Chapter Twenty #3
“The manner of his death was a bit suspicious. Did you happen to see the doctor on the day he died? That was the morning after the storm.”
“No, ma’am. I wasn’t able to come here until late that morning. I only found out about Dr. Penhollow after you left.”
Further questioning revealed that she normally worked from nine in the morning until about five or half five since she had young children to get home to.
The Penhollows managed breakfast on their own.
The maid prepared the midday meal and supper.
On the day of the storm, the day before Dr. Penhollow died, she left early to get her children ready for the Christmas play, which meant she could have witnessed nothing.
“The play was delightful, wasn’t it?”
“I certainly thought so,” she said.
“I understand that you brought Mrs. Penhollow back home. Is that correct?”
She chuckled, then brought a hand to her mouth. “I couldn’t believe it when she asked me.” Maude moved a little closer to me and lowered her voice. “Dr. Penhollow wanted to go to the pub with a friend, she said. I couldn’t believe that, either.”
“Did Dr. Penhollow not frequent the pub?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I was sure surprised to hear that he had a friend, and in the village, too.
So, Mrs. Penhollow asked me to take her home.
I did, but not in the style she was accustomed to.
” She spread her hands wide. “All I had was the wagon, and it was full of children. I only have three, but sometimes they’re so wild you’d think there were ten of them. ”
“I’m sure she appreciated your assistance,” I said.
“Whether she did or not, I got her home.”
“Do you remember what time that was?”
“I had her home by half eight.”
Which meant Ada was home well ahead of her husband, not that I had any idea if that was significant.
When Maude turned away from me to prepare the tea tray, I glanced toward the window in the back door.
Still gray outside, with no snow. Then I saw the boots.
Two pairs. One much smaller than mine and the other just enough larger to have been Dr. Penhollow’s.
“Did the Penhollows always keep their gum boots back here?”
She threw a glance to the door, then looked at me, surprised by the question. “They are sensible people. No reason to drag mud and such through the public parts of the house when they can come and go through the back door when the weather makes boots necessary.”
“Only the two pairs?”
Maude gave me a look of confusion. “How many pairs do they need? There’s only two of them, or there was.”
“I just thought perhaps Dr. Penhollow’s uncle had left a pair behind when he passed.” My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment at the absurdity of my words, and I decided I’d overstayed my welcome. “Thank you for answering my questions. I know it’s a bit strange to have a guest in the kitchen.”
“At least you aren’t taking it over like Mrs. Digby.” She rolled her eyes. “Since she and Mrs. Penhollow became friends, she has come back here to make tea for herself and the missus whether I’m here or not. As if she lived here.”
“Indeed?” That was a surprise.
Maude lifted the tray, reminding me that Fiona and Mrs. Penhollow were waiting in the drawing room. “Tea’s ready,” she said.
I followed her through the hallway and to the drawing room.
When we arrived, I saw that Mr. Penhollow had returned.
He had placed the doctor’s bag on a side table next to Ada and was rummaging through it.
He picked up a bottle and read the label aloud, then returned it to the bag.
After a minute or two of this process, he glanced at me, his expression wrought with anxiety.
“I don’t understand half of what I’m reading on these things. ”
“Why don’t you let me go through them?” I said, easing a vial of powder from his fingers.
“Let me pour you some tea,” Fiona said. “It looks like you both could use a cup.”
Mr. Penhollow returned to his chair, and while Fiona prepared tea for them both, I sorted through the items in Dr. Penhollow’s bag.
Half an hour later, both the Penhollows looked a bit more at ease, and I had found no trace of phosphorus.
“Did Dr. Penhollow keep his medicinal preparations anywhere else?” I asked.
“He used to keep some in the sitting room at the front of the house,” Ada said. “He used it as an office.”
That made sense. If the doctor was seeing patients, a room right off the front door was ideal.
“But since he’d stopped most of his practice,” she continued, “everything he has should be in that bag.”
“Well,” I said, “I found nothing labeled as phosphorus in there.” Neither did I find any more of the compounded medicine he had used to treat Martha Rallison.
I hadn’t expected to find more, either. If Dr. Penhollow hadn’t used the full vial of phosphorus to make Martha’s tonic, I had a feeling the rest had ended up in something the doctor ate.
If there had been any left over. And what of the two bottles that were missing from his shipment?
What had become of it all? Or more to the point, had someone else put the remaining medication to use?