Wednesday’s Reckoning
Chapter thirty-three
Wednesday’s Reckoning
Violet
The corridor was cold after the warmth of the sickroom. Violet stood with her back against the closed door and pressed her palms flat against it.
Cranbrook was already there. “Baker is gone,” she said.
Violet’s stomach dropped. “Gone? Are you certain?”
“Her room has been cleared. Her wardrobe is empty. By the servants’ account and my own reckoning, she left through the kitchen entrance approximately twenty minutes after the word of the duke falling ill.”
“She must have been packed and ready to leave at a moment’s notice since she began applying the arsenic.”
“It appears so.”
Violet leaned against the wall. The strength she had been running on was thinning. Cranbrook supported her elbow. “I sent for the police as soon as I found her room empty. I gave them her name and description.”
Violet looked at her as a thought occurred to her. “She has a son in Surrey. Mr Harris knows the address.”
“I shall see to it at once. I will find Mr Harris. You must eat before you perish ahead of your husband.” Cranbrook swept out.
Violet heard her voice in the hall, sharp and commanding, directing Patten to find paper and a rider.
She was gathering her strength to move toward the morning room when Kit appeared. He took her by the arm and supported her weight.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded. “Just tired. I need to eat.”
Kit called down to a footman down the stairs and shouted instructions.
Violet could hear boot heels striking the marble floor.
With his help, she settled in a chair in the morning room among the pile of invitations.
She would have laughed at the look of horror on Kit’s face if she were in any condition to.
Kit took a seat across from her in a settee. “Vexley is in the drawing room with his legs tied to the chair. He shouted his innocence all the way here. He wished to know as soon as possible the condition of his cousin. What do you think?”
“Is he hurt?”
“No. He is confused and frightened, although he would not say it.”
A tray with tea and sandwiches arrived. She never wanted to see another cup of tea, but she was thirsty.
“Allow me,” Kit said, reaching for the teapot.
Once he gave her an approving nod, she forced herself to eat and drink, searching for unusual flavours in each bite.
“About Edmund Vexley, will you see to it?” she said. “I need to look in on the cook.”
"Of course."
“Find out about his relationship with Sarah Baker. Ask him what they fought about outside the garden gate. I want to know if he was involved in this attempted murder or if he was complicit.”
“It shall be attended to. The police have been instructed to come here once they locate the maid.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I shall be below stairs if you need me.”
They left together with their arms linked. He walked her to the kitchen and left her with Mrs Greer before going back up the stairs. She could hear the wailing, faint and muffled.
“Is that…” Violet said.
“Mrs Garrick, Your Grace. The Duchess of Cranbrook put her in the cellar as soon as you gave the order. She has been in there for nearly two hours. She is in a terrible state.”
Violet went down.
The cellar was cold and damp and lit by a single tallow candle that someone had placed on a barrel.
Mrs Garrick sat on an overturned crate in the far corner, her apron pressed to her face, her shoulders heaving.
She looked up when Violet appeared, and her eyes were swollen and red and terrified.
Mrs Greer held the door open and let more light into the space.
Mrs Garrick began talking in halted speech. “Your Grace, I swear to you, on my mother’s grave, I have done nothing wrong.”
Violet pulled another crate forward and sat on it. The cold of the cellar seeped through her dress. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at the cook.
“Mrs Garrick. The duke has been poisoned with arsenic.”
Mrs Garrick’s hands went to her open mouth. “Arsenic?”
“Yes.”
“Your Grace, I would never… I have cooked for this family for twenty-two years. I could cut off my own hands before—”
“I need you to tell me the truth about the stillroom.”
Mrs Garrick wiped her face with her apron. She was buying time, Violet thought. The older woman’s hands were shaking. “I shall tell you the truth. I went in for sage. Early in the morning, before the house was up. The larder was out and I needed it for the sausage.”
“Did you move the dresser?”
“No, Your Grace. I went to the near shelf like I said yesterday. Second row. The sage was in a brown jar with a cork. I took it, I used it, I put it back.”
“Did you see anyone else near the stillroom? Before or after?”
“No. The house was dark. I used a candle. I was in and out in less than a minute.”
“Did Sarah ask you to go to the stillroom?”
Mrs Garrick blinked. “Ask me?”
“Did she suggest you fetch the sage?”
The cook’s eyes widened then her face crumpled. “She—she told me the day before that the larder sage was old. She said you were not happy with the breakfast the day before. She said the stillroom had a fresh jar. She was being helpful, Your Grace. She is always helpful.”
Violet sat motionless, digesting what Mrs Garrick said.
The cook’s desperate voice brought her attention back to her.
“You must believe me, Your Grace. I would never hurt anyone on purpose. Especially His Grace. He has always been good to me, to all of us. He is a fair employer. I would never—” She broke out in sobs again.
Violet’s heart went out to the poor woman. She grasped the woman’s hand lightly. “Mrs Garrick, I do not believe you poisoned anyone.”
The cook’s breath came out in a shudder that shook her whole body. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.”
“But I need you to remain in the house until the matter is resolved. If I put you somewhere more comfortable with a meal and a fire, will you give me your word you will not leave?”
“I promise, Your Grace. On my life. I will not set a foot outside this house.”
“Good.” Violet stood. “You will want to send word to your family. Inform Mr Patten of the message and the address.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Violet gave instructions to Mrs Greer and made her way back up through the servant’s stairs. When she reached the top, Cranbrook was waiting, her arms folded.
“The message is sent. Your husband is holding steady,” the older woman said. “Is the cook involved?”
“No. Sarah used her. Sent her to the stillroom to contaminate the evidence or frame her depending on which way you look at it.”
Cranbrook’s mouth thinned. “A woman of considerable resource.”
“Fatally so.”
“So do you believe she killed the previous duchesses?”
Violet hesitated. “I do not have the full story yet, but I believe she did.”
Cranbrook’s hand went to her heart. Violet reached for her hand and the older woman pulled her in for an embrace.
Violet stiffened momentarily then leaned into the embrace, exhaling slowly.
“There, there,” Cranbrook said, petting her back, “you cannot be strong all the time for everyone. Rest. I see how much he means to you, lucky man. He will recover. He is not going anywhere.”
In her arms, Violet cried, blew her nose, and cried some more because she had given her permission to.