The Pigeon Pie Mystery (33 page)

Mink eventually found the walled garden and spotted Lady Beatrice sitting on a bench in the shade, a basket next to her. Her eyes were closed, and she was wearing a large, battered straw hat that had clearly been demoted to gardening-wear. As she looked at her more closely, she noticed she was not enjoying a rest in the spring sunshine as she first thought. She was clutching a pair of secateurs, and there was a tenseness in her jaw line. Was this woman with a fondness for false fringes and exuberant millinery really capable of poisoning the General? she wondered.

Suddenly Lady Beatrice turned to her. “I’m so glad it’s you, Princess,” she said, a hand against her heart. “When I heard the gate, for a horrible moment I thought it was that police inspector again. I could really do with a brandy, but I suspect my cook has already polished it off.”

“She was still coherent a moment ago when I called, though quite what state she’ll be in by the time that beef is cooked is anyone’s guess,” said Mink, sitting down next to her. “What did that awful inspector want?” she asked casually.

Lady Beatrice explained that he had discovered that she had recently bought some arsenic from the chemist’s. “Unfortunately, I’d completely forgotten, as I do most things, and it was only when he said that my name was on the poisons register that I remembered. He seemed to find my initial denial very suspicious, and started scribbling in that infernal notebook of his. I explained that I was the daughter of a marquess, and that my late husband had not only been a captain in the Army but Keeper of the Crown Jewels. But apparently none of that matters when it comes to murder,” she added indignantly.

In the end she had been compelled to tell the Inspector the truth: she had bought the arsenic because the palace cats were a constant threat to her birds. “But I only got as far as mixing some up with milk. I then thought of all my neighbours whose laps those creatures keep warm in winter, and the companionship they brought them, and I just couldn’t do it. I feel very ashamed that I even considered it,” she said, lowering her head.

The Princess assured her that she wouldn’t tell a soul. “I must apologise for my maid blurting out the rumour that some of your doves had been sold to the butcher. It must have come as a shock,” she added, watching her carefully.

Lady Beatrice gripped her secateurs. “I’d already heard it,” she replied angrily. “Lady Bessington’s maid told my cook. I was furious, as you can imagine, but not altogether surprised. The General had sent numerous letters about my birds to the Lord Chamberlain, who asked Mrs. Boots to see to it that I got rid of them. But I continue to ignore her.”

“And so you should,” said the Princess, sitting back. “Our pets are very precious to us. I once had a canary. Such a sweet little thing.” She paused. “What made you decide to keep doves?”

Lady Beatrice fiddled with a mustard-coloured ringlet. “One of the palace staff gave me a pair,” she replied. “Apparently he’s a good friend of the birdman. Luckily the pair mated. It’s such a fascinating ritual.” She then stood up and turned to the Princess. “I suppose I’d better make a start before the next shower brings up yet more weeds. That policeman has quite delayed me, though at least it has kept him away from your maid. Apparently some of the residents have a sweepstake on how long it will be before he arrests her. I told my cook just this morning that she doesn’t look the sort. Big feet are no indication of criminality, I told her. It’s a funny-shaped head you need to look out for, though Cornelius B. Pilgrim seems to be the exception. Maybe it’s different for foreigners.”

She picked up her basket. “The funny thing about that whole episode this morning is that when that awful little policeman asked me to show him the bottle of arsenic, I took him to the kitchen and it was no longer there.”

POOKI OPENED THE GARDEN DOOR
and peered out. She hadn’t wanted to leave the house, for just as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet the Princess had sneezed three times. She hung back in the hope that she would sneeze again in order to break the bad omen. But eventually Mink could contain her exasperation no longer, and told her that if she really wanted to avoid being carted off in a black maria, she had better leave immediately to see what information she could extract from Alice Cockle. For not only was she the maid’s only friend in the palace, she was a considerable gossip.

Seeing that Inspector Guppy wasn’t around, Pooki walked quickly down Moat Lane towards the Tudor section of the palace, head bent and hands gripped into anxious fists. She had already come close to death on several occasions during her life. While working as a travelling ayah she had been tossed with such violence
during screeching storms she had been convinced she would never see her mother again. Twice she had seen the glint of a knife while walking the perilous East End streets after she had been abandoned, and twice destiny had found her a place to hide. Then there was the time when the Maharaja pulled her out of the path of a hansom cab in Soho as she lay in the filth of the road, unable to move. But nothing filled her with more dread than the thought of being hanged. Her dreams, when she finally fell asleep, were invaded by images of her neck not breaking completely after the trap door opened, and her being caught in a monstrous half-death as her life was slowly dragged from her, her feet hanging limply from the bottom of her dress. As she continued, she imagined her mother being told of her degrading end, heaping shame not only on her family but on that of the Maharaja.

One of the soldiers showed her the way to Fish Court, a tall, narrow, redbrick passageway once used to store raw ingredients for Henry VIII’s kitchens. There were telltale signs of occupation. Several window boxes were filled with spring flowers, and the odd curtain moved at the sound of her feet. She found the Countess’s apartments by its nameplate, and stood with her hands clutched in front of her as she waited for the door to open. Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her and span round. But it was only Pike, the butcher’s boy, on his rounds, holding his basket on his shoulder.

Alice appeared at the door and immediately stepped back to let her in. “We’re in luck,” she said, as they climbed the stairs. “Her Ladyship is at a British Pteridological Society meeting, which is something to do with ferns. She’s crazy about them, and even has them on her tea set.” She took her into the drawing room and showed her the numerous specimens perched on plant stands, and pointed out the Wardian case underneath the window, filled with lacy fronds curling up towards the glass.

