Death Comes to London (12 page)

“Surely this goes beyond the malicious and into the murderous?”

“I quite agree, Miss Harrington. If he were my brother, I’d—” Major Kurland broke off. “Broughton’s here.”

Lucy watched as the poor man came into the drawing room and quickly sat down by the fire. His skin looked as clammy as a death mask, his eyes were black holes, and he was sweating profusely. Anna immediately rose and went to sit by his side, her expression concerned. After a while he appeared to rally and even attempted to smile at his solicitous companion.

Seeing that Broughton was engaged with her sister, Lucy leaned closer to the major and lowered her voice. “Has the physician examined the dowager’s body yet?”

“I believe he was doing that today. He’ll probably come to the house this evening to let us know his findings.”

“But Broughton believes they were both poisoned and blames his brother?”

“Yes, Miss Harrington.”

“And do you agree?”

“It sounds likely. Why, do you have a different opinion?”

“Not really. I know from living in Kurland St. Mary that the most likely suspect in a suspicious death is a husband, a wife, or a close family member.”

“So I believe. It is very different from the experience of warfare where one mostly kills complete strangers.”

There was nothing Lucy could say to dispel the bleak look on her companion’s face. Anna beckoned to her and with a word of excuse, she crossed over to her sister’s side.

“Lucy, the lieutenant would like to take a short stroll into the garden. I wondered whether you and Sophia would accompany us?”

Lucy glanced at Broughton’s gaunt face. “Are you certain that you feel well enough to venture outside, Lieutenant? It is rather cold.”

“I’ve been inside for several days now, Miss Harrington, and would appreciate a breath of fresh air.”

“If you are sure, sir, I’d be happy to accompany you and Anna.” She glanced over at Major Kurland, who raised a quizzical eyebrow, and increased the volume of her voice. “Major Kurland was just expressing a similar desire to escape the confines of the house.”

Sophia and Mr. Stanford joined them and the party went out of the long windows that opened into the expansive gardens behind the house. Major Kurland took Lucy’s arm.

“I never said I wished to escape.”

“Major, you always look as if you wish to flee. You said London does not agree with you.”

“That’s true.” He took a deep breath of the frigid air. “I asked Broughton if he remembered what he drank at Almack’s. He thought he’d sipped at some weak orgeat.”

“There was a tray of orgeat on the table. I remember one of the footmen bringing it over to us. That’s what I gave the dowager.”

“Didn’t you drink some?”

“No, if you recall, someone jogged my elbow and the whole lot ended up all over my favorite gown.” She shuddered. “Which I’m heartily glad of now.”

“Did anyone else touch the orgeat?”

“I don’t think so.” Lucy frowned. “It is rather too sweet and syrupy for most people’s tastes.”

“Thank goodness.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised to hear of Broughton drinking it, but at the time I believe he was rather too agitated with his grandmother’s behavior to care what he was consuming.”

“I can understand that. She really was an appalling woman.”

Lucy glanced up at him. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“Why not? It’s not as if she can hear me.” The major avoided the trailing root of a tree, steering Lucy around it. “From what I can tell, everyone in the Broughton family will breathe a little easier without that particular dragon on their backs. I wonder where Broughton is heading? He didn’t look well enough for a long trek.”

His abrupt change of subject had Lucy returning her thoughts to where they were going rather than considering the issues the major had raised. His refusal to conform to the conventions of mourning the dead didn’t really surprise her. In her opinion, anyone who had survived the battlefields of Europe was entitled to their own view on that matter. Such carnage would challenge any man’s faith.

Broughton appeared to be heading for the building on the left. They waited as he found a key above the door and unlocked the heavy door. The sweet smell of herbs and dried hops flowed out into the frigid air, reminding Lucy of home. A sharp pang of longing for her garden at the rectory made her catch her breath.

“Are you all right, Miss Harrington?”

“Yes.” She forced a smile. “I was just thinking of the rectory stillroom where Anna brews up the most effective potions for our various ills.”

The major brushed aside a bunch of drying herbs that hung from a rack coming down from the ceiling. “If you gave me any of her concoctions I can certainly vouch for their efficiency.”

