Mother has a headache this evening. Father dined in his study again. I could hear his voice raised—poor George catching the storm, no doubt. He has been away to Folkestone on some errand for Father, or so Mrs. Hester let slip. I hardly care what fool’s errand it was; I only wish he’d grow a spine and tell Father to hang himself.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll let Mrs. Hester brew her tea just to see her flutter. I’ll drink it before her, make her believe father’s plan has worked, and then smile at her when nothing happens. She knows it is spearmint, but she’ll fusseven more, twisting her hands together as she does, sure Father will blame her whether I live or die. I choose to live.
Let him try to master me. I am not the one who will fall.
Cecilia laid the book on the desk between them. She touched her fingertips against her lips for a moment, then dropped her hand on top of the book. “This has become terrifying to read!” she told James, her breath catching. “I’m confused as to what Mrs. Hester did and did not know. She and Mrs. Inglewood are the only people we haven’t talked to who we should have talked to.”
“According to Inglewood, Lady Inglewood has been indisposed with grief—but most likely with fear based on what we are learning about the man,” James said.
“Mrs. Hull is a friend of Mrs. Hester’s. I’ll send a note around to Mrs. Hull to see if she might arrange a meeting with Mrs. Hester later today or early tomorrow so I might speak with her. I should do that right now.” She crossed the room to the massive walnut desk and retrieved paper and pen.
James sauntered across the room to stand by her as she wrote. “A secretly arranged meeting is probably the only way you’ll get to speak with her if the magistrate is as guilty as we now believe.”
Cecilia nodded as she finished the note. James rang the bell for Coggins.
“See that Daniel takes this note to the vicarage immediately and gives it directly to Mrs. Hull. If she isn’t there, tell him to find her as he did us yesterday. He is to wait until she reads it and he’s to ask if she has any message to send back for Lady Branstoke.”
With the note on its way, Cecilia and James returned to the table by the window. Cecilia reopened the diary. She slid her hand down the next diary page, her lips compressing slightly.“Even though we know what happened, this attitude Georgia has toward drinking the tea, and our knowing she was not as clever as she imagined, feels like a fist squeezing my breath away. My eyes threaten tears even though she was alive when she wrote this.”
“Do you wish me to take over reading the diary?”
She flipped through the pages and shook her head. “No. I will continue. There is only one more entry remaining.”
May 3rd
La! Mrs. Hester finally brought me the tea, and she brought it to the cottage, as I requested. Not to my bedroom. Now this farce will end.
“She didn’t know how correct she would prove to be when she wrote that last sentence,” Cecilia said sadly.
Her hands are shaking like a servant caught stealing. I told her she needn’t look so grim; it’s only spearmint, after all. I smiled when I saw the steam curl up—victory smells sweet!
Still…it tastes strange. More bitter than I remember. Not unpleasant, exactly, just different. I teased her, asked if she’d changed her recipe, and she only twisted her hands before her shapeless maroon dress and said Father wished me to drink it all.
“Dear lord, she didn’t realize—” She looked up at James, tears suddenly sliding down her cheeks.
James quickly rose from his chair and came over to her, drawing her up into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I knew this happened, but reading it like this… She didn’t know…” Cecilia said softly. “My eyes are blurry…”
“I’ll finish reading it,” James said.
He is in the garden on our property, across the stone wall, pacing, waiting for me to obey. I’ll finish the cup, then go to him and tell him what a fool he is—how easily I outwitted him.
Hmm, my stomach is reacting to the bitterness I taste. How much spearmint did Mrs. Hester use to brew this tea? Any tea, in too large a quantity or over-brewed, can taste bitter.
I’m starting to perspire. How odd. My head feels?—
Where did he get this?
My stomach
“There is an ink smear after ‘stomach’ that trails down the page,” James told her.
“How could she go on writing as she did once she understood what was happening? She knew she’d been poisoned,” Cecilia asked, clinging to James.
“In her way, she was an inordinately strong woman, even if wrong-headed,” James said, stroking Cecilia’s hair and gently kissing her temple. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her close in silence as her tears fell.
Cecilia reveled in his embrace. It gave her comfort, comfort, and love she felt certain Georgia Inglewood never experienced. She relaxed against him, her eyes closed for a few moments more, then she pulled back and looked up into his beloved face. She smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
