Jack, Knave and Fool (19 page)

“Damn!” said Mr. Donnelly. “I hoped to have some of it to bring to a chemist for analysis.”

“There may be a bit on the rug, or perhaps on the bed, most of it bile, I should suppose.”

“Let us find what we can,” said Mr. Donnelly.

“Gentlemen,” said Sir John, “I leave you to the search. Mr. Bailey, you may go about your duties.”

Mr. Poole, the butler, had established Sir John below the stairs in a kind of common room or parlor kept for the servants just beyond the big kitchen. The room and its furnishings were much like those I had first seen belowstairs in the Goodhope residence. At a corner table, one probably used to play cards, Sir John had seated himself; I stood just to his rear. His witnesses came and went, occupying the chair just opposite his at the square table. Thus it was that he might speak in a low voice, achieving some degree of confidentiality and intimacy with them.

The first to whom Sir John spoke was the cook. He was particularly interested in the preparation of Lady Laningham s tonic.

“A ‘tonic’ is what she called it, sir,” said the cook, “but in truth it was naught but a flask of lightning with a quarter of sweet peach brandy for taste. It was a good stiff drink to put her under for the night, was all it was, and it always seemed to do the work for her.”

“How long had it been her habit to take this tonic, so called, before bed?” asked Sir John. “Perhaps since the death of the late Lord Laningham?”

“Oh no sir, much earlier, sir. Years it’s been. Some months past there was talk of it at table amongst us belowstairs. And there was general agreement she started with her tonics when the late Lord Laningham, God rest his soul, become incapable and the two started sleeping separate.”

“I see. How long after taking her dinner did she call for her tonic?”

“Well, she ate early this evening, she did, though not much. Maggie, that’s her maid, brought back her tray only half ate. Then, it wasn’t long, maybe an hour, she come back and said the lady would like her tonic now. Couldn’t have picked a worser time.”

“Oh? How was that?”

“Well, just as she come down, so did the new Lord and Lady Laningham. They wanted to be showed all about the kitchen, askin’ questions and all. I’d got the sweet brandy in but not the gin, and here’s the new lady wantin’ to see the size of the oven, askin’ how many I could serve from it. She had questions about sauces and desserts, all manner of things. I had to get them out of the kitchen before I could add the gin, give it a stir, and hand it over to Maggie. Her tonic ain’t hard to make, but she wants the portions right — or wanted them, poor thing. And at the end I just weren’t sure I’d measured out the quarter brandy exact, what with one thing and another.”

“I understand. And all the time Lord and Lady Laningham were there, distracting you from the preparation of the tonic. You said that questions were asked by Lady Laningham. Did the lord participate? Did he also have questions?”

“No sir, he seemed to think this was women’s things. He wandered around a bit, looked in cupboards and such like.”

“Who else was in the kitchen at that time?” asked Sir John.

“Then? Wasn’t anyone, as I can recall. My slaveys was off havin’ a nip before the pots and pans come due for a wash. All the rest had ate early.”

“But surely the maid was there —Maggie?”

“Part of the time she was,” said the cook. “She went off somewheres, though.”

Having exhausted his store of questions, Sir John excused the cook and called to Mr. Poole that he would like now to talk with Lady Laningham’s maid. She was brought to him in a state of near collapse, supported by the butler, weeping true and bitter tears. She, not Sir John, asked the first question.

“Is it true what I heard, sir? That the good lady’s gone?”

“I fear it is,” said he gently.

She sobbed and wiped at her tears, yet then delivered this tribute: “She was a good mistress, sir, and I tell you that true, for none knew her better than me. Oh, she had her spells, maybe whole days when she was out of sorts, and course she’d speak rude to me now and again. But you know what, sir? She would then apologize to me. I’m sorry, Maggie,’ she would say, or, ‘Forgive me, Maggie.’ I worked in great houses before, and there ain’t one of your great ladies I ever heard of who would do that. Usually maids is just to wipe their feet on.”

“Was she out of sorts this evening?”

