The Pigeon Pie Mystery (31 page)

“That maid has saved me from myself more times than I care to remember,” Mink continued. “Some mistresses never stop complaining
about their domestic servants, but I count my blessings with Pooki. It’s most unfair that everyone is pointing a finger at her, just because she’s in service. I remember your saying that your mother was a maid at the palace, so you’d know all about the injustice of it all.”

Mrs. Boots folded her arms across her billowing bosom. “I feel for that maid of yours, I really do,” she said. “Too many servants have taken a fall for the doings of their master or mistress. My mother was once accused of pinching a silk handkerchief when it was her mistress who had dropped it in the carriage. The palace servants are running a sweepstake on who they think did it, and every one of the suspects is a grace-and-favour resident.”

The Princess leant towards her. “No one knows the people in this palace better than you, Mrs. Boots, with all the responsibilities you have. Who would you put your money on?”

She thought for a moment. “I’d say any of the grace-and-favour lot was capable of it, apart from Lady Beatrice, despite her harbouring a parrot. That woman has too much taste when it comes to hats to kill anyone. I’m surprised she hasn’t been interviewed by that inspector, mind, being as though she bought some arsenic from the chemist not so long ago. His char, a very good friend of mine, looked through his poisons register immediately after the inquest and saw her name on it. Not that I’m a gossip-monger. Now, what was it you wanted?”

MINK HADN’T BEEN HOME LONG
when Pooki showed the visitor into the drawing room. “Ah, Dr. Henderson, there you are,” she said, putting down her notebook and gesturing to the settee opposite her. “Did you come on foot or on that machine of yours?”

“On foot, Princess,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. “My bicycle needs a little repair work.”

“That’s a relief. Goodness knows how many walking costumes have been spared.” She then beckoned to Pooki, who was still
standing hesitantly at the door. “It’s my maid who’s unwell. She’s very hoarse. We’ve tried Dr. Nightingale’s Voice Pills, which the chemist recommended, but they didn’t have any effect.”

Resisting the urge to comment, he took out his tongue depressor, and asked the servant to open wide. She did as she was told, her eyes seeking the reassurance of her mistress. After peering down her throat, he asked her to speak. The strained reply, enquiring what he wanted her to say, told him all he needed to know.

“I’m afraid you have a rather serious case of clergyman’s sore throat,” he told her. “It’s usually associated with the prolonged use of the voice and straining of the vocal cords. I’m at a loss as to how a domestic servant might develop it.”

Pooki looked at Mink, who rolled her eyes and said, “I’m afraid to say she’s been shouting out of the window at the excursionists lost in the maze whenever the keeper is absent. Apparently she feels sorry for them.”

“I see,” said the doctor, glancing at the servant. “I would suggest resting the voice, repeated inhalations of creosote in the vapour of steam, and a tonic for the whole system. If things don’t improve, we could consider the application of electricity to the throat. However, the best internal remedy is glycerate of tar combined with …” He paused before adding, “Minute doses of arsenic.”

All that could be heard was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Well, I think resting the voice sounds a very good idea, and we’ll try the inhalations,” said the Princess, quickly standing up.

Once Dr. Henderson had written the prescription, Mink approached and thanked him for coming. “I’m most grateful. Do send the bill when it’s convenient.”

The general practitioner looked out the window, searching for the words. “I must apologise for soaking you on the towpath the other day,” he said. “Perhaps you would allow me to make it up to you in some way?”

The Princess held up a hand. “I wouldn’t say a word more, doctor. You’d only be wasting your breath, and you might need it if you end up in the Thames again on the way home.”

He glanced at the floor with a smile. “You’re an excellent shot,” he said, looking up. “I don’t think that showman of the fair had seen anything like it. Me neither.”

“Then it’s a good job I wasn’t aiming for your heart, Dr. Henderson,” she replied.

He glanced at the maid, then lowered his voice. “You’ve already captured it,” he said.

“Then I shall see to it that it’s returned immediately,” she said, her blue eyes defiant.

