PH02 - Do Not Disturb (10 page)
“I hardly think it’s likely that Jack the Ripper is responsible for the poisonings,” Cecily said firmly, taking a look at Mrs. Chubb’s terrified expression. “For one thing, he killed with a knife, and for another, his victims were women, usually of ill repute. I doubt if a man like that would find much to interest him in Badgers End.”
“Oh, my, I certainly would hope not,” Mrs. Chubb said fearfully. “I’d never sleep easy in my bed again if I thought that horrible monster was anywhere near here.”
Ian laughed. “Well, me old love, all I can say is, it’s a good job our murderer doesn’t take a fancy to widows. What with you and Mrs. Sinclair, and Mrs. Carter-Holmes, then there’s that new waitress at Dolly’s, and the one who’s staying here who Gertie calls the Black Widow …” He chuckled again. “The bloke would have plenty to pick from, right enough.”
“Ian Rossiter!” Mrs. Chubb lifted the bread knife and wagged it at him. “If you want this sandwich, you’ll mind your manners this instant.”
Apparently realizing he might have gone too far, Ian sent Cecily a sheepish look. “I didn’t mean no disrespect, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“That’s all right, Ian.” Cecily moved to the door. “Finish your sandwich, then you’ll find Baxter in his office.” She left the kitchen, leaving a disgruntled-looking housekeeper wielding the bread knife on a large, crusty loaf.
Cecily had known Dr. McDuff since the day she was born. The good doctor had not only brought her safely into the world, but every one of her five brothers as well. With her parents and two of her brothers dead, two brothers serving abroad in the military, and one raising sheep in New Zealand, Cecily was the only member of the family still living in Badgers End.
Dr. McDuff was long past the age of retirement, but swore that until he could no longer ride his bicycle, he would remain in practice.
There were times when Cecily saw him pedaling unsteadily up the hill to Putney Downs when she felt that moment was not far off. Yet here was another winter, and still the gruff doctor managed his rounds.
He greeted Cecily that afternoon with his usual boisterous laugh, his fierce, shaggy eyebrows as white as summer clouds above the faded blue eyes. “What brings you here, lassie, on such a fine day?” he demanded, his once-strong brogue diluted by years of living south of the border. “Are ye not well, then?”
“I’m feeling a little peaky,” Cecily said, uncomfortable at using the subterfuge with such an old friend. But she knew full well that had he known the real reason for her visit, Gordon McDuff would have clamped his mouth shut, after telling her to mind her own business.
The doctor’s fingers strayed to his short, clipped beard.
“Will ye be needing a tonic, then, is that it? Or is it something more serious?”
“I think a tonic will do the trick.” Cecily smiled at him. “Probably just a case of winter depression.”
“Aye, ’tis understandable. All the same, I’d like to take a wee look down your throat, just to be sure.”
Cecily obediently opened her mouth and let the doctor shine a light down her throat. After listening to her say “Ah” a couple of times, he gently pulled down her lower eyelids, poked around in her ears, laid the back of his hand against her forehead, then diagnosed a mild case of tired blood.
“Take a tablespoon twice a day for a week,” he said, scribbling on his prescription pad, “and you’ll be as good as new.”
“Thank you,” Cecily said, taking the folded piece of paper. “I’ll call in at the chemist’s on the way home.” She tucked the prescription into the pocket of her cape, then settled back in her chair.
“You have had a most unusual week,” she said, “with two deaths in the space of two days.”
Dr. McDuff looked at her suspiciously across his desk, which was strewn with various packages, bottles, and pieces of literature. A half-eaten apple rested on the cover of a heavy leather-bound tome, and a glass half-full of some pink-colored liquid sat next to it.
“This is police business now, ye know,” he said, tapping his fingers on the edge of the glass. “So don’t be asking me any questions I canna answer.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Cecily pulled a scented handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her nose. She had always hated the smell of the doctor’s surgery. Growing up with five robust brothers, she had usually come off the worse for wear during their many escapades, and had spent many hours being patched up by the doctor.
His caustic comments while painting her cuts and bruises with iodine had done nothing to soothe her injured pride, and the smell of disinfectant reminded her of those painful times.
“I do understand, though,” she added, “that both men died of poisoning. I believe that is common knowledge in the village.”
