The duchess laughed and shooed us away, turning to greet her next guest.
“She is rather lovely,” I whispered as we strolled on. I hoped she had nothing to do with murders in Dublin. I could not picture the small, beaming woman funding a conspiracy to assassinate government leaders.
“The duchess is a fine lady,” Daniel said, keeping to his Mr. Lancaster persona. “Knows how to organize a do. Let us admire the flowers and fountains, shall we?”
If my only task was to accompany Daniel, my hand on his arm, around beds of early roses, pansies, and irises, this day would be pleasant. None of the couples or small clumps of ladies and gentlemen regarded me with the least dubiousness as we passed. They said good morning and little else, intent upon admiring the garden and making certain others noticed they had been graced with an invitation to this gathering.
“Who are all the guests?” I whispered.
“Oh, acquaintances of the duke’s. From all over.” Daniel kept his voice pitched normally. Explaining these things to a foreign young woman would not be considered odd. “Politicos and others. No gathering in England is only about gazing at flowers. There are favors to be exchanged, decisions to be made. What happens on the floor of the Houses of Parliament or in Cabinet meetings is only part of what goes into running the nation.”
“It is too bad, as the gardens are so beautiful.” I had known from working for the wife of an MP that politics happened in clubs and at suppers, far from the buildings of power. The wife had rarely seen her husband, and had taken up with a young man to entertain her, which had led to the MP banishing her to the country and me having to find another post.
“Well, we can enjoy them,” Daniel declared. “I am never going into politics. A fool’s game, that.”
A stiff gentleman ambling by with his equally stiff wife sent Daniel a sneer, even as they both nodded cordially. Daniel tipped his hat, and I managed not to curtsy.
“What are these flowers?” I pointed to a line of tall stalks with deep blue flowers bursting from them. “They are so pretty.”
Daniel glanced at them with the bored air of a man who didn’t understand what women saw in such things. “Dashed if I know. Duchess might, but she’s up to her ears in guests. Perhaps we’ll find a gardener.”
He did not quicken his pace, as though having no interest in either plants or gardener.
I paused to admire the blooms. I recognized the skill in this garden—it was full but tidy, each plant given room to grow but close enough to its neighbors that the beds were a riot of color.
I knew what the plant was, it so happened. Larkspur. It was a bit early for it, but if the seeds were started in a hothouse or nurtured with row covers, a good gardener could make them bloom to the duchess’s schedule.
What made me pause was that I knew larkspur was poisonous. A cook needs to fathom what plants not to put into a dish—for instance, the leaves and stems of pepper plants are poisonous, while the peppers themselves can be eaten without worry, unless one is sensitive to spicy foods.
It occurred to me as I stood there that Lady Covington’s Park Lane house had a beautiful and well-tended garden, including a hothouse that raised all sorts of vegetables and herbs. Many plants were partly edible, or edible at certain intervals in their life-span, while at the same time, many could be deadly. A salad of the wrong kind of greens or beans could kill the unwary.
Not all gardeners knew these things, so I did not immediately suspect Symes of sending in poisonous leaves to the kitchen. Even if Mrs. Gamble couldn’t tell the difference, Cynthia would have noted it if some unusual vegetable or fruit had been served for supper. And again, Mrs. Gamble would taste everything before sending it up.
Of course, anyone in that house could go out into the garden and pick flowers or herbs without any question attached to the action. They could equally well slip a few deadly leaves into a pot of soup in the dining room. Only when Mrs. Gamble made certain the food went directly from her hands to Lady Covington were no ill effects felt.
“You’re miles away, darling.”
“Pardon?” I snapped back to Daniel. “Very sorry. I thought of something, is all.”
Daniel looked curious, but he knew I could not speak openly here. I uncharitably thought it only fair that he should wonder what was going on inside my head for a change.
“It is warm, I agree,” Daniel said, raising his voice for benefit of those around us. “Perhaps we can adjourn to the tea tent. Or the house. The duke won’t mind if we wander about looking at his paintings.”
“The house.” I was rather warm, and the shade inside had been pleasant. I did not fancy a crowded tea tent where I might be more closely scrutinized.
Daniel and I strolled back the way we’d come, nodding to more guests as we went. We circled a large fountain of stone cupids pouring large pitchers of water over each other, and headed for the terrace.
As we reached it, I heard a voice I recognized.
“Delightful of you to let us come, old boy.” A slender man in a dark suit, with thin sideburns flowing to an equally thin mustache, shook the hand of the silver-haired duke, the two standing just outside the entrance to the house. “Would love to continue our little chat.”
I halted, pulling Daniel up short. “Oh dear.”
“What is it?” Daniel’s voice was in my ear, low, urgent.
“That is Lord Clifford,” I whispered. “Cynthia’s father.”
17
What the devil was he doing here? I hadn’t realized Lord Clifford was acquainted with the Duke of Daventry. Cynthia must not know either, because she’d have not sent me straight into the lion’s den. Nor had Mr. Fielding reported such a thing.
Daniel’s arm tightened around mine. “Does he know you? Has he seen you?”
“Yes, he jolly well has. He’s come down to the kitchen several times. Lady Clifford as well.”
“Damn.” Daniel straightened, resuming his languorous stance. “The tea tent it is, then, darling.”
“You said there was no one I knew on the guest list,” I hissed as we turned and made our way quickly back toward the fountain.
“He isn’t on it,” Daniel said adamantly. “I would have noted that immediately, believe me.”
“Then why is he here?”
“If I knew, I’d not be cursing.”
We quickened our steps toward the tent beckoning us at the edge of the garden. Then I stopped abruptly. Daniel followed my gaze to see the duchess, her arm locked through that of Lady Clifford, entering the tea tent.
“We slip away,” Daniel said, his gaze on Lord Clifford and the duke. “And you go to the train station.”