“Aye, sar,” Mrs. Hull said.
“One of her last words waspennyroyal. It sounded like she was telling someone not to use pennyroyal. She said:No Pennyroyal. Stop stop.Do you have any notion what she might have meant by that?”
“No pennyroyal. Stop stop,” Mrs. Hull repeated softly to herself, her brow furrowing in thought. She shook her head and looked up at first James, then the vicar. “No, I can’t say as I do.What I do know is Mrs. Jones said even if she had pennyroyal here, she wouldn’t give it to her. This was not the first time Miss Inglewood had been with child, you know,” she said with a knowing look.
The gentlemen exchanged looks. “No, Mrs. Hull, I didn’t know that,” James said softly.
Mrs. Hull nodded sagely. “And it were less than a year ago, too. Mrs. Jones said she had given her the pennyroyal the first time?—”
“No,” protested the vicar. “My Miranda wouldn’t do that.”
Mrs. Hull stared at him for a long moment. “I’m sorry, vicar, but you are wrong. She did. But she told me she couldn’t do it again, and so she also told Miss Inglewood. That young lady came to visit—I guess it was a week before she died—Miss Inglewood, that be, not Mrs. Jones. She told her she didn’t have any, which was true. She said pennyroyal is too strong and it would be too hard on Miss Inglewood’s body a second time. She could die or at least become sickly. Told her even if she had the herb, she wouldn’t give her any. Miss Inglewood started screaming at her then, something awful, and ran out of the rectory.”
“Do you know for a fact that there is no pennyroyal in Mrs. Jones’ stillroom?” James asked her.
“Are you accusing Mrs. Jones of lying?” Mrs. Hull demanded, clearly affronted.
James let a ghost of a smile touch his lips. He liked Mrs. Hull’s loyalty. “No; however, sometimes people forget or misplace things. And I imagine it would be easy to do that in a stillroom.”
“Humph,” Mrs. Hull grunted as she looked at him side-eyed. Then she appeared to relax a little. “I believed her, and I think folks who knew her would take her word. But truthfully, I cain’t say. I ain’t been in that stillroom for nigh on a month. Haven’thad a reason to as there’s so much to do in the gardens, planting and weeding, and not much yet available to harvest this time of year.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hull. When you get the opportunity, I would request you check her stillroom.”
“For what?”
“For anything out of the ordinary.”
While James visited the vicar,Cecilia and her maid, Sarah, walked down into the village. Cecilia didn’t have a decided destination. She was walking for inspiration, and intuition told her where to go. The villagers were, by nature, friendly and always up for listening to the latest scrap of gossip. Gossip wasn’t Cecilia’s favored occupation; however, she owned it could aid in investigations—particularly in villages seemingly ruled by gossip.
They walked past the pub. The door stood propped open, and from the dark interior, she heard the murmur of voices, but she was not wont to look for answers in the pub in the morning when only those who lived to imbibe dwelled there during the day.
As they walked past the pub, Cecilia detected the smell of bread baking. It wafted to them on a light morning breeze from the bakery two buildings further down the road. The old Tudor building had a stone-walled ground floor and a wattle and daub first floor that jutted out over the lower level, shading the door and display window below.
“I think a nice warm bun might be a fine way to start our morning, don’t you, Sarah?” Cecilia suggested, steering her maid toward the building.
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Definitely, milady.”
“Lady Aldrich told me the baker makes good teething biscuits for the little ones. She purchased biscuits for Charlotte here until her cook devised a biscuit recipe very similar to the baker’s.”
Sarah made a face. “Babies make such a mess with those biscuits, leaving mushy bits everywhere.”
“I know; however, if it helps Hugh to get his teeth in, I won’t mind the extra cleaning he requires.”
“Just wait until he gets it in your hair and on yourself.”
Cecilia laughed. “I shall look forward to it!”
“Ugh!” Sarah returned.
There were two other village women in the bakery when they entered. They moved back to allow her immediate access to the baker; however, Cecilia waved them back into her position. “I just arrived. Please, go ahead. I need to look around and decide what I want,” she told them with a warm smile.
The women looked disconcerted; however, they did as she asked.
Cecilia saw loaves of bread on the shelves along the wall and different types of biscuits and muffins on the shelf in front of Mrs. Rutledge, the baker. A young girl of thirteen or fourteen years came out of the back with a large, wooden paddle laden with more loaves of bread for the shelves.
“The buns should be done now, too, Summer. Mustn’t let them burn.”
“No, Mama. I’ll get them straight away,” the young girl said, retreating to the back room with her paddle.
