Murder in the Secret Garden (8 page)

Aunt Octavia dismissed this notion with a wave. “It's a good thing I ordered extra sandwiches. Aloysius is in the village, seeing if any of the merchants heard the other herbalists talking about Ms. Grace before she, ah, went into the river.”

“Is that the only reason he went into town?” Jane asked dubiously.

Aunt Octavia shrugged. “He might pay a visit to Mr. Alcott. I couldn't say.”

The twins perked up at the sound of Edwin's surname. “Mr. Alcott's back?” Hem asked. “Can we visit him, Mom?”

“He told us that he'd bring us something cool.” Fitz's eyes gleamed.

Jane hid her frown behind her napkin.

“Mr. Alcott has a café to run,” Octavia reminded the twins. “You'll have to wait until he has time to spare. As for cool things, why don't you take a peek in the office?”

The boys tossed their napkins on their plates and were about to rush off when Aunt Octavia cleared her throat. The noise stopped them in their tracks. “May we be excused?” they meekly asked.

“Yes,” she replied just as someone knocked on her apartment door. After rearranging her pink and black leopard-print housedress, she called, “Come in, Mr. Lachlan!”

The door opened and Muffet Cat shot into the living room. The portly tuxedo made a beeline for Aunt Octavia, jumped onto her lap, and meowed.

“I didn't know he could move that fast,” Lachlan said.

“He must be half starved!” Aunt Octavia declared and fished a handful treats from her pocket. Muffet Cat wolfed them down and curled up on Octavia's lap.

“Please sit at the table,” Octavia said to Lachlan. “And don't protest. It's just a chair. Tell us about the hike, and then dig
into those sandwiches. Mrs. Hubbard made egg salad with cress as well as ham and brie with apples.”

Defeated by Octavia's clout, Lachlan took a seat. “Unless they were all pretending, the members really do get along. Constance Meredith is the prickliest of the bunch. She's definitely the most pretentious, but I guess the rest of the group is used to her. Eventually, she stopped talking about herself and focused on the plants. When she did that, she became likable. She got excited about finding this plant called snakeroot. She told another woman—Tammy—that the root is poisonous. If ingested in large doses, it can cause internal injuries, paralysis, or death. Tammy explained that although snakeroot was once used to counteract snake venom, its rhizome is now being harvested as a diuretic.”

Aunt Octavia, who'd been petting Muffet Cat until his rumbling purrs filled the room, grew still. “There were no arguments? No one pointed fingers or whispered when they believed to be out of earshot?”

“The only unusual exchange occurred between Claude Mason and Tom Green.”

“Tom?” Jane repeated in surprise.

“We were taking our midway break when Mr. Mason pulled Tom aside,” Lachlan said. “The others were sitting on a group of rocks in the shade, eating the snacks we'd brought and listening to Vivian Ash talk about her most recent renovation project. I crept around the rocks and got close to the two men. Mr. Green looked uncomfortable and I caught a few phrases. They don't make much sense to me, but maybe you'll understand them better, Miss Jane.”

Jane nodded in encouragement. “Go on.”

“Mr. Mason mentioned a druid, and Mr. Green literally flinched at the sound of the word. He shook his head in refusal and said ‘recluse' and ‘potentially dangerous.'” Lachlan gazed into the middle distance, recalling the scene. “Mr. Mason persisted. He put his arm around Mr. Green's
shoulder and murmured something. It impressed Mr. Green. He had this expression—like a kid standing in front of a toy store window.”

“Membership,” Jane said. “I bet Claude offered Tom membership in exchange for . . .” She looked at her great-aunt. “Have you ever heard of a druid in the area?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” Aunt Octavia's mouth curved into a smug grin. “You need to talk to Tobias Hogg. When Pig Newton was sick back in May, Tobias feared that he couldn't be saved.”

Jane made a sympathetic noise. “I remember how upset Tobias was, and the vet over the mountain didn't think there was much hope.”

“Tobias tried everything. He got a second opinion. After that, he scoured the Internet for home remedies, and one of the housekeepers said that he'd sought the help of a druid. Some wild man living in the hills between Storyton and the next town.”

