Edwardian Murder Mystery 02; Hasty Death

Mrs Stockton’s words drifted in and out of her brain. “‘No one is hindered from making fruitful in the natural and social realms that which is brought over from the wellspring of spiritual life by those who have the right to speak of the principle of initiation,’ so speaks the master.”

Then Daisy began to become uneasily aware of gas building up under her stays. She realized she would need to get out of the room before she delivered herself of what her family in the East End would call a ‘real knicker ripper’.

She murmured an excuse and edged out of the room, trying to walk and keep her buttocks firmly clenched at the same time.

Daisy went down the stairs and stood in the hall, but before she could relieve herself of gas, an arm went round her waist and a voice in her ear said, “Looking for me, my pretty?”

She swung round and found Peregrine Stockton smiling down at her and twisting his moustache like a stage villain.

“I needed some air,” said Daisy. Her eyes, which were green and slightly prominent, felt as if they would burst from their sockets and roll across the floor like two marbles.

“What about a kiss for a poor chap?”

He tried to slide his arm around her waist again, but Daisy backed off and then exploded. A loud sound like a raspberry echoed around the hall and Daisy stood there with her face flaming.

“Hem, well, jolly cold day, what,” he said, backing away. “Get back to hear Mother’s lecture, what.”

He darted off up the stairs. Daisy was scarlet with mortification. Her first day out as a companion in all her grand clothes and she had disgraced herself. She trailed miserably back up the stairs. But the first thing that struck her when she entered the drawing-room was that she was far from being the only sufferer. The effect of nut cutlets and raw vegetables on so many middle-aged and elderly digestive systems was taking its toll.

She joined Rose, who was sitting with a scented handkerchief pressed to her nose.

“There’s an awful smell in here. What is it?” whispered Rose.

“Essence of fart,” whispered Daisy. “It was them nut cutlets.”

“Daisy, you must not use these crude Anglo-Saxon words.”

“What should I have said?”

“Shhh, I’ll tell you afterwards.”

Mrs Stockton was now lecturing her audience on the benefits of vegetarianism. Then she asked for questions. One middle-aged man who looked fit and healthy, certainly compared with the others about him, rose to his feet. “I am a vegetarian,” he said. “But I think people should be told that there are many attractive and hot vegetarian dishes which are just as good as meat. Eating too many raw vegetables can be upsetting to the stomach.” A sudden volley like gunshot from the ladies behind him interrupted his speech. Daisy emulated Rose, and pressed a handkerchief to her nose. The gentleman tried to go on, but his face suddenly creased up with laughter. He tried to control himself but a great guffaw burst from his lips.

“The lecture is finished,” shouted Mrs Stockton. There was a polite smattering of applause.

Mrs Stockton then positioned herself at the door of the drawing-room to say goodbye to her guests.

Rose shook her hand and said, “I wonder if I might consult you. I am very interested in vegetarianism.”

“Indeed?” Mrs Stockton gave a gratified smile. “If you would care to wait until I say goodbye to everyone, then we can have a cosy chat.”

Rose and Daisy retreated back into the drawing-room. At last Mrs Stockton begged them to follow her to her study.

“You may wait here for us, Humphrey,” ordered Rose.

Mrs Stockton led them across the landing and into a room where the walls were draped in black velvet and a scented candle burnt on a table, also draped in black.

“Now, where shall I begin?” she began brightly.

A butler entered with a card on a tray. “A Captain Cathcart to see you, madam.”

“You must tell him I am otherwise engaged.”

“The gentleman said it would only take a few minutes.”

“What can he want? Oh, do show him up.” She smiled at Rose. “Another of my admirers, no doubt, but I confess I cannot quite place the name.”

“Captain Cathcart,” said Rose, “is a private investigator.”

“Oh dear, how common. I must get rid of him immediately.” She reached out to ring the bell, but at that moment Harry was ushered into the room.

“I should not have allowed you to come up,” said Mrs Stockton. “I do not entertain persons.”

Just one question,” said Harry. “Good afternoon, Lady Rose, Miss Levine. Mrs Stockton, was Mr Pomfret blackmailing you?

“Who, pray, is Mr Pomfret?”

“The young man who has just been murdered. The young man to whom you gave ten thousand pounds.”

Rose studied Mrs Stockton’s face. It had become almost mask-like. “Ah, yes, I remember now. He was interested in setting up a series of lectures on vegetarianism. A worthy cause. I always support worthy causes.”

“Mr Pomfret was a loyal member of the Beefsteak Club. They hold dinners every month and a great quantity of beef is eaten.”

“Then he must have reformed. Please leave. Lady Rose, you must forgive me, but my exertions this afternoon have given me the headache. Perhaps another time?”

“Certainly,” said Rose. “Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient?”

“I should be honoured. Shall we say three o’clock? Yes? Good. Now, if you will excuse me. Captain Cathcart, do not come here again.”

“Let’s go to my office and discuss what we have,” said Harry as they walked down the stairs.

“I’d best get rid of Humphrey,” said Rose. “We’ll never get any privacy with her around. She disapproves of Daisy and she is jealous.”

¦

Miss Jubbles surveyed the arrivals with gloom. “Tea, please, Miss Jubbles,” said Harry pleasantly as he ushered Daisy and Rose into the inner office.

Miss Jubbles felt a lump in her throat as she opened a cupboard and took out the pretty cups and saucers reserved for guests. She went out into the corridor and into the toilet, where she filled the kettle at the sink. Once back in the office, she pulled out the gas ring by the fire, lit it, and placed the kettle on it.

She arranged three cups on a tray, then milk and sugar and a plate of Abernethy biscuits. The kettle boiled. She put tea-leaves into a fat yellow china teapot. Miss Jubbles stared at the tray. Sugar tongs. She had forgotten the sugar tongs. She went back to the cupboard and her eye fell on a packet of powdered senna pods. Miss Jubbles suffered from constipation. All at once she thought she saw a way of getting rid of these unwanted guests.

She poured three cups of tea, but to two of the cups she added a spoonful of the senna powder.

Miss Jubbles carried the tray in. She carefully placed the two already poured cups in front of Daisy and Rose and then poured a cup for Harry.

“Thank you, Miss Jubbles,” said Harry. “That will be all.”

Miss Jubbles retreated.

Rose raised her hand to pick up a cup, but Daisy said, “Don’t drink it.”

“Why?” asked Rose.

“There’s some sort of powder floating in it. I bet that Jubbles female put something in our tea.”

“Come now,” said Harry. “This is not the theatre. She would not dare.”

“Then get her to drink it.”

Harry looked amused. “Very well, Daisy. If it will put your silly fears at rest.”

“You can’t call her Daisy anymore,” protested Rose. “Now she is my companion, you must address her as Miss Levine.”

Harry went to the door and opened it. “Miss Jubbles, would you step in here for a moment?”

Miss Jubbles came in and stood there meekly, her hands folded.