The Scandalous Sisterhood of Prickwillow Place (4 page)

He turned suddenly and found Alice lurking at his back. He gaped at her. She, not knowing what else to do, folded her hands and stared at the
f
loor.

Kitty’s own pulse pounded in her throat. The game was up, now. She was out of ideas. This charade was too absurd for words. Any second now Dr. Snelling would learn the truth. They would all end up going home. There’d be an inquest and ghastly questions. Admiral Lockwood and Reverend Rumsey would be on the spot as witnesses. She watched the sweat on the doctor’s head gleam in the candlelight and waited for the dreaded words to fall from his lips.

The doorbell rang.

Doom was upon them; failure howled at the gate; but there was nothing for Kitty to do but carry out the charade and carry out the summons. She wasn’t sure if any of her ancestors had fought in the Battle of Hastings, but there was stern stuff in the Heatons, and Kitty wouldn’t let a doorbell defeat her.

Dull Martha, Dear Roberta, and Disgraceful Mary Jane appeared in the doorway to Mrs. Plackett’s room. “We’ll see who it is,” Roberta announced.

“More party guests, undoubtedly,” Kitty told them. “I think, though, in light of Mrs. Plackett’s illness, we’d better cancel the party. We’d hate to infect anyone else if her complaint is catching. Will you ask the newcomers to return another day?” The girls nodded knowingly and disappeared.

“Oh, come now, liver complaints aren’t catching,” Dr. Snelling said irritably. “Can we
please
have a bit less hullabaloo in here?”

“Are you sure liver complaints don’t spread, Doctor?” Pocked Louise enquired. “I read a fascinating pamphlet from the Royal Society about germs and how they’re all around us, too small to see, feeding upon our very bodies, spreading contagion like … well, like contagion.”

“Liver complaints are not caused by germs. They’re caused by weak livers.” Dr. Snelling wagged his finger in Louise’s face. “I don’t care what pamphlets you’ve gotten hold of. Those Royal Society folks do nothing but dither in their laboratories and drink champagne. If you want science, stick to facts, to good trusty medicine.”

Pocked Louise pulled a notebook and pencil from her pocket. “I agree completely, Doctor,” she said. “It’s refreshing to speak to a true man of science. I don’t suppose you know my uncle, Doctor Matthew Dudley, the great London surgeon?”

“No, I do not know your blasted uncle! Would you please run along and leave me to my…”

“Well, never mind my relatives.” Pocked Louise acted as though she couldn’t even hear the doctor’s rant. “Now, where might I find better liver pamphlets?”

While this scientific discussion was underway, Smooth Kitty elbowed Stout Alice. “Where is Elinor?” she whispered.

Alice pointed toward the bedroom armoire. “In there.”

Kitty’s jaw dropped. “You don’t mean—”

Alice nodded. “Inside. With Mr. Godding. He wouldn’t stay put otherwise.”

CHAPTER 3

Down the hallway, Dull Martha opened the front door to find Miss Letitia Fringle, the spinster choir mistress, leaning on her polished oak cane.

“Miss Fringle!” Dear Roberta said, with genuine delight. “How nice of you to stop by. Won’t you come in? Oh!”

Disgraceful Mary Jane had trodden hard upon Roberta’s toe. Dear Roberta’s sweet and generous impulses could be a trial at times, especially when they so utterly eclipsed her brain. No power under heaven could evict nosy Miss Fringle from a house where she intended to stay, not once she’d been invited past the threshold. She had that in common with vampires.

“Good evening, girls.” Miss Fringle squinted at them as she wobbled over the
f
lagstones. “I’m here for the birthday party. I brought elderberry cordial and a rhubarb tart.
And,
I brought the sheet of practice music I promised to your headmistress. Patricia Rumsey says she’s to sing at the social on Wednesday, and
I
say her voice wants coaching.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Fringle,” Mary Jane said. “Mrs. Plackett is unwell and has taken to bed for the evening.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Fringle replied. “She invited me for a party, and I expect a party. My niece spent all afternoon baking this tart. Where is Mrs. Plackett’s brother, anyway? Why she cooked up the idea of a surprise party, I don’t know. Surprises can give heart attacks. Well, no matter. Let’s go inside. If she’s unwell, I shall condole with her.”

“I think you really ought not to,” Mary Jane persisted. “You could catch a fever.”

“Which one are you? Can’t see well in this poor light.” The choir mistress peered at them each in turn, then addressed Mary Jane. “You’re one of the pretty ones. A sight too pretty, I’d say, and that leads to vanity. Give me a plain, clean-living girl any day, like this one.” She gestured to Dull Martha, who gasped in wounded astonishment.