Broughton’s weak voice carried back to them. “Unfortunately, my grandmother’s potions generally did more harm than good. Her eyesight was failing, and as she refused to let anyone help her read the ingredients for her mixtures she sometimes got them wrong.”

“Which is why you replaced her with Dr. Redmond,” Major Kurland said. He walked over to where Broughton leaned up against a large pine worktable and pulled out a chair. “Perhaps you should sit down. You look rather tired.”

Sophia, Anna, and Mr. Stanford began investigating the dowager’s stillroom and commenting on what they found as they walked through the space. Lucy followed the major over to the worktable where he stood looking down at a large leather-bound book. While Broughton sat and conversed with the major, she quietly opened the book. It was an herbal of great age with recipes and receipts written in several different hands. Some of the original script was faded, but it looked as if generations of women had added their thoughts and substitutions in the margins of the pages.

“Has this herbal been in your family for long, Lieutenant Broughton?” Lucy asked.

He nodded. “At least two hundred years. My grandmother set great store by it.”

“And you?”

“I prefer to place my trust in the new science, Miss Harrington. Methods derived from the more rigorous and scientific approach of men.”

“You don’t think that this store of knowledge, knowledge that has been lovingly passed down for centuries by the women of your own family, has any value to it?”

“I’m sure some of it will be scientifically proven to be accurate, Miss Harrington, but until then, I’d rather not place my trust in the scribblings of women.” He smiled at her as though trying to lessen the insult. “Please feel free to look through it while you are here. I believe my grandmother marked her favorites.”

He turned to speak to Major Kurland as Anna came back to the table and Lucy began to leaf through the book. His assumption that the accumulated wisdom of generations of women was untrustworthy was slightly annoying, but not uncommon in this age of new science. Apparently, in order to be considered worthy, everything had to be proved anew. It seemed ridiculous to her. If willow bark cured a headache, and had done so for centuries, then why would one suddenly doubt it? It was typical of men to rewrite something just for the sake of it.

She turned another page, which was marked with a red ribbon, and read the title,
Convallaria majalis
(Lily of the Valley), which was followed by a small drawing of the tiny, waxen white flowers and the long, straggling, slightly shiny leaves that reminded her of a bluebell.

“ ‘Place the leaves of the lily of the valley in water and leave to soak overnight,’ ” Lucy murmured. “ ‘Discard the leaves and boil the water, reducing the quantity by half, and bottle the remaining liquid.’ ”

In the margin of the page a different hand had added more information. “ ‘In small quantities this “tea” can be used to alleviate the symptoms of an irregular heartbeat or a weakness of the heart. But use sparingly. It is deadly if drunk to excess.’ ”

Lucy looked up to find that Broughton had moved away to speak to Anna and that Major Kurland was standing right at her shoulder looking down at the text she had just quoted.

“Lieutenant Broughton said that his grandmother marked her favorite pages with red ribbon.”

“A strange page to mark, then,” Major Kurland commented.

“Not if she had a heart condition. Perhaps she used this concoction on herself.” Lucy scanned the packed shelves. “We can check in a moment.”

Major Kurland reached past her and turned to another marked page. “Here we have a remedy for lack of sleep, and another here about the uses of privet berries.”

“
Privet
berries?”

The major stopped turning the pages and went back. “Yes, why?”

“They are
extremely
poisonous. Didn’t you know that some of the young children in Kurland St. Mary have died after accidentally eating those bright red berries?”

“I was not aware of that. Privet hedges are extremely easy to find in the countryside and impossibly expensive to replace with more permanent structures.” Major Kurland frowned. “Can’t the schoolteacher warn the children not to eat the darn things?”

“There isn’t a school, Major.”

“I am aware of that. Rest assured I do have the matter in hand.”

“I’m glad to hear it. If you need any help . . .” Lucy paused.

“You probably won’t be there to help me, Miss Harrington. You are here to find yourself a husband, are you not?”

“Yes.” She shut the book and straightened her spine. “Thank you for reminding me. I’m sure your new land agent will deal with the matter perfectly well.”

