Chapter 14 #2
“I put the vicar in the middle of the table with one of the girls on either side of him, and on either side of them, I placed Lord Aldrich and my husband. Then I coached Lord Aldrich and my husband to ask them questions about childhood memories of growing up at the vicarage. This forced them to recall happy times with the vicar as their father, and had the vicar entering into the conversation, recalling events. There was soon a great deal of laughter from that side of the table, I am happy to relate. Soon, everyone became involved in listening to the tales and laughing all around the table—quite against society dinner protocol, but something beneficial for the Vicar as well as his daughters.”
“Well done, my lady!” Mrs. Hester enthused as they heard from the sofa where Sarah and Mrs. Hester sat, “She found it?! Where? What did it say?”
“I have not read it. You will have to ask Lady Branstoke,” Sarah encouraged, just as she and Cecilia had arranged.
Cecilia winked at Mrs. Hull, hoping she would take the hint to be quiet for a moment as she sipped her tea.
“Lady Branstoke?” Mrs. Hester said, her voice high and uncertain. “Lady Branstoke, Sarah tells me you found Georgia’s diary?”
“The one she hid in the old gatekeeper’s cottage? Yes,” Cecilia said, hoping to draw her out to ask more questions. Next to her, Mrs. Hull looked like a bright little bird, her dark eyes jumping from her to Mrs. Hester and back.
“Where? I looked everywhere. I was afraid…” Her voice trailed off.
“What? That the magistrate would find it?” Cecilia asked.
“Yes— No! Worse…” Color suffused her cheeks. “That someone else would find it.”
“Why would either circumstance be a concern?” Cecilia asked in a calm, gentle, manner.
Mrs. Hester licked her lips. “The squire and his daughter did not get along,” she finally, carefully said. “She may have written things that would make him angry or make others gossip.”
“You mean like the fact that he beat her?” Cecilia asked, leaning forward.
Mrs. Hull inhaled sharply.
Mrs. Hester’s lips quivered. “You know,” she whispered. She looked down.
“Yes, and I surmise he beats his wife as well, which is why we so seldom see Lady Alfred Inglewood at church on Sundays.”
“Yes,” whispered Mrs. Hester, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
“Poor woman,” Mrs. Hull murmured.
“In her diary, Miss Inglewood seemed assured she could manipulate her father to do as she wished him to do,” Cecilia continued.
“However, something must have happened close to the day she died.” Her expression grew pensive.
“Suddenly, she became convinced her father wanted her dead, and she started carrying a large butcher knife hidden in her skirts.”
Mrs. Hester’s face crumpled as she fought—and lost—against tears streaming down her cheeks. Sarah handed her a handkerchief.
“Oddly, though she’d begun to seriously fear him, she still thought she would win him over. Whatever happened is not in her diary. Do you know what occurred that had her believing he would kill her?”
“He told her that if she did not drink that tea, he would kill her, for he would not accept a pregnant trollop for a daughter.”
Cecilia compressed her lips as she shook her head. “Did you know that she lost the child without drinking the pennyroyal tea?”
Mrs. Hester stopped dabbing at her tears and looked stunned at Cecilia. “What? No!”
“She wrote of it in her diary, and also said she didn’t want anyone to know yet. She still hoped to use the child as leverage to get the viscount to marry her.”
“Why didn’t she tell me! Why didn’t she tell the squire?”
Cecilia sighed. “From what Sir James and I could infer from what she wrote, she replaced the pennyroyal in the canister in the kitchen with spearmint. She said they smelled similar and no one would know. She could drink that tea and then confront her father to show him she yet lived.”
“I knew about the spearmint, but the squire seemed so confident of her death I didn’t know what to think.
I served her that cursed brew, whatever it was, and watched her take sick.
Later, after the young master carried Miss Georgia to her room, he came to me crying.
Miss Georgia told him, between her cries of pain as he carried her, that it was supposed to be spearmint in the canister and there was no more pennyroyal to be had in Maidstone.
Guilt consumed him for he’d purchased pennyroyal in Folkestone and gave it to his father.
The squire must have put it in the canister.
And that is what I made her tea with. I killed her! ”
“You did not know. It is not your fault,” Mrs. Hull said. “Do not be blaming yourself.”
“You are as much a victim as Miss Inglewood,” Sarah said. She put her arm around the sobbing Mrs. Hester.
Cecilia listened to Mrs. Hull and Sarah console Mrs. Hester. It was understandable that the woman would feel burdened and responsible for what happened. How could she have kept that guilt bottled within her for so long? No, she probably hadn’t.
