a ship's carpenter, Hawkins did. Come on with th' dairyman after his wife threatened to-'
'I see,' the constable said hurriedly. 'When the gypsy boy offered the mushrooms, you looked through the basket quite carefully, did you?'
'Ah.' This was the sticky part, and Sarah knew it. 'T speak God's truth, sir,' she said, averting her eyes from the glance of the queen, 'I did not.'
'You did not?'
'No, sir,' she said remorsefully, 'an' I'll ferever wonder in me heart whether 'twas my carelessness wot caused th' trouble.'
The constable frowned. 'And how was that?'
Sarah heaved a dramatic sigh. ' 'Well, sir, I thought to me-self that th' boy might not be a good judge o' mushrooms. But I cud see that he needed th' money, mother sick an' father a tinker an' all. So I paid him, an' paid a bit mor'n he asked, part fer pity o' his perdicament, and part out o' wantin' th' mushrooms. The elder Miss Ardleigh was right partial to 'em, an' I thought t' make her a puddin', seein' as she was plannin' t' give back th' carpet.' The constable looked confused but did not interrupt. 'But as I was reachin' fer th' basket-t' look through it an' be sure th' mushrooms were wot they should be-there was a commotion.'
'What sort of commotion?'
'Th' lad looked round, like, over his shoulder, an' there stood one o' th' guests, lookin' at him. The boy took fright an' bolted.'
'And then what?'
'Well, there I stood with th' basket in me hand, thinkin' t' sort through it, like. But Harriet had made up th' fire too hot an' th' soup boiled over. As I was tendin' t' that, I burned me thumb.' She held it up to demonstrate the red welt. 'I dipped it in Saint-John's-wort oil an' bound it up an' went back t' th' mushrooms, which was sittin' on th' table. But th' spit give way in th' fire an' the joint dropped in th' ash an'-'
'Mrs. Pratt,' the constable said, 'are you telling me that you did not check the mushrooms?'
'Yes, sir,' Sarah said, low. 'I aimed t' do't before settin' Harriet to chop. But th' sweets tray got knocked over an'-' She dropped her head, her shoulders slumped under the weight
of so many domestic tragedies. 'I made th' crust fer th' pud-din', an' Harriet chopped th' mushrooms. An' that, sir, is how th' sad deed was done.'
The constable spoke with care. 'So there could have been a poisonous mushroom in the basket and you would not have seen it?'
'Yessir,' Sarah said. 'I mean, no, sir.' She frowned, trying to make out which way the question went. 'I mean, sir,' she added, to make her answer clear, 'as I di'n't see no poisonous mushroom. If I had've, it wud never o' got near th' puddin', yer can be sure o' that.'
'Did anyone else see the gypsy?'
She spoke truly. 'None o' the servants, sir, but me. Th' guest, though-he got a glimpse o' him.' Not a good glimpse, though, she thought. 'He's th' one wot frightened him off.'
'Do you know the name of the guest?'
'Well, 'twas th' Marsdens who come fer luncheon, and he was their guest, a Sir Charles somebody-or-other. The same one wot pushed his way in while you was talkin' t' Harriet.'
The constable's eyebrows went up. 'Sir Charles Sheridan?'
'If that 'twas 'is name,' Sarah said cautiously.
Her answer seemed to satisfy the constable. 'Only a few more questions,' he said. 'Harriet cut up the mushrooms and you prepared the pudding-in what sort of container?'
'Why, a puddin'-basin, o'course,' Sarah said. 'It were steamed.'
'Inside a pot with a cover, on the stove?'
Sarah frowned. 'How else?'
'For how long?'
'An hour, most like. Till 'twas done.'
'Was anyone else in the kitchen during that hour?'
Sarah thought. 'Just me an' Harriet.' She frowned. 'An' th' young miss. She come in to make tea fer her aunt an' herself.'
The constable's mouth tightened at the corners. 'Did she go near the stove?'
Sarah's frown darkened. 'Cudn't say, sir,' she said carelessly. 'I had too much t' do t' be watchin' others.'
But the constable's eyes were still on her as he shut up his notebook and stood. 'I will confirm your report of the gypsy with Sir Charles as quickly as I can. You will not object to being detained meanwhile?'
Sarah smiled comfortably. 'Oh, no, sir. I'd as soon have the day t' meself, 'specially seein' as it's washday.' She stood. 'Yer don't suppose, d'yer, that Pocket could bring th' carriage when it's time fer me t' go back t' Bishop's Keep?'
The constable's lips twitched. 'I can't say, but I will inquire.'
'Thank ye, sir,' Sarah said. She looked up at the queen's photograph and dropped a deep curtsy, pleasantly conscious that she had met her obligation to the crown while still protecting the innocence of one whose motives she pitied, rather than hated.
The queen gave her a benevolent smile.
48
'When you nave excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'
A little before eleven, Kate was sitting at the Remington, typing-but not on her book. There would be a great deal to do over the next few weeks, and 'The Golden Scarab' would have to wait. She was typing a letter to Mr.
Bothwell Coxford, her editor, to ask for an extension of her deadline.
She was interrupted by the sound of cart wheels on gravel. She went to the French doors and saw Mudd, bowler-hatted and wearing his greatcoat, drive up with Pocket in the cart. She threw on her shawl and hurried outside.
'How is Mrs. Pratt?' she asked, shivering in the chilly air.
An hour before, Kate had dispatched Mudd to Dedham to find out what he could about Cook's situation, and fetch her home if possible. Although Harriet had been bidden to silence by the constable, the girl had finally told her story to Kate, who now knew that the deadly toadstool had found its way into the pudding by a tragic accident. This new information had much relieved Kate's mind, since she no longer had to wonder if either of her aunts, or Cook, had been somehow responsible.
But if it was known how the toadstool got into the pudding, it was not yet clear how the toadstool had gotten into the kitchen. Harriet did not know whether Mrs. Pratt herself had gathered the mushrooms from the wood, or whether they had arrived by some other means, and no one else was able to offer enlightenment. But Kate, thinking back over the events of the past few days and recalling the brown felt hat dropped by the would-be intruder, suspected that Jenny Blyly's lover- who certainly had a reason to hate not only Aunt Jaggers but Aunt Sabrina as well-might have brought the poisonous mushroom into the house. Indeed, she would have spoken the name of Tom Potter to the constable, had she been sure that to do so might not further incriminate Mrs. Pratt.
Mudd alighted from the cart. 'Mrs. P. is quite well,' he said, 'an' sends 'er thanks fer inquirin'. She 'as explained things t' th' constable an' hopes he'll soon let 'er go.'
'Thank God,' Kate breathed fervently. 'But why did he not let her come back with you?''
' 'E's gone off t' check 'er story wi' Sir Charles.' He took off his bowler hat and held it in his hands. 'She'ud like t' know whether ye plan t' send th' carriage, miss.'