“Fringles don’t take fevers,” the choir mistress continued. “Step aside, girls.” Her cane thumped against the
f
loorboards as she advanced down the hall. “How is your tablecloth for the social coming along? The girls at Mrs. Usher’s school are already done with theirs.
Such
fine work.”

Mary Jane sniffed disdainfully. Those Usher girls might stitch well, but they had no sense of style.

“What do we do?” Dear Roberta whispered to Dull Martha. “She mustn’t come in.”

“Then let’s stop her.” Without any pause, Dull Martha pursued the old woman and plowed into her side, knocking her cane out from under her.

Mary Jane gasped. “Martha!”

Miss Fringle shrieked. The thin old woman wobbled like a sail in a tempest. Martha caught her before she could truly fall.

“My ankle!” the old woman cried. “Sabotage! Violence! Oh, my poor ankle!”

Doctor Snelling poked his head out from the bedroom. “What’s all this? Miss Fringle, what are you doing here?”

“Being attacked by this great oaf of a girl,” Miss Fringle replied. “You! What’s your name?”

“Martha, Miss Fringle,” that young lady obediently replied. “I played the pianoforte at your recital last fall.”

“Then I should think you’d have the cultivation not to gallop like a savage. Doctor, what a mercy you’re here. Help me to the sofa in the parlor, and see to this ankle, won’t you? Constance won’t mind waiting for my sake.”

Miss Fringle disentangled herself from Martha, calling her stupid and clumsy and giving her ear a good hard twist, then yielded herself like a frightened damsel into Dr. Snelling’s knightly care. He guided her into the parlor and called for the girls to fetch him his bag. Admiral Lockwood and Reverend Rumsey leaped to their feet and shouted advice at Dr. Snelling. Admiral Lockwood called for splints while Reverend Rumsey determined that the elderberry cordial in Miss Fringle’s basket would do just the thing.

Smooth Kitty, still in the bedroom, gathered up Dr. Snelling’s bag. “Rescue Elinor if you can,” she whispered to Stout Alice, then
f
led from the room where the corpses were and made her way to the party in the parlor.

Disgraceful Mary Jane caught up with Dear Roberta and Dull Martha in the corridor. “Martha, what were you thinking, tackling poor Miss Fringle like that?” Mary Jane hissed. “Just because she called you plain! Women her age are made of eggshells and cobwebs. You could have killed her. Then we’d have yet another body to dispose of.”

Dull Martha’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t do it because she called me plain,” she sniffed. “Kitty said she mustn’t come in. I was trying to help. It wasn’t
my
fault Roberta invited her.”

Roberta’s eyes grew red as well. “It’s late at night! How could we not invite the dear old lady in?”

“Nosy old bat is more like it.” Mary Jane sighed, then looked at the penitent pair. She put an arm around each of them. “Never mind, my chickadees,” she said. “Forgive me for being cross. It’s a trying time, and I know we’re all doing our best.” She steered them both into the bedroom, where they were rejoined by all the other girls, including Dour Elinor, who looked like she’d danced a quadrille with the Grim Reaper before finally managing to get out of the armoire and lock Mr. Godding’s body in.

Stout Alice brushed dust off Elinor’s dress. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” Elinor said briskly. “I found Mr. Godding remarkably fit, for a dead man.”

Dear Roberta’s face took on a greenish hue. “Do you mean you’ve encountered
other
dead men?”

“Oh, never mind that!” Stout Alice cried. “What’s the plan? We need a plan, and soon.”

“They have to go,” Smooth Kitty replied. “One way or another, Doctor Snelling, Miss Fringle, Reverend Rumsey, and Admiral Lockwood have to go.”

“I know where there’s some rope,” Dour Elinor said.

“Heavens! Not that way,” Kitty cried. “Let’s be sensible, all of us, and use our intelligence.”

“I say that we simply do not let them in here,” Pocked Louise ventured. “They can’t come in, and that’s final.”

“It’s not much of a plan,” Disgraceful Mary Jane observed.

“Coo! Coo!”

“What was that?” Dear Roberta gasped.

The girls all froze. The sound, whatever it was, seemed to be coming from outdoors.

“Coo! Coo!”

“A pigeon?” Dull Martha ventured. “A dove?”

“No such luck,” Stout Alice said. “A dove coos, it doesn’t
say
‘Coo, coo.’ It’s a person. Out in the garden.”

“Probably Henry Butts.” Disgraceful Mary Jane tossed her head. “He’s always doing idiotic things to get me to notice him. As if I ever would bother. So typical of a farmhand.”

