Chapter 17 Tea And Cake #2
Jamie climbed the stairs thoughtfully. He found Georgie just waking up, and, having missed supper the night before, hungry for breakfast.
“Shall I bring you something in bed?”
“No… thank you, but no. I will go back to bed afterwards, but it will do me good to be up for a while.”
They ate in the kitchen, as usual, always the warmest place in the apartment. In the summer, perhaps, they would take breakfast in the dining room where it was cooler, but for now the heat from the fire was welcome.
He toasted some bread for her, brought out the remains of yesterday’s cake and brewed a pot of tea. She took one sip and pulled a face.
“Ugh! This tea is horrid. I’ll have to go to Fothergill’s to get something more palatable.”
“Not today, I hope,” Jamie said. “You need to rest. Would you like me to go into Brinchester for you? I can be there and back in a couple of hours.”
Her face brightened. “Would you? That would be very kind. I don’t really want to leave the apartment today.”
“Of course not. Tell me what to get, and I’ll go as soon as I’ve tidied up after breakfast.”
“Mr Fothergill knows. You’re very good, Jamie.”
He blushed, and his hand rose instinctively to remove his spectacles for polishing, but he forced it down again. “Georgie… something odd has happened. Sophia… is suffering the same tragedy as you.”
Georgie jerked upright. “Her baby? Oh! That is… a coincidence?” There was a questioning tone in her voice.
“I wondered… what precisely did you eat at dinner last night? Perhaps some of the meat was off. Did you have the pork? What about the lobster?”
“Neither of those. I ate very little — the chicken, some fish, a little of the stewed beef. I wasn’t hungry.”
“Full of cake, I expect. Sophia was at the other end of the table, near the veal and ducklings. But so many others ate from the same dishes, it is hard to imagine that it would only affect the two of you. What about your cakes yesterday? Did either of you eat one type in particular?”
“I can’t remember, but again, everyone ate everything. If there was anything poisonous, surely we’d all have been affected.”
“Hmm.” He frowned. “What about the tea? If it tastes odd this morning maybe it was odd yesterday.”
“Oh, it was. At least, I thought so, although no one complained. We all drank lots of it, but it had a strange bitter taste. It’s Rowena’s favourite type. I had to borrow some as I’d run out.”
“And Sophia drank it too?”
“Yes, several cups, but we all drank the same tea, Jamie. There can’t be anything wrong with it.”
Nevertheless, when he had tidied away the breakfast things and sent Georgie back to bed, Jamie went to find Hester.
“Is it possible there is something wrong with Mrs Richard’s tea? Georgie thinks it tastes… unusual.”
Hester looked dubious. “Rowena has been drinking the same sort since she arrived here, Jamie. She would surely notice if anything were amiss.”
“If it came on slowly… a mould or some such.”
Hester opened the caddy and showed him the tea. “Look at it, and tell me if you think it there is any mould there.”
“I agree, it looks just as it should but—”
“Jamie, I know you like to find a reason for everything, but sometimes when a person dislikes a certain type of tea it is just a question of taste. Georgie dislikes it, that is all.”
“May I take a sample to show the grocer?”
Hester laughed. “Of course, if it will set your mind at rest. All our tea comes from Fothergill’s”
She found an empty medicine phial, and filled it with tea leaves, and Jamie set out to walk to Brinchester.
It was more than three miles by road, but by cutting through the grounds of the neighbouring estate and then by a farm track, it was possible to shave off more than a mile.
It made for a very pleasant walk, but there was one serious hazard to be faced.
Compton Grange was the home of the Martin family, owners of Martin’s Bank, and the elder Mr Martin had three spinster sisters who spent their lives, or so it seemed, at an upper window whence they could see not only their own grounds but most of the village and part of Staineybank, too.
Jamie always walked through their shrubbery at as brisk a pace as he could contrive, but somehow one or other of them would pop up before he could reach the gate to the farm track.
Then he would be held by the rules of courtesy for half an hour being drained of every last iota of gossip from the duke’s household.
Today it was the youngest Miss Martin who accosted him, and wanted to know all about the physician’s visit.
Then she enquired after every inhabitant of Staineybank not forgetting the junior housemaid who had recently had a tooth drawn.
No matter was too trivial, no detail was overlooked, and if Jamie hesitated for a moment, the lady would raise an eyebrow and say encouragingly, “Is it so indeed? And then…?”