“Am I always the last person to hear about everything?” Jane couldn't hide her exasperation. “A druid? Seriously?” She glanced from her great-aunt to Lachlan, who responded with a perplexed shrug. “All right. I'll call Mr. Hogg right now.”

However, Tobias Hogg had taken the day off to enjoy a summer picnic with his girlfriend, Barbara Jewel, the famous romance novelist.

“I'll see if the Cover Girls can discover anything before our book discussion,” Jane said. “For once, Mrs. Pratt's propensity for gossip might come in handy.”

*   *   *

Eugenia Pratt loved being the center of attention. She sat on the divan in the Daphne du Maurier Parlor like a queen awaiting the adulation of her subjects.

“Well?” Mabel prompted, elbowing Mrs. Pratt in the side. “Don't add theatrical pauses. Just tell us about this druid!”

Mrs. Pratt scowled. “There's a certain way to tell a tale, you know.”

“Have you ever
seen
him?” Phoebe asked impatiently.

Anna, who was admiring the tea spread, turned to her friend. “How does one recognize a druid? It's not like he'd walk through town wearing a robe and carrying a staff.”

“I also picture him with a long beard and an owl on his shoulder,” Violet added.

Sensing that she was losing her audience, Mrs. Pratt waved her hands. “No one has seen him. Except Tom Green. Apparently, Tom serves as the druid's go-between. He buys whatever staples the druid can't produce and leaves them somewhere in the woods.”

Jane couldn't believe her ears. “And what does the druid use as payment? Daisy chains? Salves and tinctures in unmarked bottles?”

“No one knows,” Mrs. Pratt said, enjoying the discussion immensely. “But Tom has procured medicines from him for years. Dozens of people have used the druid's holistic cures. Word has it that the man has cured a variety of ailments from warts to the flu with far better success than the doctors over the mountain. Apparently, he has a concoction that works wonders on sore joints.”

“Made from herbs, no doubt. No wonder The Medieval Herbalists are intrigued.” Jane took a moment to absorb this information. “But how would they have found out about this man? Or have known that Tom served as the druid's errand boy?”

Eloise nodded. “Exactly. I've lived here for years and never heard a single whisper about a druid. How is that possible?”

“His customers won't speak openly about him,” Mrs. Pratt informed her friends. “The druid fiercely guards his privacy. If Tom hears anyone talking about the druid or his medicine, that person is permanently cut off.”

“This is too bizarre,” Jane said. She was about to ask Mrs. Pratt another question when the sounds of voices in the hall made her stop. “Don't mention the druid. Just focus on getting to know these people better. The spouses or partners aren't attending this event, so the group will be more intimate.”

Jane moved to the doorway to welcome the herbalists. They all appeared to be in good spirits and seemed to have rested since their hike.

“I think you're the healthiest group we've ever had at Storyton Hall,” Jane said.

“We won't be if we keep eating like this.” Laughing, Vivian Ash pointed at the tea spread. “Miniature beef pies! And salmon with parsley, dill, and scallions. I wasn't even hungry until I got here, but now I want one of everything.”

Eloise smiled at her. “We have plenty of material to discuss, so load your plates.”

From that point, Eloise took over. The event had been Eloise's brainchild. As soon as she'd heard about the retreat, she'd e-mailed Claude Mason and suggested that his group read
Outlander
by Diana Gabaldon,
A Poultice for a Healer
by Caroline Roe,
Matilda Bone
by Karen Cushman, and any book in the Harry Potter series mentioning mandrakes prior to their arrival at Storyton. Claude had been delighted by her proposal.

“Let's start with a game,” Eloise announced now. “Each Cover Girl has dug up—sorry, I couldn't resist the pun—a literary quote including an herb. If you can name the source, you'll win a prize.”

Michelle Scanavanni clapped. “How fun!”

“Can you win more than one prize?” Constance asked.

Eloise seemed taken aback by the question. “How about this? If you win two, why not give your extra to a friend?”

“Good idea.” Sandi Hughes nodded approvingly.

“Phoebe, why don't you go first?” Eloise pointed at her friend. “Phoebe runs the Canvas Creamery, so if you need
a fantastic espresso drink or frozen treat, she's your girl. And if you want to see the raciest sculptures in town, check out her
back
garden.”