“Oh, she was, sir, something terrible. First thing she did when she came back from the lawyer’s office was to bring all us servants together and read to us what each of us was left by Lord Laningham. It was a year’s wages for one and all. Then, just as she was finishing that, all moved and teary she was, telling us she would take as many of us as she could to her new place, that we were a fine staff and none could want better—just as she was saying that, a knock comes upon the door, and in walks the new lord, and he declares, ‘I’m takin’ possession of this house.’ He’s followed not just by his family but by all manner of porters and such bearin’ their baggage. Well, our Lady Laningham, she didn’t say nothing, but I could tell she was just in a fury. So as long as the serving staff was together, he decides to give a speech as well. It was in the nature of a threat, it was. He said that all who hoped to stay on had better impress him well and proper in the next few days, for he would be looking like a judge upon us. ‘Many are called, but few are chosen,’ says he. Usin’ Scripture to his own ends in that way, I call right disgraceful.”

“Indeed, Maggie, it does seem so,” said Sir John. “But through all this your mistress had nothing to say? She kept her silence to him?”

“Oh, she gave him plenty, she did, though not a word in front of the servants. No, she waited, she did, until well into the afternoon, thought things through, then sent word by me that she would meet with him in the study, which is at the front of the house.”

“And how did he take this summons?”

“Oh, he was eager for it, he was. Just like a bantam cock ready for a fight, couldn’t get down there fast enough. Well, there was a row, there was. I couldn’t say who got the best of it. I can tell you, though, that she matched him, shout for shout and curse for curse. Really* Id no idea she knew such language.”

“Precisely what was said?” he asked.

“Well, I can’t say exact, for the door was shut, and I daren’t stand too near so that it might seem I was eavesdroppin’. And wouldn’t you know, no more than halfway through, this puffer-ball who now calls herself Lady Laningham comes down the stairs very suspicious of me and demands that I take her on a tour of the first and second floors. I’d no choice, of course, so off we went.” She hesitated, then offered: “I did hear your name.”

“My name? Really? By whom?”

“By Lady Laningham. Shouted it out, she did — ‘Sir John Fielding!’ Like it was a proper name to conjure with. Then was I forced to go off with the other one.”

“Hmmm.” He mused for near a minute before offering another question. And when at last he did, she seemed well prepared for it. “You said she seemed out of sorts when you saw her next?”

“Out of sorts, yes, for she’d been given a ‘terrible insult’—that was what she called it. ‘Maggie,’ said she, ‘I’ve been made a prisoner in my own house.’ And she went on to tell that he told her to keep to her chambers so long as she was in this house, and she was to take her meals there. ‘That,’ he said, ‘should give you a proper in-cen-ta-tive for moving out soon as possible. ‘As if she’d want to sit down at table with such as them!”

Maggie paused then rather dramatically, and I believe Sir John was about to put to her another question, when she resumed in a great torrent: “But sir, she wasn’t beat, not by much she wasn’t. She had a plan, I know she did, for she said as much to me, and you were part of it, for she began then and there to decide when she would visit you next morning. She asked me, did I know when it was you held your court. Oh yes sir, you was part of her plan. And when she drank her tonic I brought her — “

“Not quite yet,” said Sir John, interrupting. “Tell me first about her dinner. She ate early, I’m told.”

“About six, which is early for her. If she’d waited a bit she might ve had more of an appetite. Left a good half on it untouched, she did. I returned the tray and came back to her. And it was not long before she sent me down for her tonic— p’rhaps seven, p’rhaps a bit after. She said tomorrow would be a big day for her, and she would need her sleep. Usually when she takes her tonic she’s asleep about an hour later, you see.”

“The present Lord and Lady Laningham were in the kitchen during cook’s preparation of the potion, were they not? “

“Yes sir, they came down right after me.”

“Followed you, did they?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

“But you did not remain in the kitchen, did you?”

“Uh, no sir, I did not.”

“Why was that?”

“I went to my little room here belowstairs — right down the hall it is. I … well, if you must know, sir, I had a call of nature.”

“Forgive the question. Let us say, then, that after an interval of time, you returned to the kitchen. Was the tonic ready for you then?”

“Not quite, but the new master and his mistress was just leaving. Cook finished up with it. I took it up to my lady, and she had a sip of it, and she complained right off. ‘This tastes nasty,’ she said. Yet she continued to sip at it, which was her way, you see, as I helped her dress for bed. She might take upwards of an hour to drink it all.”