When he was eventually allowed to continue on his way, with a cheerful, “But I must not keep you from your important business,” he always felt drained, as if he were a prize fighter who had been pummelled half to death.
Today he could barely dredge up the energy to answer, for his mind was all on Georgie and tea… but mostly on Georgie.
It was market day in Brinchester, the square filled with sheep and pigs, stalls of vegetables and baskets and brooms and slabs of meat, while women with carts sold eggs, butter and cheese.
Jamie weaved through the crowds to the High Street, where Fothergills was busy, as usual, but Mr Fothergill found time to listen courteously to his concerns.
He took him behind the shop into the family kitchen, and brewed tea with Jamie’s sample and with a fresh batch from their own supply.
He called in his mother and an elderly uncle to taste the two.
“Oh, this isn’t right!” the uncle said at once, trying Rowena’s sample. “The regular brew is fine, but this one… ugh!”
“It tastes fine to me,” Mrs Fothergill said. “A strong flavour but… what do think is wrong with it, Toby?”
“My wife says it is bitter,” Jamie said.
“Bitter… yes, perhaps,” the old man said. “It’s something nasty, that’s certain.”
They spread the remains of the sample on a piece of pale paper and examined it closely, but could not detect anything visible.
“Still, it’s definitely tainted,” Mr Fothergill said.
“If Uncle Toby says so, it must be true. He has always been our best taster. I’ll send a new supply up to Staineybank at once, no charge, of course, and do tell Miss Hester to have the tea caddy thoroughly scrubbed and scoured.
Goodness, I wonder how long it’s been like this!
And poor Mrs Richard’s been drinking this without complaint. ”
With his own supply secured, and a visit to the bookseller for more quills, Jamie turned his steps homeward. Of course, it was too much to hope that he would be spared the attentions of the Miss Martins, and this time all three of them awaited him.
“Did you manage to obtain the tea for Mrs Hammond?” they trilled.
And when he had reassured them on that score, he had been obliged to reveal the purchase of quills, and interrogated at great length on the state of the market, on which matter he was quite unable to satisfy them, having paid it very little attention.
But then the eldest Miss Martin said, “Tell me, Mr Hammond, have you come across anyone by the name of Wyatt lately?”
“Wyatt? No, I do not know any Wyatts. I know of one Wyatt family, from Kent, I believe. My father has an interest in the family’s history from many years ago — to do with his grace’s diaries — but none of us is acquainted with the modern members of the family.”
They twittered excitedly to each other. “Oh, but you see, a gentleman from Kent has been making enquiries about a Mr Wyatt—”
“A Mr Julius Wyatt.”
“—who might be in the area.”
“He has asked at the bank, you see,” the eldest said.
“And at the post office,” the youngest said.
“And everywhere,” the middle sister said, beaming happily. “But no one had heard of Mr Julius Wyatt.”
“Including me,” Jamie said. “Now, if you will forgive me, ladies, I really must get this tea back to my wife.”
The walk home gave him another half hour of quietude to wallow in misery before he had to tackle Hester about the tea. He was forestalled, for he found her in the pantry with Rowena.
“What is all this about my tea not being right?” Rowena said, as soon as he poked his head round the door. “There is nothing wrong with my tea. I have been drinking it for two years now, and enjoying every cup, I might add.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Jamie said wearily, “but Mr Fothergill says it is tainted. He is to send a replacement batch today.”
“There is absolutely no need,” Rowena said robustly.
“Hester, you may send it back when it arrives. I am perfectly satisfied with what I have. Jamie, I have no objection to Georgie using my tea, for anyone may help themselves, I am sure, but pray ask her not to start these hares running whenever she tries something a bit different and finds it not to her taste.”
“I understand,” he said quietly.
Rowena nodded and swept out of the room.
“Well!” he said. “Is she always so… combative?”
“She is a trifle out of sorts these days,” Hester said. “I have no idea why, since she never confides in me. But what am I to do about the tea? If Mr Fothergill says it is tainted, then it is tainted, but if Rowena likes it that way, I can hardly go against her, can I?”
“It seems not to be doing her any harm,” he said cautiously.
“True,” Hester said, brightening. “And if this batch is tainted, the next batch will be better, so best not to worry about it. And now I think I will go and have a bit of a lie down. I am quite worn out with all these difficulties.”
“Are you ill, Hester?”
“Me? Ill? Nothing of the sort. Just… a bit tired, that is all. Getting old, young man. It comes to us all, eventually.”
Jamie was left to wonder why a woman of not much above forty years should regard herself as old.