Tammy looked at Phoebe. “I've heard about your book babes. Aren't they oversized nudes made from recycled materials?” A shadow of sadness entered her eyes. “Kira would have loved those. And this. She was always up for a game. Please, go on.”

Phoebe gave her a warm smile and opened her notebook. “Who said, ‘There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember'?”

Hands shot into the air. Phoebe called on an attractive man in his early forties.

“John will get
all
of these,” Constance whined.

“The quote is spoken by Ophelia in Act 4, Scene 5, of Shakespeare's
Hamlet
,” John said a trifle sheepishly. “And I won't raise my hand again. It's not fair. I'm an English professor.”

“Congratulations on winning a free drink on me.” Phoebe gave the professor an appreciative once-over.

Several more rounds passed before it was Jane's turn. “Mine contains two deadly plant references and my prize is a gift certificate for a free falconry lesson for you and a friend with Mr. Lachlan. Of course, you are all scheduled for an introductory lesson, but this will be a far more hands-on experience.”

This created a great deal of excited whispering and Jane had to wait a moment before reading her lines. “‘Neither twist Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd by nightshade.'”

Jane called on several people. After incorrect guesses of William Blake, Robert Frost, and William Wordsworth, Hannah Billingsley raised her hand. She'd chosen a seat in the corner of the room by the fireplace and had been so quiet that it was possible to forget that she was there, but Jane
crossed her fingers behind her back in hopes that Hannah had the answer. She thought the younger woman would be delighted to stroke the feathers of a Cooper's hawk or feel the weight of a peregrine falcon as it perched on her forearm.

Jane pointed at her, and Hannah softly said, “Is it Keats? I think it is.”

“Yes.” Jane clapped and the other Cover Girls followed suit. Hannah blushed with pleasure.

The quote contest proved to be the perfect icebreaker, and by the time Eloise asked her first book discussion question, The Medieval Herbalists were clearly enjoying themselves.

An hour quickly turned into two, and the kitchen staff replenished the food and hot water. A few people, including Constance Meredith, ordered cocktails. As the afternoon faded into evening, she seemed to grow more and more congenial. At one point, she even ordered a round of mint juleps for everyone.

By her third drink, however, she began to exhibit signs of restlessness.

“J.K. Rowling's depictions of the mandrake were my favorite,” she said in response to Eloise's final question on memorable scenes. “She did her medieval folklore research.”

Anna cocked her head. “Well, I didn't. Would you explain the folklore?”

Constance swelled like a puffer fish. “Certainly. In the Harry Potter books, the characters must wear earmuffs when they uproot a mandrake. Otherwise, the plant's screams would kill them. This dates back to a genuine belief that the mandrake root was a demon—a living creature—and that the person who removed it from the ground would either be murdered by its scream or cast into a pit of Hell.”

“Good Lord!” Mabel exclaimed.

“People solved this dilemma by tying the mandrake plant to a dog,” Constance said, a wicked glimmer in her eyes.
“They'd whip the dog until it ran, thus pulling up the root and incurring the curse. Once the animal was dead, its owner would collect the root.”

Violet looked stricken. “What a horrible legend. Dogs aren't disposable!”

“The mandrake root has an anthropomorphic appearance,” Constance said. “Once you've seen one in person, you'll understand why people living in a superstitious world would fear it. Luckily for everyone here, I'll have several on display at Sunday's fair. I
am
a root short, seeing as I generously gave a lovely specimen to a pair of inquisitive boys. Twins, I think.”

Jane took several steps toward Constance. “When?”

Constance shrugged. “Before I came here. I ran into these two boys talking about a kitchen garden. I rarely meet children who express an interest in herbs, so I rewarded them for being refreshingly different.”

“Did you warn them of its dangers?” Jane asked in what resembled a low growl.

“Why? I don't expect them to eat it,” Constance replied defensively.

Raising the index finger of her right hand, Jane brought it very close to Constance's heavily made-up face. “The next time you give my sons poisonous presents, you will find yourself walking to the train station. Do I make myself clear?”