The servant then led the way up to her room in the attic, where
they sat down on her single iron bed, over which hung a portrait of the Virgin Mary. Asking whether Pooki was hungry, she opened a cupboard and drew out a tin of Hovis biscuits. “Apparently they’re good for the bones, brain, flesh, and muscles,” she said, offering them to her.

“I do not believe advertisements,” said Pooki, taking a couple. “Dr. Nightingale’s Voice Pills are meant to give you the voice of a clergyman, but I do not even sound like a sexton. If Dr. Henderson’s treatment does not work, he will fire me up with electricity. Her Highness says she will be able to light the drawing room with me.”

Alice leant back against the wall, her feet dangling over the side of the bed, and straightened out her white apron. “What’s she like?” she asked. “One of my cousins once met that girl who came in the mornings to clean the boots and the knives.”

Pooki leant back next to her, her feet dwarfing those of the teenager. “She is a very good mistress, but sometimes I have to tell her what to do,” she said, with a weary shake of the head.

Alice suddenly turned to her with a frown. “A servant’s voice should never be heard by the ladies and gentlemen of the house, except when necessary. And then as little as possible. You should know that,” she said.

Pooki raised her chin. “Her Highness is always very grateful for my advice,” she said.

Alice looked at her. “You don’t talk to her when you’re bringing up coals or laying the cloth, do you?”

Pooki nodded, biting into a biscuit. “They are my favourite times, as well as when I am dusting,” she said, her mouth full.

The teenager stared ahead of her in amazement. “It’s a wonder she doesn’t pick up a book every time you come in the room.”

“She does, but my mistress can read and listen at the same time,” Pooki replied, brushing crumbs from her lips.

“You’d better keep quiet or she’ll get rid of you and you’ll end
up working for a shopkeeper’s family,” Alice warned with a frown. “That’s what happened to a friend of mine. She kept telling her mistress the tradesmen’s jokes.”

“My mistress does not like the dripping man’s jokes, the dustman’s jokes, or the rag and bone man’s jokes. But she very much likes the butterman’s,” said Pooki, with a smile of satisfaction. “When I am telling them she raises her newspaper so that I cannot see her laughing. She finds them so funny she begs me not to tell them to her. Often I tell them twice in one morning just to amuse her.”

“I’m surprised she doesn’t leave the house to get away from you.”

“She does,” said Pooki, biting into another biscuit. “Sometimes she has to go out into the garden to compose herself.”

Alice looked at her dubiously.

“Why is an umbrella like a pancake?” asked Pooki, smirking.

The other maid shrugged.

“Because it is seldom seen after lent!” she said, a hand over her mouth as she snorted.

Alice remained straight-faced.

“Her Highness loves this one: why can a gentleman never possess a short walking stick?” asked the maid, her shoulders already shaking.

“No idea.”

“Because it can never be-long to him!” she cried, clutching her stomach.

Alice looked at the ceiling.

“And this one is my favourite: what kind of gaiters should a professor wear?” asked Pooki, her voice rising as she tried to stifle her laughter. But she didn’t wait for an answer. “In-vesti-gators!” she screeched, wiping away her tears with both hands.

Alice touched her arm. “Here, you’ll never guess what happened this morning,” she said, changing the subject.

“What?” asked Pooki, still laughing.

“Dr. Henderson’s housekeeper came round with some flowers for Her Ladyship.”

Pooki’s face fell.

“She said they were from the doctor and made a big point of telling me they were La France roses, which means ‘meet me by moonlight’ in the language of flowers,” Alice continued, her eyes wide. “Her Ladyship didn’t know what to do with herself when I gave her the message, and told me to hide them behind the curtains if anyone called. Nice as she is, I’m not sure what he sees in her, her being so much older than him and always complaining she hasn’t got two pennies to rub together.”

Pooki frowned, the thought of the doctor sending flowers to anyone apart from her mistress immediately sobering her up. As Alice went down to make some tea, she remained on the bed, helping herself to biscuits, each of which she told herself would be her last as she brushed away the crumbs. Remembering what she had come for, she got up and looked under the washstand and bed, feeling uneasy about searching the room of her only friend. She then went through the chest of drawers, moving aside stockings and pieces of underwear. There was nothing there. Suddenly she heard footsteps and sat back on the bed.

As Alice came in with the tea-tray, Pooki got up and opened the cupboard. “I am putting the biscuits away, otherwise I will eat them all and my feet will get bigger,” she explained. There was something inside that stopped her. Reaching in, she drew out a bottle of arsenic. Instantly Alice’s cheeks flushed. “I was just about to get rid of that,” she said, setting down the tray with unsteady hands.

Sitting on the bed, she told how she had been in Lady Beatrice’s kitchen borrowing some arrowroot when the bell rang and the cook went upstairs to answer it. Feeling hungry, she looked around for something to eat, and found the bottle of poison. “I
put it in my pocket in case the cook got blamed for killing the General. Servants are always being found guilty of things they never did. You like your tea strong, don’t you?” she asked, picking up the pot.

Pooki stood up. “I had better get back to Wilderness House. Her Highness will be wondering where I have got to,” she said flatly.

After Alice closed the front door behind her, Pooki headed along Fish Court, her heart even heavier than when she had arrived. She glanced back, wondering whether it were possible that the girl had poisoned the General and left her to take the blame. And as she looked up she noticed Alice standing at the drawing room window, watching her.