C
HAPTER
13
“H
ow are they, Doctor?” Sir Arthur whispered. He and another man were standing outside the open doorway, their shadows, from the dim light of the gas lamp in Sir Arthur’s hand, cast against the wall.
“Well, as you know, I could do nothing for old Mr. Holbrook,” the doctor said, “so I’ve been most concerned with the general’s son, Henry. Thank goodness you found him when you did. If he’d lain there any longer without proper hydration, he might have died as well. He’s still quite ill and will need to be watched closely. The others should be fine once the illness runs its course.”
“But Henry wasn’t attacked as we first supposed?” Sir Arthur said. “You found no injury, no evidence of a struggle?”
“No, no, he collapsed from the sickness like everyone else.”
That’s a relief,
I thought. But what did he mean, “like everyone else”?
“Then he must’ve discovered the theft but collapsed before he could raise the alarm,” Sir Arthur said. The doctor shrugged. “And Hattie?” Sir Arthur looked through the doorway at me. It was too dark for him to tell I was awake.
“I can only assume, since she refused to let me examine her, that she suffers from the same sickness as everyone else. But if she has an attending physician, you may want to consult him. Otherwise, I recommend the same treatment, rest and plenty of liquids.”
“I’ve already arranged for a regimen of liquids for each patient, Doctor,” Rachel Baines said. I couldn’t see her and hadn’t known she was there.
“You’ve been a great help, Mrs. Baines. I hear you nursed in the war.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Well, it’s a great comfort to know they will be under your care, madam.” I didn’t have to see Rachel Baines to know that the comment brought a smile to her face. “Now, it may be an inconvenience for your hosts, but I would recommend all those afflicted be allowed to recover with as little disturbance as possible. Even a short carriage ride may jar their nerves.”
That’s why I didn’t recognize where I was. It was dark and I was still in the Reynards’ home.
“I will speak to the general and Mrs. Reynard about the arrangements,” Sir Arthur said.
“Good. Then if that will be all, Sir Arthur?” the doctor said.
“One more thing, Dr. Gunderson. What’s wrong with them?”
“From the apparent symptoms: fever, flux, profuse sweating, dizziness, vomiting, delirium, I’d have thought milk sickness, but I haven’t heard of any cases of that in Galena. It could be gastritis, intestinal colic, or cholera morbus. But since several people exhibited the same symptoms in a matter of hours during a dinner party, I would say it’s most likely ptomaine poisoning.”
“I recognized the signs of poison right away, Doctor,” Mrs. Baines said.
“Yes, I’m sure you did, Mrs. Baines. Probably saw your share of it during the war, what with all the worms and weevils our boys ate.” The doctor and nurse shared a chuckle. I closed my eyes and focused on keeping the nausea down.
“So it wasn’t deliberate?” Sir Arthur asked.
“I don’t know. That’s for the police and the coroner’s office to decide. All I know is that, intentional or not, a man is dead and several others are extremely sick.”
“But I’m not sick, and neither is the general nor Mrs. Baines and most of the other ladies. Can you explain that?” Sir Arthur asked.
“The poison could’ve been in the food that only some of us ate,” I said feebly from my bed. Sir Arthur and the doctor turned their heads suddenly toward me. Rachel Baines, carrying a candle that cast a glow across her face, stepped into view.
“Hattie, you’re supposed to be resting,” she said as she entered the room, setting the candle down. She put her hand on my forehead and then poured a mixture of brandy and water. “Here, drink this.” The thought of anything going down into my stomach was enough to make me nauseous.
“No, thank you,” I said, waving her away. I felt terrible and wanted to be left alone. I should’ve stayed quiet and they would’ve left.
“Why must you be so obstinate, girl? The doctor and I are only trying to help,” Mrs. Baines said. “By the way, who’s Walter?”
Walter?
I wondered. What did Walter have to do with anything? And how did Rachel Baines know about Walter? Was I talking in my sleep? Had I been delirious? Did Sir Arthur hear me ranting? What else did I say?
“Hattie has a point,” Sir Arthur was saying when I focused on the conversation that was going on in front of me. “Could the poison have been administered to a dish that we didn’t all partake of?”