“Is this the first time you have spoken about this?” Cecilia asked
Mrs. Hester shook her head. “I was so confused and heart sick. I had to talk to someone.”
Cecilia nodded. “You confessed all that you knew to Mrs. Jones, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Hester nodded. “Yes, but I never considered that she would confront the squire.”
A cold shiver ran down Cecilia’s spine. Knowing Squire Inglewood’s violent nature, imagined scenes of Mrs. Jones confronting Inglewood played in her mind as vividly as her most vivid dreams.
“When did she confront the squire?” Cecilia asked.
“Two days before she died,” Mrs. Hester said, sniffing.
Two days, Cecilia considered. “The squire and his daughter were much alike,” she said slowly. “They were both detailed planners; the squire is still a planner.”
“Yes.”
“They both considered themselves smarter and more clever than those around them.”
“That is true!” offered Mrs. Hull vehemently. Mrs. Hester looked pained.
Cecilia smiled at Mrs. Hull. “And I hazard a guess that they did not like being mocked or ignored. We could see this in Georgia through her diary. From her comments in her diary and what I have seen of our magistrate, I would venture they are alike in this manner as well.”
“Yes. Their pride strode before them,” Mrs. Hull said drily.
“But they are smarter than those around them,” Mrs. Hester insisted. “Others should listen to what they have to say.”
“Why?” Cecilia countered.
“I—I…” Mrs. Hester looked confused.
“Being smart does not grant a person wisdom. Nor does it make a person right one hundred percent of the time.”
“Aye, and in my time, I have seen a smart person brought low by someone they judged inferior to them,” Mrs. Hull said.
“Successful smart people have their intelligence tempered with humility,” Cecilia explained.
“Pride cometh before a fall,” Sarah murmured.
“Did the squire know Mrs. Jones often went up into the downs to paint?” Cecilia asked.
“Yes. Everyone in the village did,” Mrs. Hester replied.
“It is likely that the squire followed her up onto the downs and threatened her in some way to keep her tongue between her teeth and not spread stories of what she suspected had happened to Georgia.”
“Gossip would anger him,” Mrs. Hester said, frowning.
Cecilia nodded. “That is my expectation as well. Unfortunately, we have no way of proving that the magistrate was instrumental in Georgia’s death or in Mrs. Jones death. However, rumor might,” Cecilia said.
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Hull asked.
“We,” Cecilia said, indicating the four of them in the vicar’s parlor, “know the magistrate is culpable in the deaths of his daughter and Mrs. Jones, but we lack proof. What do you suppose might happen if these deaths were discussed in the village with doubts raised?”
Sarah smiled, her eyes bright. “Gossip!” she declared.
“Yes. The village loves to gossip. What if we carefully feed it bits of gossip, bits from Georgia’s diary, and other ideas at the gathering after her funeral?”
“It would go around like a wildfire; however, how can that help us entrap Squire Inglewood?”
“I’ll ask the vicar to give a sermon on the evils of gossip on Sunday and have him say that I have read Miss Inglewood’s diary, and he can ask me to come forward to share with the congregation what Miss Inglewood wrote.
I will try to demur, but he will insist, and I will reluctantly read from the diary. ”
“The squire will protest, say that it is an invasion of family privacy or some such. Or claim that what you’re reading is fake,” Mrs. Hester said.
“I expect him to. I doubt any will believe him and will want to hear from the diary.”
Mrs. Hester nodded slowly. “He will anger quickly and not be overly cautious with his words.”
“That is what I am hoping.”
“What gossip are we to share?” Mrs. Hull asked. “And how are we to share it?”
“I brought her diary with me,” Cecilia said, opening her reticule and drawing out the book. “We can start with what she wrote. Mrs. Hull, can you get paper and a pen or pencil that we can note down what we want to slyly share?”
“The vicar has some in his study. I’m sure he won’t mind us using some,” she said, getting up to fetch the items.
“Do you think this will work?” Sarah asked.
Mrs. Hester thought a moment, wiped away the last of her tears, and nodded. “I know the squire the best, and knowing him, I think it will. He is prideful. He will not stay silent.”
“And I’m hoping it will get Lady Alfred Inglewood to speak up,” Cecilia said.
“Let’s start with the bit of gossip Summer Rutledge told me that I found confirmed in the diary.” She opened the diary, flipping through the pages. “All right. Here it is…”