He held her gaze. “I won’t give up. I believe you’re worth fighting for.”

She took a step closer to him. “Some battles are lost before they’ve even begun, doctor. Pooki will show you out.”

After closing the front door behind him, the servant searched for her mistress and found her sitting at her desk in the study, staring down at her notebook, her head in her hands.

“Ma’am,” she croaked from the doorway. “You will have to start thinking about finding a new maid. Everyone is saying that the police are going to arrest me at any minute. Even the man who came to buy the dripping said he was surprised that I was not in prison.”

The Princess didn’t move. “I’ve no need of a new maid. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Do you know who did it, ma’am?” Pooki persisted, clutching her hands in front of her.

“Give me a chance.”

The maid remained where she was. Not having heard the door shut, Mink looked up and asked whether there was anything else.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Pooki took a step forward. “I did not realise that you liked the doctor in that way, ma’am.”

“I don’t like him,” Mink protested. “And what do you mean ‘in that way’?”

“I have seen it all before, ma’am. You were also rude to Mr. Cavendish when you were falling in love with him,” she added, and swiftly left the room.

CHAPTER XI
Cornelius B. Pilgrim’s Secret

EITHER
woman was certain when the letter was slipped under the front door of Wilderness House. Pooki spotted it before breakfast, and brought it on a silver salver to her mistress, who had just sat down at the table. The Princess simply glanced at it, then picked up her knife and fork. After waiting silently at her side, the maid suggested that she open it, as the writing didn’t resemble that of her creditors.

“It might be a love letter from that doctor who soaked you, ma’am,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “And if it is, you must reply to it, because the policeman is going to take me away and make sure I am hanged. Then you will be all alone and I will weep for you from heaven.”

Mink looked again at the envelope. “It’s not from Dr. Henderson. His penmanship leaves a lot to be desired if his prescription is anything to go by,” she said, cutting off the burnt edge of her cod fishcake.

“Ma’am, if you do not open it, I will. And it is not my place to do so,” said the servant.

Muttering that it wasn’t too late to ask Dr. Henderson to perform
his electricity treatment on her throat after all, Mink put down her cutlery, grabbed the opener, and worked it across the envelope’s spine. She held the letter up to read. “Someone wants to meet me this morning at the hotel on Tagg’s Island,” she said, taken aback.

“Who, ma’am?” asked Pooki, her eyes wide.

“It doesn’t say,” the Princess replied, getting up to change.

“Ma’am, you cannot meet a stranger on an island,” said the maid, following her upstairs. “Everyone gossips in this palace. It is what keeps the old ones alive.”

Mink opened her wardrobe and selected a dress. “It might have something to do with the General,” she said dismissively.

Pooki frowned. “Ma’am, you cannot risk your reputation for me.”

“My reputation is already ruined,” she replied, putting on turquoise earrings in keeping with the craze for gems that matched the eyes.

“Then I will come with you, ma’am. The Maharaja would not like you going on your own.”

AS THE FLY PASSED HAMPTON COURT GREEN
, its trampled grass the only reminder of the travelling fair, Mink refused to turn her head when Pooki pointed out the doctor’s practice.

“Ma’am, my throat is feeling a lot worse. I think we should go and see the doctor on our way back,” suggested the servant.

“That’s strange, considering you said earlier it had improved a little. Maybe you should rest your voice, as Dr. Henderson suggested,” came the curt reply.

They passed Ye Olde Cardinal Wolsey public house, and stared at the chalet brought from Switzerland to house the guests of a local landowner. The carriage then stopped opposite a small island named after Tom Tagg, who had established a boat-building
business there, as well as a hotel that attracted boating people, pleasure seekers, and the more glamourous members of society. Taking the calloused hand of the ferryman, who had been barred from the Wolsey following a number of high-profile capsizes covered by the
Surrey Comet
, the Princess climbed in, followed by Pooki. As he started to heave them across the silent water, Mink looked at the cheerful houseboats moored to the island, still wondering who had sent her the letter, the ostrich feathers on her toque fluttering in the breeze.