who arranged it with Dominic Rivers, and that Rivers simply lied to me. But it could also be that the young man was someone she sees regularly, whom she had already told. Someone who also came down from London for the party. If he’s part of the Bright Young Set, she would have seen him again before now, I assume. They get up to their shenanigans most weekends in Town, don’t they?”
“One supposes,” Christopher nodded, as he headed for the front door into the manor. “There’s no point in going back tothe croquet lawn, I imagine. Constable Collins won’t be there anymore.”
I shook my head. “He said he was going to start searching the rooms. He’ll be somewhere on the first or second floor.”
“On the other hand,” Christopher said, picking up the conversation again, “there are surely a few members of the Bright Young Set that she would not see on a regular basis. Crispin has been staying in Wiltshire lately. The last few times he’s been up to London, it was to see us.”
I made a face. “To see Wolfgang, you mean.”
“To assess Wolfgang,” Christopher corrected, “yes. I think the last time he did any kind of heavy partying was for his birthday, and that was the first week in June.”
“It was also with us,” I pointed out, “although he was already sozzled by the time he arrived at the flat, so he must have spent time with someone else first. But that’s three months ago, Christopher. If he bedded Cecily in June, and she conceived, surely she could have found a way to let him know about it sooner than this weekend? Sutherland Hall is on the exchange, and it’s not as if the postman doesn’t deliver. And she knows where Sutherland House is; she could always have gone to Mayfair and asked Rogers to pass on a missive.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Christopher said, and pushed the front door open, only to come face to face with Perkins the butler. “Oh. Hullo, Perkins. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Constable Collins, would you?”
Perkins looked from the weed in Christopher’s hand, up to Christopher’s face, and back to the weed in Christopher’s hand again before he intoned, “The constable is on the upper floors, Mr. Astley.”
“Thank you, Perkins,” Christopher said. His cheekbones were pink, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.“Would you happen to know what kind of flower this is, Perkins?”
