She nodded to him and turned to the morning room.
She paused at the doorway for a moment, looking at her guests. They looked the picture of misery. That wouldn’t do. “Hello, my dears! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” she asked walking briskly into the room. The young women sat side by side on the sofa, holding each other’s hands. They stood up quickly. Cecilia saw their eyes were puffy and red when they looked at her. She recognized one of the young women as Augusta Sandiford.
“Excuse us for presumption,” said Augusta. “But we really need to talk to you.”
“I am happy to talk to you. I find, however, that I do not know your companion…”
“Oh! Yes, I’m sorry,” Augusta said, red sweeping up her neck. “This is my friend Martha Broadbank.”
Cecilia smiled at Martha. “I have heard your name before. It’s nice to meet you. Now, let’s sit, and please have a biscuit and lemonade. Cook makes a delicious lemonade.”
She sat in an armchair at a right angle to them.
“So, tell me, what is the matter? What has you all in a dither?” she asked gently.
“Oh, Lady Branstoke, we killed her!” Augusta said, her voice breaking as she forced the words out.
“We didn’t know!” wailed Martha.
“Didn’t know what?” Cecilia asked.
Martha sniffed, followed by a shuddering breath. “We—we didn’t know pennyroyal was poisonous.”
Augusta nodded. She swiped a wadded and damp handkerchief across her nose. “Until you told me pennyroyal was dangerous, that it could easily kill if not handled properly, we just—just thought it was a tea that could get rid of an unwanted child.”
“Oh, I see. You’d never heard Mrs. Jones say anything against it?”
“She did. She stopped us after Sunday service and warned us.”
“But you did not believe her.”
Martha dropped her head to the side, scrunching her nose as she did so. “No,” she said softly, as if she were afraid to speak.
“Why not?” Cecilia asked.
“Because Georgia said not to,” Martha admitted in a smaller voice.
Cecilia sighed. “You didn’t assume it was the tea that killed her?”
Augusta shook her head. “The coroner and even her father—and he’s the magistrate—said it was iliac passion.”
“Why don’t you believenowthat she died of iliac passion?”
“Because Mrs. Jones is dead,” Augusta said meekly.
Cecilia looked at them silently as she chewed on the biscuit Cook had provided with the lemonade. It amazed her how completely Georgia had had them under her power. She couldn’t have been all that manipulative and sarcastic to her friends to have earned the loyalty she saw in these young women.
“You’ll have to explain your thinking to me, but we—Sir James and I—believe you are correct in thinking she died from pennyroyal, but you cannot believe you are responsible. MissInglewood asked many people to procure pennyroyal for her, and most did. Besides yourselves, we know Mrs. Hester, her brother George, the Cathcart twins, and Mr. Vernon purchased pennyroyal for her. And there may have been others we do not know about. We’ve been told the apothecary in Maidstone is sold out of the plant.”
Augusta’s eyes grew round. “It was not cheap.”
Cecilia nodded. “No, I don’t suppose it was,” she said patiently. “Why do you suppose Miss Inglewood asked so many people to purchase pennyroyal for her?”
Martha shrugged, one corner of her lip lifting as she did so. “Because she could?” she suggested.
Augusta nodded, a frown now creasing her brow. “She would want to see who did and who didn’t.”
“Why would that be important?”
