The flatware, curiously enough, was of wood. And only wood spoons, which turned out to be all that was needed as for the beef and mushroom ragout, and the carrots and peas besides. Miss Charlotte, who wanted a slice of bread, found a wooden spreader for the butter.
“I like these utensils,” she said. “They are simple but elegant.”
“Thank you,” answered Mr. Peters immediately. “I made them.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Crosby, looking at him fondly. “Mr. Peters has the most dexterous and skillful hands.”
Mr. Peters received her compliment with a gleeful, dimpled smile. “Thank you, lovely lady. I find that woodwork aids in contemplation, which is what most of us are here for.”
His words were spoken to Mrs. Crosby, but their intended recipients were no doubt Miss Charlotte and Mrs. Watson—who else needed the reminder that this was a quasi-religious community?
Miss Charlotte helped herself to a spoonful of carrots. “Speaking of contemplation, I am terribly curious about how the disciples of Hermes Trismegistus present tonight found their way to his teachings. Will you tell us a little of your journeys?”
The residents of the Garden all looked toward Miss Fairchild. Miss Ellery, at her nod, said, “Miss Fairchild had a travel companion for many years, a bosom friend who was the first to come across the teachings of Hermes Trismegistus. Her devotion eventually influenced Miss Fairchild to also take an interest. The friend passed away in the course of their final voyage and the Garden of Hermopolis is as much dedicated to her as it is to other learners on the same path.
“As for myself, I am only Miss Fairchild’s companion and assistant—Christmas and Easter you might even find me at the nearest church. I cannot speak with any authority on Hermetic teachings, but I know that Miss Fairchild is the best person I know and the teachings that she espouses must therefore also be good and admirable.”
“Hear, hear,” said Mr. Peters and Dr. Robinson together.
Dr. Robinson smoothed his neckcloth and confessed that he was also not interested in Hermetism, but the community wished to have a physician on hand and he was happy to live among such agreeable folks in his old age, being irreligious enough to have no quarrels with their pagan beliefs.
The Steeles came to Hermetism because Mrs. Steele’s father had been a minister interested in pre-Christian thoughts. Mr. Peters had studied the history of medieval alchemy and found that mentions of Hermes Trismegitus peppered almost all the important alchemical writings.
“My late husband was a man of many and varied interests and collected books accordingly,” said Mrs. Crosby, her fingers on the wedding ring she wore as a pendant. “But I didn’t attempt to familiarize myself with his books until after he’d passed away. Perhaps it was my new widowhood, but when I read ‘All upon Earth is alterable,’ that single sentence took my breath away.”
Her fellow acolytes nodded solemnly. Miss Ellery, seated beside her, even gave her a gentle pat on the arm. Mrs. Watson, who had lost a husband in a sudden and devastating blow, felt her eyes mist and had to remind herself that everyone in the compound was a potential murderer and poisoner, including this elegant young widow.
Miss Charlotte concentrated on her stew and let the moment pass, before returning to her informal interrogation. “Can anyone here tell me how Miss Baxter came to the Hermetic teachings?”
At the mention of Miss Baxter’s name, there seemed to be a collective pause of . . . embarrassment? Mr. Steele turned his spoon over, Mrs. Steele cleared her throat, Miss Ellery scratched herself just under the ear.
But there was also Mrs. Crosby, her cool gaze aimed squarely at Miss Charlotte, and Mr. Peters, whose appealing face took on a hard edge far more swiftly than Mrs. Watson would have thought possible.
“Miss Baxter isn’t one for chitchats, you see,” said Mrs. Steele apologetically. “At least I have never been able to wrangle her into a proper conversation.”
“Nor I,” said Miss Ellery with an air of regret. “I have asked Miss Fairchild the same question but Miss Fairchild also doesn’t know the origin of Miss Baxter’s devotion.”
Miss Fairchild shook her head slowly, as if to underscore Miss Ellery’s answer.
Mrs. Crosby sat back in her chair. “I don’t know how Miss Baxter came to the teachings, but she once gave me a handkerchief embroidered with That which is sown is not always begotten; but that which is begotten always is sown. When I asked her why she had chosen that quote in particular, she said that it reminded her of her grandmother, who was a great believer in justice.”
She spoke not with pride at her greater knowledge of the enigmatic Miss Baxter, but with the straightforwardness of someone giving directions to a lost traveler.
Miss Charlotte took a leisurely sip of water. “When did anyone here last see Miss Baxter?”
Another awkward pause.
“Not for months,” said Miss Ellery. “I dare say I haven’t seen her since September.”
“Probably about the same time for us,” said Mr. Steele. Then, at his wife: “Would you not say, my dear?”
Mrs. Steele nodded. “That’s correct, my dear.”
“Miss Fairchild,” asked Miss Charlotte, “have you seen her since September, when you stayed with her on a day she wasn’t feeling well?”
Miss Fairchild shook her head.
“I saw her this past week,” said Mr. Peters breezily. “I was out for a stroll in the small hours of the night and she happened to be out and about, too. She was headed back inside, or I’d have escorted her on the rest of her walk.”
Mrs. Watson stared at him, unable to conceal her astonishment.
Miss Charlotte cocked her head. “How did she look?”
“It was dark, but she looked fine to me.”
“Funny you should mention her late-night stroll. I also saw her this week,” said Dr. Robinson with an easy demeanor, “to consult on her insomnia, of all things. She has a strong disdain for laudanum and wanted to know whether I had anything else that could help her. But she also rejected cannabis, chloral, and potassium bromide. In the end I recommended greater activities. In my experience there is no one who doesn’t sleep soundly after a ten-mile walk. But I most certainly didn’t advise her to do so at night.”
Mrs. Watson had not expected this corroboration. Robinson. Robinson was a most English name, yet she thought she heard a trace of a Continental accent in his speech.
“I saw her today itself,” said Mrs. Crosby.
Mrs. Watson had to suppress an urge to bang her hand on the table and shout, Now this is going too far!
“Is her insomnia better?” inquired Dr. Robinson immediately.
Mrs. Crosby shrugged. “She detests questions concerning her health, especially when something about it displeases her, so I didn’t ask. But she was cross about her father sending outsiders to the Garden.”
“Most understandable,” said Miss Charlotte amiably, as if she weren’t one of those loathsome outsiders. “Is there pudding, by the way?”
It took everyone in the room, including Mrs. Watson, a moment to understand that the topic had moved on from Miss Baxter.
“Yes,” said Miss Ellery, “there should be a nice suet pudding. Mrs. Brown has a way with boiled puddings.”