Butler coughed deferentially. “A very small world this is, madams. That cove… person is none other than Reggie Patterson; he and I were partners once upon a time in a pickpocketing h’enterprise.”
“Really, Butler, you should be ashamed,” reproved Hyacinth.
“Agreed, madam. I should have known better than to work with someone so incompetent.” Butler flexed his fingers. “I’ll see to your car, Mrs. Haskell. There’s nothing I can’t start, not h’even if the motor’s missing.”
“Where the hell am I?” came a drowsy growl from the back seat. It began to rain, a few drops at first, then a gauzy blur, like curtains blowing at the window. The Tramwells were talking to Magdalene, their exclamations of concern laced with professional excitement. Finally, the full horror of the afternoon’s events clobbered me. I took Ben’s hand, glad he couldn’t see my face clearly. “We’re on our way home, darling. There was a little accident with the pressure cooker.”
Strangely, he looked more pleased than not. “Really! Well, you know what I think of those things. I’ve been having the most awful dreams, fraught with menace. I dreamed I was dying.”
“You’ll live,” I promised fervently.
I was alone in the drawing room. Magdalene had led the Tramwells to the bathroom so they could freshen up. Butler was in the kitchen. And Poppa was with his son. Ben had insisted he was fine. His face and hands were only slightly reddened and sore from the steam, and his headache was negligible. Poppa had gone the colour of putty when he learned about the pressure cooker, and although he quickly rallied, saying that a mishap of that nature was preferable to rotten eggs being thrown by the audience, it wasn’t hard to persuade him to take a little rest himself and keep his son company.
The women were back.
“Yes, Giselle does have everything nice and clean; my son won’t have it any other way.” As I got up from the sofa, Magdalene paused behind me and whispered, “These are your friends and this is your house, but you won’t encourage them to stay long, will you?”
Both sisters heard, but gave no sign of taking offence. As we settled ourselves, Butler entered with a loaded tea tray.
“I can highly recommend the cherry cake,” he informed the Tramwells. “Should anything further be required, kindly knock on the wall with the poker-this h’establishment lacks a bell.”
As he padded from the room, Hyacinth adjusted her chair and drew out the familiar green notebook. “Where”-she flexed an orange-lipped smile-“do we begin?”
I handed out cups of tea. “Magdalene, the Misses Tramwell are private detectives. I want you to tell them about the Pattersons, after which they will have something to tell you.”
Abigail watched from her portrait.
“My dear Ellie.” Primrose clinked her teaspoon into her saucer. “Naturally, Flowers Detection will be delighted to do everything possible to assist Mrs. Elijah Haskell against the forces of evil; indeed, we regret that more pressing matters placed the Raincoat Man low on Butler’s job list. As for…” she floundered, “I am not sure it is wise to discuss a certain organisation…”
“It isn’t only wise, it’s morally right,” I said firmly. “Ben is Magdalene’s only child and she nearly died three times having him. Besides which, I think she may unknowingly have the answers to some questions of mine.”
“I don’t know about that.” On the edge of the seat, her feet tight together, Magdalene tugged at her cardigan. “And before I say anything about the Pattersons’ persecution of Eli and me”-her eyes nipped from one sister to the other-“I do need to know if you charge by the hour. Otherwise I won’t know whether to talk at a run or a walk.”
Butler replenished the teapot twice during Magdalene’s story. The Tramwells commented and exclaimed. They expressed sympathy and a willingness to assist, but I knew that their curiosity having been appeased, they were anxious to discuss Ben’s close call.
“Magdalene,” I said, moving to the edge of my seat so I could catch her if she swayed, “you face a very difficult problem. In fact, you face two. What happened to Ben at the church hall was no accident. It was a vicious attempt on his life.”
Her screech brought an I-told-you-so look to Primrose’s face. Out came the smelling salt bottle and at the close of the next minute Magdalene had a lavendar shawl around her shoulders, properly set for her hour of suffering. Throughout the horrible disclosures which followed, she resorted to the smelling salt frequently and was so silent I was afraid shock might have affected her vocal cords.
I took over the story from the Tramwells at the point where they entered Delacorte’s to find me crouched over Ann’s body.
“When I retrieved that note to Felicity Friend from Ann’s bag and consumed it, I foolishly believed my involvement had ended. Admittedly, I felt a momentary alarm when I read a confidential in her column to Heartbroken, but I was confident it was a coincidence.”
Magdalene’s eyes closed. Was she praying for strength to forgive me?
“Completely understandable, my dear.” Primrose’s small papery hand closed over mine. “Your mind rebelled at the possibility of the unbearable. But it is apparent that the late Mrs. Delacorte had discussed with The Founder your avowed interest in joining the widows. What amazes me,” she said with a tiny sigh, “is that anyone whom Mrs. Delacorte put up for membership should be accepted as a viable candidate. One must assume that your being known to The Founder stood you in good stead.”
Hyacinth took up from Primrose. “We were duplicitous in saying that we were out on a scenic drive this afternoon. The confidential you mentioned, Ellie, did not escape our notice.” Her voice was grave. “We, too, hoped it was a coincidence, but Flowers Detection leaves nothing to chance. Perceiving the grim possibilities of the cookery demonstration, we parked at the side of the hall in readiness for a quick getaway and, when everyone had gone inside, moved to stand outside the main entrance, where we could hear what was going on without our presence disturbing you, Ellie. I had brought along my grandfather’s duelling pistol”-she patted the carpetbag-“and when the commotion commenced, we were about to charge to the rescue when the Raincoat Man burst around from the other side of the hall, barged against us without so much as an apology and went inside.”
“An unsettling moment.” Primrose crumbled her cake. “But after overhearing what he had to say, we thought it best to protect our cover and let him make the rescue. One does, at times, have to practise a professional detachment.” Her face puckered. “I do hope you understand, Ellie?”
I took a slice-two slices, actually-of cake. “What I understand is that someone unknown fiddled with the pressure cooker valve and from behind the screen of steam a chloroforming hand was pressed against poor Ben’s face.” I stopped. Magdalene was crumpling. However, before I could touch her, she straightened, lips so compressed they disappeared. I continued, keeping a watchful eye on her. “And then came that awful Dr. Bordeaux. What sort of accident, I wonder, would have befallen Ben at The Peerless?”
“One can only surmise, of course, but one suspects he would have been sent spiralling down the stairs onto the marble floor or got tossed out of a window.”
I reached out and took Magdalene’s cold hand.
“Oh dear, yes.” Primrose brushed cake crumbs from her fingers. “There would have been a distraught nurse sobbing into her starched handkerchief at the inquest, saying she had only left the patient for a moment, and when she got back, he was gone. He must have become disoriented waking up in a strange place and… thank you, Butler, I will have a ginger biscuit… I doubt she would have been sufficiently composed to go on.”
“But why? Why did it happen? Why did Ben get put on the widows’ hit list? Ann said there were four stages to the application process. First, the heartbreak letter to Dear Felicity Friend; second, a telephone contact asking if you want your husband murdered”-Magdalene was going over the side of her chair again. Butler realigned her and I rushed on-“third, the confidential item in Dear Felicity’s column delivering the message, your application is approved. Fourth, the initiation fee. But I was never contacted by phone, meaning Ben should have been safe.”