“Aye, it is.” The doctor’s eyebrows joined together. “And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”
“Of course. Though I understand from Madeline that you believe the cause was a poisonous plant. Something that turns the skin blue?”
Dr. McDuff spread his hands in appeal. “I gave that information to Madeline before I knew it was police business. You know I canna talk about this now.”
“Dr. McDuff,” Cecily said earnestly, “Madeline is my friend. She is afraid that she might be considered a suspect in the poisoning. Now that the police are involved, I feel that her fears are well founded. I need to know all I can in order to help her. If there’s anything you can tell me that will help me do that, I can promise you it won’t go any further.”
She waited anxiously as the doctor stared at her, his fingers tapping busily on the glass.
“I can tell you this,” he said at last. “I have gone through my records thoroughly. There are two plants that cause similar symptoms to cyanide poisoning and leave the skin with a tinge of blue after death. The hydrangea and the larkspur. After studying the symptoms and the results from the postmortem examinations, I have ruled out the hydrangea.”
Cecily caught her breath. The distinctive blue flowers of the larkspur grew in profusion in Madeline’s garden. “Well,” she said, looking the doctor straight in the eye, “I’m sure those plants grow in any number of gardens in the village. I really don’t think Madeline can be considered a suspect on such feeble evidence.”
“Not on its own, granted,” Dr. McDuff said, his eyes full of concern. “But I’m sure you know she was very well acquainted with both men. In fact, so I believe, Mr. Bickley dined at her house the night he died.”
The fact that Madeline had also known the second dead man came as a nasty surprise to Cecily. Nevertheless, she
managed to appear unaffected by the news. “And both men died after leaving the George and Dragon. Anyone could have slipped the poison into their beer.”
“That is feasible,” the doctor agreed. “But unlikely. According to my research, the symptoms occur immediately after ingesting the poison. Both men died of the same poison. Billy Donaldson died immediately after leaving the pub. Yet Colin Bickley was seen returning to his cottage late that night by two of his neighbors, both of whom attested that he appeared perfectly normal, and that was after a good thirty-minute walk.”
He dropped his gaze and fidgeted with the glass. “I have to ask, lassie, that if both men drank the same poison in their beer while at the pub, why did it take Bickley so long to die?”
Cecily was not about to give up. “If that’s the case, then Mr. Bickley could not have been poisoned at Madeline’s house, since he went to the pub after leaving her.”
“Aye.” Dr. McDuff turned his tired gaze on Cecily again. “But Madeline uses the flowers in her gardens for those useless remedies she peddles to the poor fools who believe in all that mumbo jumbo nonsense. If she sold the same potion to Donaldson and Bickley, and they took them at different times, that would explain the discrepancy in the time of death. Do ye not see that?”
Cecily saw that very well. Baxter had already mentioned the possibility. But Madeline had denied ever selling a potion to Colin Bickley. And Cecily believed her. She knew full well the futility of arguing the point with the doctor, however. As a man of science, naturally he viewed Madeline’s “witchcraft” with the utmost contempt.
“All I hope is that the police do a thorough investigation before jumping to unfortunate conclusions.” She stood, smoothing down the folds of her dark blue skirt.
“I know how you feel about Madeline,” Dr. McDuff said, standing also. “But it is very dangerous to play around with flowers and such, especially when you start mixing them into stuff for people to drink. So many of them are deadly
poison. It’s a blessed miracle she hasn’t killed someone before this.”
“Dr. McDuff,” Cecily said firmly, “as far as the law is concerned, Madeline is innocent until proven guilty. I hope you will remember that.”
“I will, lassie, I will. But I have to report my findings to the police. Inspector Cranshaw is sending a trap for me this afternoon.”
Cecily’s spirits plummeted. That didn’t give her much time. “Just tell me one more thing,” she said as she reached the door. “Did the two men have anything in common, other than the fact they worked together?”
Dr. McDuff stroked his beard. “Now you come to mention it, they were about the same age and had similar coloring. From what I hear, they both enjoyed spending time with the ladies and had plenty of chances. They were both fine-looking men. What a terrible waste of young manhood.”
“But that’s all?” Cecily asked, not quite sure what she was hoping to hear.
“Well, they did have one more thing in common,” the doctor said quietly. “They were both courting Madeline Pengrath.”
