‘Do I assume that you refer to Miss Ruby Pabbay, whose name I heard mentioned in the kitchen? Tell me more of her.’
‘Ruby was the last kitchenmaid but one. Grandmother heard her singing one day, decided that her voice was something out of the ordinary and sent her to have it trained. Ruby, of course, now puts on airs and graces and is very much disliked by the servants. She has every reason to expect that she has been left enough money to complete her training. Should this prove not to be the case and that the legatees disown her, the thing she wants most will be denied her. This, to my mind, clears her completely. In any case, she was in London.’
‘So the contents of Mrs Leyden’s Will are not known?’
‘There have been hints, even threats, of course, and Ruby, so I hear from another member of the family, claims to have seen a draft of the provisions, but Ruby is such a liar that this claim can be discounted.’
‘Yet you seemed confident that, either in a positive or a negative sense, Ruby’s future is assured and you claim that—’
‘She is the very last person to wish my grandmother dead. Yes, that is so and for the reasons I have given. Shall you attend the inquest?’
‘Certainly. I assume that, although it is to be held in this house, the public will be admitted.’
‘I suppose so. We shall all be present, of course. I must say that I am dreading it.’
‘Oh, the proceedings will be formal, I imagine.’
‘What does that mean? I am quite unversed in these matters.’
‘Evidence of identification will be taken, the medical evidence will follow and the business will be adjourned, no doubt, while the police make further enquiries.’
‘But if the death was accidental?’
‘So much the better for you all.’
The inquest, held on the following morning in the great dining-room at Headlands, attracted a very small audience. For one thing, the house was a long way from the village and, for another, the fact that the proceedings were held in a private house deterred the more timid and respectful from attending. The coroner sat at a desk which had been imported from what had been Fiona’s little office, the police, in the person of a detective-superintendent and a sergeant, sat on hard chairs at the side of the room and, for good measure, a police constable stood in the doorway. The witnesses were in armchairs and the public, including Dame Beatrice, in the row behind them.
Next to the kitchenmaid at the end of the row of witnesses which included a grey-haired woman whom Dame Beatrice supposed was Bluebell’s mother, sat another servant who was subsequently revealed as the parlourmaid who had waited at table on the occasion under review and another young woman whom Dame Beatrice could not identify.
A man whom she took to be the family lawyer was seated in the front row next to Maria Porthcawl. The jury, looking wooden to disguise their sense of their own importance, were on chairs of varying heights and were at the side of the room opposite the superintendent and his sergeant.
The proceedings were informal and seemed unreal. It was both fitting and incongruous that they should be held in the very room in which Romula Leyden had died. The family shifted a little in their chairs as the coroner opened the inquest. He made the usual little speech and, after Maria had given evidence of the identity of the deceased, the medical evidence was taken and those who did not know it already were informed that the cause of death was poisoning by aconitine.
‘Have you formed any opinion as to how the poison came to be administered?’
‘I find that the deceased partook of a condiment made from the grated root of aconitum napellus, the monkshood or wolfsbane.’
‘And such a condiment would be poisonous?’
‘Highly poisonous. It is fair to add that such a root has been mistaken for horseradish.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’ The doctor, who had been standing beside the coroner to give his evidence, returned to his chair, picked up the hat and case he had left there and hurried away to get back to his morning surgery.
The next witness was the superintendent. ‘I was called in by Dr Mace to this house to investigate a case of sudden and unexpected death. The doctor suspected the deceased had taken poison. I sent specimens such as I need not name to be analysed. The poison was diagnosed as aconitine, known to be deadly. I set about finding out where the pot of pickle had come from and learned it had been prepared in this very kitchen.’
He was interrupted by a stricken cry of ‘I never! I swear and declare I never done it!’ from Mrs Plack, who was rebuked by the coroner, comforted by the kitchenmaid and spent the next few minutes quietly sobbing.
The superintendent was invited to resume his story. ‘Upon further enquiry I elicited that the pickle or sauce or condiment in question had been prepared last Friday ready for the Sunday dinner of roast beef, it keeping that long, in spite of cream being one of the ingredients, because of the vinegar. I ascertained that a vegetable substance reputed to be horseradish had been grated up ready for use by the kitchenmaid, Sonia Hills—’
‘Oo-er! I never knew what it were! I swear I never!’
‘Quiet, please, Miss Hills. You will have an opportunity to state your case later on. Go on, please, Superintendent.’
‘Having been apprised of the nature of the poison which had resulted in death of the deceased, I set about finding out where it could have come from, it seeming to me unlikely as it had come from a greengrocer or grower.’
‘Will you explain that to the jury?’
‘No need,’ growled a juryman. ‘Anybody as would dig up the wolfsbane, thinking it were horseradish, must ha’ been mad. Nobody hereabouts ud make a mistake like that. Monkshood be another name for the wolfsbane and everybody know them purple flowers. In flower that is already. Got some in my garden I have.’
‘Thank you, Isaac Trewethy. You have made your point. Superintendent?’
‘Trewethy has said what was in my mind, sir. Monkshood is a common enough garden plant in these parts.’
‘Is there not a wild variety, though?’
‘Ah, there is, but there again you couldn’t mistake it for horseradish, sir, not if you saw the actual plant growing. Horseradish—’ he consulted his notebook—‘otherwise armoracia rusticana, natural order cruciferae, does not resembel aconitum anglicum, the wild species of aconitum napellus, as mentioned by Dr. Mace—’
‘Yes, yes, Superintendent!’
‘Natural order ranunculaceae,’ continued the Superintendent, unmoved by the coroner’s testy tone, ‘in any respect as would cause it to be mistooken—’
‘We take your point. You mean that the poisonous root of the monkshood could not have got into Mrs Plack’s kitchen by accident. Call Sonia Hills. Now, Miss Hills, there is nothing to be alarmed about. Last Friday you grated up a root of what you supposed to be horseradish. Come right up to my table. Now here, as you see, I have two vegetable substances. Look at them very carefully. You may handle them if you wish.’
‘Not me!’ said Sonia, backing away as though she feared the roots would explode.
‘I understand your cautiousness. Will you point out which of these two roots resembles that which you grated up last Friday?’
The girl stared at the objects for several seconds, then hesitantly she pointed out one of the specimens in front of her.
‘Reckon that’s the one,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Thank you, Miss Hills. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, these two roots are identical in substance. Both are genuinely attested horseradish roots dug up yesterday morning under the personal supervision of the police. It is clear, therefore, that the witness is unable to distinguish between the root of the horseradish and the root of the monkshood or wolfsbane. That is all, Miss Hills. You will appreciate, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that, once the fatal root was grated up, no cook on earth would have known that it was not horseradish, so there is no point in my calling upon Mrs Plack to testify to that fact.’