“He’s not a farmhand, he’s the farmer’s son,” Dull Martha said.

“Precious difference that makes,” Mary Jane replied. “Either way, the boots smell like manure, and the hair is full of straw.”

“Never mind Henry Butts.” Smooth Kitty saw that the agenda of this meeting was in jeopardy, and she had firm feelings about agendas. “We’ve got to go break up the birthday party. They’re bound to wonder where the hostess and the guest of honor are. I’ll think of something to say.”

“Yes, but keep in mind, when they leave and it comes time to bury Mrs. Plackett and Mr. Godding, we must make sure there are no Henry Buttses lurking around,” Stout Alice said.

They filed back into the parlor where Dr. Snelling was just finishing wrapping Miss Fringle’s twisted ankle. He might have finished much sooner if she had not
f
linched and moaned and shuddered at every slight touch upon her stockinged foot. Her performance was stirring, but Dr. Snelling, that old medical campaigner, seemed largely unimpressed.

“Just a slight sprain, nothing more,” he said. “This bandage will help support it for a day or two. But you mustn’t walk on it tonight. You shall have to stay here until a ride can be arranged for you in the morning.”

“I could escort you home in my buggy,” volunteered Admiral Lockwood, who sat averting his eyes from Miss Fringle’s tempting ankle.

“At this hour? No, thank you.” Miss Fringle pointed her toes and examined her wounded joint. Dour Elinor would have sworn the sight of it pleased her. “I shall pass the night here and return home in the morning.”

Once again Kitty felt the earth sway beneath her feet.
Steady on
, she told herself. It was time to make a speech. She needed a plan, so she made one on the spot, considered it, and pronounced it good. Time to put it in motion. The wiliest member of Parliament could scarcely rival Kitty when it came to nimble thinking.

“If I might interrupt,” she said in a clear, firm voice. All the adults present paused to look at her in some surprise. Reverend Rumsey’s lips were stained burgundy from the port, and Admiral Lockwood had shortbread crumbs all over his chest. Somehow this helped Kitty feel confident. She thought of her father, addressing the board of directors of his company, and screwed her courage to its sticking place.

“Thank you all for coming at Mrs. Plackett’s invitation to celebrate Mr. Godding’s birthday,” she said. “This afternoon, after church, Mrs. Plackett and Mr. Godding received a distressing message from family members in India. Mr. Godding left immediately for London to book passage to India, and Mrs. Plackett was so concerned for her brother that she felt faint, and took to her bed to rest.” From the corner of her eye Kitty saw Dr. Snelling frown.
Liver complaint
, she could almost hear him objecting.

“The shock of the news, compounded with her already weak health, overcame her. I am sure she’ll be much better in a day or … a week.”

“But what was the distressing news?” Reverend Rumsey inquired. “Has someone left this world for a better?”

Two someones have,
Kitty thought,
but not the someones you’re thinking
. She racked her brain. She’d overheard a name pass, once, between the headmistress and her brother about a relative in India. But who was it?

“It … was…”

“Please don’t say it was Julius,” Miss Fringle implored. “The poor child!”

“… Julius,” Kitty said smoothly. “Yes, the poor little thing. The doctors are gravely concerned for him.”

“What does he have?” Dr. Snelling asked.

Kitty’s eyes met Pocked Louise’s.
Help me,
she asked silently. “He … has … pneu—”

“Malaria,” Pocked Louise said swiftly.

“Pneumaria?” Admiral Lockwood asked.

“Malaria,” Smooth Kitty said emphatically.

Admiral Lockwood stoppered the bottle of port wine. “That’s a bad business,” he said. “I’ve seen sailors drop like
f
lies from malaria.”

“We shall pray and hope that Mr. Godding does not expose himself to infection on this journey,” Reverend Rumsey said gravely. “He has been prone at times to overindulge in drink, which can weaken the body.”

“Her brother’s safety is Mrs. Plackett’s fervent prayer,” Kitty said.

Dr. Snelling shook his head. “I wouldn’t have pegged Aldous Godding as one to race across the world to a nephew’s sickbed.”

“He’s probably glad of a reason to avoid his bill collectors,” Miss Fringle said.

Dr. Snelling harrumphed. “Bill collectors have their ways of finding you and your money.”

Kitty chose to ignore their speculations about Aldous Godding, Deathbed Sojourner. She’d spun her tale and she would stand by it. “Whatever his reasons, Mr. Godding has indeed gone, and Mrs. Plackett is … affected by it. Please excuse Mrs. Plackett for failing to greet you personally. Thank you so much for coming this evening.”