I sympathized with the duchess when I wasn’t reliving the fear of her slashing at me with her knife. I knew full well that those of the lower orders could be trampled upon without compunction, the poor blamed for being poor. If one was an Irish Catholic peasant and punished for it, well then, one shouldn’t be an Irish Catholic peasant, should one? Such logic filled the minds of those whose greatest worry was whether their valet would be at their bedside with coffee the instant they woke.
But did killing make anything right? Very evil and wicked people needed to be punished, certainly, but when innocents were caught up in someone else’s vengeance on those evil and wicked people—where did it end?
Which brought me around to my errand today.
I debated taking tea cakes or some other treat to soften the blow I would deliver, but decided not to. This would not be a convivial visit.
I summoned James, who’d been relieved Daniel and I had emerged well and whole but was a bit sorry to have missed the excitement. I gave him messages to deliver for me. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened for questions, but I sent him off.
Today was my half day out. I’d go to Lady Covington’s first, though I was tempted to see Grace beforehand. I longed to be with my daughter, but I decided I’d prefer to spend the rest of my afternoon with her after my difficult task was finished.
Cynthia agreed to walk with me. “Are you certain?” she asked in perplexity as I told her what I’d concluded.
“Almost certain,” I admitted. “But it is the only explanation.”
We continued in silence. Cynthia headed for the front entrance of the Park Lane house once we’d reached it, and I parted from her and went around to the back garden.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Symes,” I said as I entered through the gate.
Symes looked up from raking the walk, brows rising under his cap. “You come here quite often these days, Mrs. Holloway. I wish I could believe it were to see me.”
I kept my basket in front of me like a barrier. “You have been very kind, Mr. Symes.”
“Ah, kindness.” He shook his head in regret. “Well, I suppose that’s all a body can hope for.”
“I am popping down to the kitchen. Do carry on.”
Symes touched his cap in salute. “Right you are, missus.”
I tramped down the stairs to the door and inside the cool, slate-floored hall. I turned to the right, into the kitchen, where Mrs. Gamble stirred something on the stove.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gamble,” I sang cheerily.
Mrs. Gamble turned around, not startled. “I heard you up in the garden, love. I have a kettle on. Would you like a cuppa? Or did Lady Covington summon you?”
“Lady Cynthia is visiting with her ladyship. I came to ask you a few questions—about how things are done in your kitchen.”
Mrs. Gamble wrapped a towel around the kettle and carried it to the table, where she poured steaming water into a teapot. “Is this about who tainted my food and killed Mrs. Hume? Well, sit yourself down, and we’ll have a chat. I’ll help any way I can.”
“Thank you.” I took a stool at the table, happy to rest my feet. I’d been doing much walking lately.
Mrs. Gamble brought two cups from the sideboard and also a plate of lemon cake. “The family do love this cake.” She set everything on the table. “I thank you a thousand times for the recipe.”
“You are most welcome,” I said modestly. “It isn’t much, really.”
“Ah, but the proportions are so exact, it’s almost magical. Such a lovely taste.”
Once the tea had steeped, she poured it out into cups. “I have sugar and cream if you’d like.” She dropped a broken piece of a sugar loaf into her cup, followed by a thick stream of cream from a pot.
“No, thank you. I’ve learned to take it plain.” I sipped, trying not to make a face. Tea for servants was usually cheap, the leftover twigs and dust from finer leaves. I’d learned how to seek out the best of the inexpensive teas, but this was far from that.
Mrs. Gamble finished turning her tea into cream and sugar soup, sipped, and made a noise of satisfaction. She lifted a crumb from the lemon cake plate and nibbled it.
“Have you brought something for Lady Covington?” she asked, peering at my basket.
“Not today. As I said, I’ve come to ask how you do things in your kitchen.” I turned my cup around in its saucer. “In mine, we wash and leave the greens either in the larder or on the dresser, depending on how hot the kitchen is, so that they’ll be handy when we want to pop some into a dish, or start a soup, or make a salad.”
Mrs. Gamble nodded. “I do the same. I don’t have an assistant, which is a pity, but I do sort everything and then have it handy. I never know what his lordship is going to demand, or what her ladyship will need.”
“Precisely.” I scanned the boxes of produce on her shelves—radishes, asparagus, and plenty of leafy lettuce and herbs from Symes’s careful tending. The mortar and pestle I’d spied on my previous visit rested on a table below the herbs. “It must be nice to have the garden handy.”
“It does save a journey to Covent Garden.” Mrs. Gamble took another sip. “You walk all that way and then the stalls are out of what you’ve gone for. Most annoying. Greengrocers don’t always have the best foodstuffs either.”
“Very true,” I said with feeling. “They’ll sell radish tops as parsley or fennel for onions, thinking we don’t know the difference.”
Mrs. Gamble chuckled her acknowledgment. “They will indeed. Mr. Symes, now, he understands what’s what and sends me down exactly what I ask for.”
“He is a good gardener, is Mr. Symes.”
“Aye.” Mrs. Gamble glanced again at my basket, and I decided to relieve her curiosity.
“I obtained these from your garden.” I lifted the cloth to reveal long green leaves on darker green stems.
Mrs. Gamble stared in bewilderment. “You did? Whatever for?”
“I fancied them,” I said. “Shall I gather them with some of your herbs and make us a salad?”
Mrs. Gamble pulled back. “Them’s rhodies, Mrs. Holloway. They’re poisonous.” Her brow cleared. “Are you saying this is what was used to try to kill her ladyship?”
“Yes.” I sipped more tea. “You recognize them.”
“Well, of course I do. They grow right outside the back door.” Mrs. Gamble took a plate from a stack at the end of the table and cut a piece of the lemon cake. She placed it in front of me and laid a fork beside it.