“But not this evening,” put in Sir John.

“No sir, once in her nightdress, she took a great gulp of it —then it wasn’t long till she began to talk of stomach cramps. Then, of a sudden, she made a rush for the water closet, me with her, where she did vomit her dinner. That was when she said to me, ‘I’ve been poisoned. Send for Sir John.’ I got her into bed, where she began once more to vomit all manner of ugly matter, blood and bile and who could tell what more. But there came a break in it, which didn’t last long, yet it gave me time enough to run to Mr. Poole and ask him to send for you. I was just returning when the new master shouts down from the first floor, ‘Get a doctor for my aunt!’ Mr. Poole says he will attend to it. Then, when I got back to her bedroom, I find them both there, looking over my lady there in bed. Her eyes were wide with fear. He says to me, ‘How dare you leave her unattended.’ I told him I was doing my lady’s bidding. And he said, ‘Now, you must do mine and clean up this foul-smelling mess.’ Then the doctor came, and I was still cleaning. When I got up all that could be got up, I was sent out of the room. I knew Lady Laningham would die. She was still retching when I left.”

“You paint quite a picture, Maggie,” said Sir John. “I have but one more question for you. And it is this: What happened to the glass containing Lady Laningham’s tonic? She had not finished it, had she?”

“Oh no sir, not near. Why, the truth of it is, I don’t rightly know what happened to it. When last I looked, the glass was on her dressing table, but it wasn’t there when I came back to the room and started cleaning up. I’m sure of that.”

“Thank you, then. That will be all.” As Maggie rose from her chair to leave, Sir John called out to the butler: “Mr. Poole, have you someone else for me to talk to? I left that matter up to you.”

The butler, who was nearer to Sir John than he realized, waited until the maid was on her way to her room, before he stepped forward and said, “Only myself, Sir John.”

“Ah, so, then sit yourself down and let us discuss the matter. But, Jeremy?”

I leaned over to him. “Yes, sir?”

“While I talk with Mr. Poole, I wish you to find your way back to that room which was the scene of this awful calamity and search it for that missing glass.”

The butler gave me explicit directions, and I had no difficulty making my return. Entering, as we had before, through the sitting room, I heard the voices of the two medicos in the next room, raised not in argument but friendly agreement. Their voices ceased, however, when I closed the door — not loudly but audibly —behind me. I found the two men awaiting my entrance, apparently relieved to see me and not another.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said Mr. Donnelly, “what brings you up here?”

“A search,” said I, “for the glass of spirits which began this fatal episode.”

“I hope yours proves more fruitful than ours,” said he. “Scrapings from her nightdress and a lump or two from the carpet were all that we came up with. They should not be of much use to the chemist, I fear.”

“Yet we found common cause between us,” declared Dr. Diller. “And we are prepared to press our case, are we not, sir?”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Donnelly. “Oh, indeed, sir.”

And as each of the two physicians congratulated the other on his findings, I snatched up a candelabrum and did the work I was sent to do, searching every surface in both rooms and in the water closet, as well. I looked under the dressing table and under the bed. I expected to find nothing — not perhaps the best spirit in which to conduct a search —and nothing was what I found. By the time I had done, the two were packing their bags, making ready to go.

“Shall we leave candles burning in here?” asked Mr. Donnelly.

“I think not,” said his colleague. “The magistrate stipulated that the room be locked and sealed.”

“In that case …”

We went about blowing out the lights until I, holding the candelabrum, led the way out, leaving the room in darkness but for the embers in the fireplace.

“Poor old girl,” said Dr. Diller, not without feeling. “I hope she rests peace-fully.”

Then we descended the winding staircase. In the great entrance hall we found Sir John and the butler awaiting us. The rest of the servants had quite disappeared, gone no doubt below to discuss the unsettling events of that evening.

“We are ready, then?” asked Sir John.

“Completely,” said Mr. Donnelly.

“Jeremy, as well?”

“I am, Sir John. I found no glass, nothing at all that would be of help.”

“Then, Mr. Poole,” said he, turning to the butler, “I thank you for your help and for your information. You will lock and seal her chambers, as I asked?”