“Administered?” the doctor said. “I think I gave you the wrong impression. These people were food poisoned.”
“Food poisoned?” Sir Arthur said tersely. “Blast it, Gunderson, a man died!”
“The sick and elderly are known to succumb to it,” Dr. Gunderson said. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook was both. But of course, we’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“So it was an accident after all,” Rachel Baines said.
“It still could’ve been deliberate,” I said. Rachel Baines frowned down at me. She picked up a hand towel, dipped it in the washbasin, and draped it over my forehead.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she said again. “So stop talking and close your eyes.”
“How so, Hattie?” Sir Arthur said, ignoring my nurse’s advice.
My head felt heavy and my thoughts muddled. I concentrated for several moments on nothing but keeping my nausea at bay and the cool water on my face. But I’d spent too many hours in Eureka Springs puzzling over a woman’s murder not to have the thought occur to me. But it was my illness impairing my judgment that made me speak my thought out loud.
“If someone knew the food was tainted but—” I stopped, suddenly realizing that I was implicating Mrs. Cassidy, the Reynards’ cook, in a possible crime. I needed to stop doing this. I needed to stop looking at the sinister side of things and focus on the more probable explanation. “You’re right, Mrs. Baines. I need to rest.” A look of triumph flashed across her face. She patted my arm and smiled. A wave of nausea swept over me. I closed my eyes and turned my face away.
“No, Hattie, I think you might be right,” Sir Arthur said. “We can’t forget that General Starrett’s library was ransacked and burglarized while we were all in the dining room. It may be no coincidence that the two events happened at the same time. Someone might’ve tampered with tonight’s food in order to distract us from the burglary.” I thought of Mr. Mott, but before I could mention him I grabbed for the bedpan and gagged.
“Either way, this is not how I expected to spend Christmas,” Rachel Baines said, holding back my disheveled hair. “It was sheer bad luck to be in this house.” She dabbed the corners of my mouth as she helped me lie back down.
“No more so than for Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook,” I added, wondering even as the words left my mouth whether it was bad luck or something else altogether.
“Well,” the doctor said, lifting his watch from his pocket, “it’s quite late. I’ll be on my way. I’ll check in tomorrow morning on the patients’ progress. Don’t forget, Mrs. Baines, Mr. Starrett needs to be watched at all times.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Rachel Baines said. The doctor turned to leave.
“Please come by early, Dr. Gunderson,” Sir Arthur said. “I’m sure the police will want to speak to you.”
The police?
I thought.
Oh, no
,
not again.
I spent the most miserable night of my life, clammy, feverish, with abdominal pain and almost constant nausea. At one point, I woke up lying on the floor with my head in the cool porcelain washbowl, my cheek bathed only in moonlight, with no memory of putting the washbowl on the floor or getting out of bed. But luckily, by the time the sun rose I felt infinitely better. I was weak and my stomach was still queasy, but my fever, stomach cramps, and headaches were gone. I was able to get out of bed without fighting nausea. I’d conceded that a hike was out of the question, but I wasn’t going to lie around in bed all day. I dressed and went down to the kitchen in search of some tea.
“Hattie!” Mrs. Cassidy said, her hands busy kneading bread. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I feel much better and was hoping for a cup of tea, Mrs. Cassidy,” I said.
“Still, Mrs. Baines told me that all of you were supposed to stay in bed.”
“I can’t stay in bed all day. I have too much to do.” Mrs. Cassidy shook her head, wiped her hands, and took down a cup and saucer.
“I can relate to that,” she said, pouring the tea. “I’m exhausted from preparing last night’s dinner and with all the excitement . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Is it true?”
I wrapped my fingers around the warm teacup, savoring the aroma, and then took a tiny sip. “Ah,” I sighed, and took another sip. “Not to be more of a bother, but you wouldn’t have a hard biscuit or a slice of toast I could nibble on?” I asked. The tea tasted so good, I poured myself another cup. “Is
what
true?”