Major Kurland glanced over at Broughton, who was looking ready to swoon, and raised his voice. “I think we should be getting back, don’t you? I for one am getting tired and would appreciate a cup of hot tea.”

Even as she applauded the major for offering Broughton the opportunity to retire back to the house, Lucy gave him a dubious glance. It was unlike him to admit to having any weakness. Was he coming to terms with his own limitations, or merely attempting to help his friend?

She waited until Sophia and Mr. Stanford left behind Anna and Broughton and shut the door, locking it with the key and standing on tiptoe to restore it to its hiding place on the ledge.

Major Kurland waited for her and then proffered his arm. “Shall we?”

“As long as I won’t overbalance you.” She glanced doubtfully at his weakened leg. “You did say you were tired.”

“I wouldn’t offer my arm if I thought I was going to bring you down with me, would I?”

“I suppose not, but in my experience, men can be incredibly stubborn about such things.” Lucy accepted his arm and then walked slowly forward, her attention distracted. “Oh, I forgot to check for the bottle of lily of the valley water.”

Major Kurland sighed. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.”

She reused the key and went back inside the stillroom. Whatever the state of her health or her eyesight, the dowager had kept her supplies in immaculate order. It took Lucy very little time to discover a bottle labeled lily of the valley and one filled with dried red privet berries. Replacing the bottles on the shelves, she left the stillroom and returned to Major Kurland.

“Well?” he demanded.

“She had a bottle of privet berries and a bottle for the lily of the valley water.” Lucy took a breath. “The lily of the valley water was all gone.”

“Which proves nothing, except that she hadn’t made a new batch.”

“But she labeled and dated the empty bottle.”

“And?”

“She only made that particular batch the day before she died, so where did the contents go?”

Chapter 9

“A
nd so I would conclude, Lieutenant, that your grandmother was poisoned. I can understand why the attending physician assumed she’d had heart failure. Her symptoms
were
rather similar. I suspect from the additional information Major Kurland and Miss Harrington supplied to me that she imbibed the poison.”

“Imbibed? As in drank?” Broughton demanded.

“Yes, sir. That would seem most likely.”

“Would it be possible to disguise the taste of poison in a drink?” Robert asked. “I believe that Broughton’s grandmother drank the orgeat Almack’s provided.”

Dr. Redmond stopped pacing. “Orgeat is a syrupy concoction made from orange flower water, almonds, and barley water. It has a very sweet, sickly taste and would be perfect to hide something in.” He turned to Broughton, who sat back, his hands clutching the arms of the chair. “Did you drink the orgeat?”

“I did, but not very much of it. It was far too sweet for my taste.”

“Which might explain why you lived and the dowager countess did not.”

“The dowager drank a whole glass. Miss Harrington gave it to her,” Robert confirmed.

Broughton looked up. “Miss Harrington?”

“Don’t look like that, Broughton. I can vouch for her. She’s no killer.” Robert looked back at the doctor. “Do you have any idea what kind of poison might have been used?”

“It’s difficult to say. I’d have to investigate more closely to determine exactly what it is.”

“But you must have your suspicions.”

Dr. Redmond pursed his lips. “Many poisons can be distilled from quite natural ingredients that are found all around us.”

“So I noticed in the dowager’s stillroom. I never realized privet was so dangerous.”

The doctor turned his attention to his patient. “I thought your grandmother was supposed to be kept out of the stillroom, Lieutenant?”

“Indeed, she was, but it proved rather difficult to stop her getting in there.” Broughton stirred in his chair. “I’m surprised she didn’t argue with you about it on your visits to Broughton House to attend to our health.”

“The dowager countess refused to speak to me, or allow me to treat her, sir. She told everyone I was in league with the devil.”

“She was a woman of strong opinions, Doctor, I’ll give you that.”

“As you are, sir, although your mind tends more to the scientific bent.” He hesitated. “If you are not offended by the notion, Lieutenant, I will consult my copy of Orfila’s book.”

“Why should we be offended?” Robert studied both of the men’s serious faces.

“Because the author, Mathieu Joseph Bonaventure Orfila, is a professor in a French university and originates from Spain.”