An entry for andromedotoxin started in the middle of the page and filled one column with very small print. I skimmed the words but understood perhaps one in three.
“Could you explain, please, Mr. Thanos? Botany is not my field either, apart from what growing things I can put into sauces.”
“Of course.” Mr. Thanos paused and gave a breathy laugh. “Very good, Mrs. Holloway. Now, this toxin is pretty nasty—apparently in minuscule amounts it causes nausea and loose bowels. In greater amounts, the victim will have convulsions then slowly lose function of the body and become paralyzed, while the heart rate drops dramatically. They will slip into unconsciousness and die if the poison is not removed from their system within six hours.” Mr. Thanos shuddered. “How awful.”
As he spoke, I remembered Erica becoming more and more ill, unable to move at the last. The doctor presumably had tried to get her to vomit but too late to save her.
“It was awful,” I said quietly. “What is the plant?”
“Oh, er . . .” Mr. Thanos read on. “It’s rhododendron.” He looked up. “Disturbing. Jove, those plants make up everyone’s garden hedge.”
Yes, indeed, and many well-tended, dark-leafed specimens lined the large garden behind Lady Covington’s house.
20
Mr. Thanos continued reading aloud, but I scarcely heard him. That the plant was so ready to hand in Lady Covington’s garden cemented the fact that the poisoner was someone in her house. Every member of the family and all of the staff had access to the garden. Symes, of course, more than most.
It was one thing to have a supply of the plant, I told myself, trying to quell my zeal, quite another to know how to harvest it and introduce it into Lady Covington’s food. One would have to grind up the stems or leaves or boil them down, and it would have to be done in secret.
Mr. Thanos continued to read. “It says the honey that bees make of the flowers is poisonous. Beekeepers must be aware of what pollen their bees feed on.” He grimaced. “That will make me look at a pot of honey a bit more warily, to be certain.”
“Indeed, it will me too. Thank you, Mr. Thanos. Will you mark that page and put the book where you can find it again?”
Mr. Thanos blinked up at me. “Pardon? Oh, right. Is this helpful?”
“It is immensely helpful.”
I waited until Mr. Thanos found a folded paper to mark the place in the book—I hoped the paper did not contain some important breakthrough in a mathematical problem—and tucked the book into the bottom drawer of his desk, which was remarkably empty.
“Now to the other point,” I said. “Lady Cynthia.”
Mr. Thanos’s face became a dark shade of red. He unhooked his spectacles and held them nervously. “Yes? How is she?”
“Quite well. Now, listen, please. I noted how ably she wrote out your equations for you when you were explaining formulas at your lecture at the Crystal Palace.”
Mr. Thanos took on a faraway look. “Yes, she did it splendidly.”
“She tells me she often helps you write things when you are distracted.”
He nodded. “She has been a boon to me. I’d never have finished my paper for the mathematics society if she hadn’t aided me.”
“Excellent. Why not, when you begin your lectures here at the Polytechnic, take her on as an assistant? She can write your equations on the board or hand you papers you need or find books for you . . .” I had no idea what Mr. Thanos did during his lectures or for his research, but he and Cynthia would.
Mr. Thanos brightened a moment, then his excitement dimmed. “I’d be chuffed to, but Lady Cynthia is a woman.” He pointed this out as though I was not acquainted with the fact. “The Polytechnic is for young men.”
“She will be keeping your equations neat, not enrolling,” I argued. “Besides, I hear of plenty of young ladies—wives as well as unmarried misses—who assist in scientific endeavors, here and in America.” Mr. Davis had been reading me bits about ladies who were helping astronomers study the nature of stars and planets. Some of the women had become quite learned and highly regarded.
“That is true.” Mr. Thanos brightened again. “The ladies compute things, which takes much skill, more than most believe.” He fell silent, staring through the dusty window at the brick backs of houses in Cavendish Square.
“I am certain you can convince Sir Arthur, once he has fully recovered, that Lady Cynthia would be of great help to you. He has met her and seen that she can write things out without making a mistake.”
“She can.” The warmth in Mr. Thanos’s eyes was gratifying. “She makes fewer mistakes than I do. I get into a rush, my mind is on the next thing and the next, and my hand cannot keep up.”
“There, you see? Speak to Sir Arthur. Be insistent if he objects. Dear Cynthia is a clever young woman, and she should be able to exercise that cleverness. If she can be useful, perhaps her parents and aunt will cease pushing her at unsuitable young men.”
I had more in mind than simply finding Cynthia something to do, but I saw no need to worry Mr. Thanos about my ideas at the moment.
Mr. Thanos squared his shoulders. “Right. I will persuade Sir Arthur. You can depend on it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thanos.” I breathed an inward sigh of relief. Task accomplished. “Please enjoy the lemon cake.”
“I will, I will. Thank you, Mrs. Holloway. You are kindness itself.”
“You exaggerate, Mr. Thanos, but I will take the compliment. Thank you very much for your help, sir, and good day. I will tell Lady Cynthia you give her your regards.”
* * *
* * *
I visited the markets in Oxford Street, filling my now empty basket with greens. I remembered Lady Covington’s offer to take what I wanted from her kitchen garden, but I would not have time to visit it today. I would return there soon, however, and look closely at the rhododendron shrubbery. Would I find traces of cuttings? Or would I be able to tell a surreptitious cutting from the usual trimming the gardener did?
Thus musing, I returned home and began preparations for supper. I saw no sign of Lord Clifford as I went to ask Mr. Davis for a bold red wine to add to my braised beef. He brought out a rich burgundy and uncorked it for me.
“His lordship should have all the bottles he needs in his chamber,” Mr. Davis said dryly. “One entire shelf is gone.” He gestured to the dark interior of the wine cellar.
“Then he won’t be back for more right away,” I said, trying to soothe him. “Perhaps he’ll retire to the country again soon.”