That, Cecily thought as she left the surgery, was the most damning evidence of all.
“Now look sharp with this sandwich,” Mrs. Chubb said, smearing a thick layer of hot mustard on the ham. “I want you out of here before Gertie gets back. I don’t need you disrupting her from her work.”
She shoved the plate at Ian and stomped over to the sink to wash her hands.
“Thanks, me old duck,” he said behind her.
“Don’t thank me, thank madam. She treats you better than you deserve, in my opinion.”
She turned to face him, drying her hands on a tea towel, and found him gazing at her, a hurt expression on his face.
“Have I done something to upset you, love?”
Mrs. Chubb had to bite her tongue to keep from telling
him exactly what he had done. “You’re holding up my work, that’s what,” she said, looking up at the big kitchen clock on the mantel. “Michel will be here any minute to start lunch, and you know how he hates anyone in his kitchen when he’s working.”
“All bloody chefs are alike,” Ian mumbled, his mouth full of ham sandwich. “They all got a blooming high opinion of themselves.”
“Who’s got a blooming high opinion of theirselves?” Gertie said from the doorway.
Ian turned with a grin. “Hallo, me darling, you look as pretty as a picture, I do say.”
Gertie pulled a face at him. “You’d say that even if I looked blinking horrible,” she said, crossing the floor with an armload of bottles and rags.
Mrs. Chubb was inclined to agree with her. Gertie looked far from well, with a pasty complexion and those dark circles around her eyes. She was dying to say something, but it was none of her business, and far be it for Altheda Chubb to poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
“I’m off on my tour of inspection,” she said, depositing the bread knife in the sink to be washed. “And by the way, Gertie, madam informed me that the chimney sweeps will be here on Thursday. So you and Ethel will have to get busy putting the covers out on the empty rooms.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chubb,” Gertie said far too complacently. She opened the cupboard under the sink and stowed away the cleaning supplies.
As she straightened up, Mrs. Chubb gave her a searching look. “Don’t hang around talking too long, then, not unless you’ve got something important to say, that is.”
The flash of warning from Gertie’s dark eyes assured Mrs. Chubb she’d understood the subtle hint. Hoping the housemaid would take her advice and tell Ian about her problem, Mrs. Chubb left them alone.
The minute the door closed behind her, Ian grabbed Gertie about the waist and gave her a squeeze.
Deftly Gertie stepped away from him and put the table
between them. “I’ve got a lot on me plate today, Ian, so you’d best be off. Aren’t you late for work, anyhow?”
With an expression of hurt surprise, Ian shook his head. “Nah, it’s closed down, ain’t it. Have I done something wrong? Mrs. Chubb’s been acting strange, and now you’re giving me the cold shoulder. What did I do?”
Gertie managed a smile. “Nothing. Honest. I just got a blinking lot of work to do, that’s all. So what are you going to do, then, if you can’t go to work?”
“I’m going to work here, ain’t I. Mrs. Sinclair gave me a job till I can get back on the lighthouse project. She’s a bit of all right, that lady.”
He peered at Gertie’s face. “You don’t look too happy at the news. I thought you’d be pleased as punch to have me around a bit more. You made enough blooming fuss when I told you I was leaving.”
Gertie shrugged. “ ’Course I’m happy. But all this upset about someone smashing up the lighthouse gives me the willies, it does.”
“Yeah? Well I’ll tell you something else that’ll give you the willies.” Ian edged around the corner of the table. “Someone else dropped dead outside the G and D last night.”
“Go on! Who was it, then?”
“Billy Donaldson. Died of poison, the same way as Bickley. Turned blue, he did.”
Gertie stared at him in horror. “Gawd Almighty. Billy? He was such a nice, friendly bloke. And no older than you. What’s going on, then?”
“The police think it’s murder,” Ian said with a certain amount of relish.
Gertie felt sick. Actually she’d been feeling sick ever since she got up that morning, but this news made her feel a great deal worse. “Bloody hell. Is it the same person what did all that damage up at the lighthouse?”
“Don’t know.” Ian finished the last piece of his sandwich and licked his fingers. “If I tell you a secret, will you swear not to tell a living soul?”
There was nothing in the world Gertie liked more than being entrusted with a secret. She enjoyed the prestige it gave her when she knew something no one else was supposed to know. Especially when she told someone that.