“That old Holbrook collapsed and died on the hallway floor?” Mrs. Cassidy said, slicing a piece of bread and throwing it in a hot pan on the stove. “And that a burglar snuck in the house while everyone was having dinner? Of course, I didn’t see anyone suspicious, but then again . . . and that the captain himself . . .” She dropped her voice and looked about for eavesdroppers. “I heard he was lucky not to have followed in the way of old Holbrook.” She pulled her finger across her throat in a grotesque gesture. “The police are due any moment.” She put the toast on a plate and set it in front of me. I pulled a napkin to my lips; I was suddenly in no mood for toast.
“Did you hear anyone mention poison?” I said, pushing the plate away.
“Is that why everyone got sick?” she asked. I nodded, fighting a new wave of nausea.
“Food poisoning,” I managed to say through my napkin. It took a few moments for the implication to set in, but suddenly Mrs. Cassidy’s eyes flew wide open in alarm.
“B-b-but, b-b-but,” she stammered, “I cooked all of that food myself!”
“I thought I should warn you ahead of time that the police are going to question you. And from previous experience, it won’t be pleasant.”
“They’re accusing me of a dirty kitchen? I can’t believe it. You can ask anyone. I’m a clean, conscientious cook. And I would never have served old or tainted food.” Her eyes widened as a new thought flitted across her face. “Oh my God, do they think I killed Mr. Holbrook? And tried to kill the captain? Oh my God, oh my God!” She waved her arms about as she paced the floor in sheer panic.
“What’s going on in here?” Adella Reynard said from the kitchen doorway, a policeman at her side. The man, in a spotless tailored blue uniform, had a round, open face with shaggy dark blond hair and mustache. He was only slightly taller than Adella and possible not much older. He clutched a notebook tightly in his hands, his fingers turning white. He studied the linoleum floor, a simple pattern of garnet and drab tiles. The tip of a nickel-covered harmonica poked out of his breast pocket. Adella didn’t introduce him.
“Oh, Mrs. Reynard, I didn’t mean it,” Mrs. Cassidy said, wringing her hands in her apron. “I thought I . . . oh, I mean, oh, you’ve got to believe me, Mrs. Reynard. I’ve never done anything like this in my life.”
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Cassidy,” Adella said. “Whatever are you talking about?” Mrs. Reynard’s ignorance seemed to calm the cook, who recognized that it was more prudent now to hold her tongue. She shook her head instead of answering. Adella pursed her lips in annoyance. “As you know, we’ve had some unfortunate events occur. This policeman would like a word with you. I have his full assurance he will not take any more of your time than necessary.” As the policeman took a seat without one being offered and opened his notebook in front of him on the table, Adella Reynard turned to me.
“Up from your bed so soon, Miss Davish?”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better. How are Mr. Reynard and the others?”
“Freddie and most of the others are better, though not nearly as recovered as you. Father is still quite ill, I’m afraid. I think the sickness hit him the hardest.”
“That remains to be seen,” the policeman said, without looking up from his notes. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook may have died from the same poisoning that incapacitates your father.” Adella’s cheeks flushed. She was a woman not used to being contradicted.
“Do you suspect another cause?” I asked. The policeman looked at me sideways and a slight smile lit his face.
“And you are?” he asked in an almost-teasing tone.
“This is Miss Davish, Sir Arthur Windom-Greene’s secretary, Officer Corbett,” Adella said. “And Sir Arthur would find me remiss if I didn’t insist she return to her bed until Dr. Gunderson arrives.”
“Is Sir Arthur here?” I asked, ignoring her order back to bed. I didn’t know Sir Arthur to rise before nine o’clock.
“Yes, he’s in the library with Papa,” Adella Reynard said. “I’ll be in the nursery if you need me, Mr. Corbett.” She left the room without waiting for his response.
I turned back to the policeman. “Do you think Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook died of something other than food poisoning?”
The policeman hesitated, looked down at his notes, and smiled out of the side of his mouth again. I think he found my questions amusing, but I ignored him. I wanted to know the answer.
“We won’t know until the autopsy of course, but it’s possible. We have to consider both, that it may have been food poisoning or poison in the food. The medical examiner will run tests to determine which.”
“You suspect foul play?” I asked. “Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook was an elderly gentleman. The timing of his death could be a mere coincidence.” The policeman looked up and gave me the smile again.
“That is true, Miss Davish, but considering that the house was burglarized at the same time, we are investigating Mr. Holbrook’s death as intentional.”