“I quite agree. However, there it sat. At some point, days before she died, Miss Inglewood removed the pennyroyal and replaced it with spearmint.”
“She did not want to get rid of the child she carried?”
“She’d lost it, but didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“She thought she could pressure Kendell to marry her. She also wanted her father to pressure him as well, which he wouldn’t do if she were not with child.”
“If she changed the canister contents to spearmint, how did she die?”
“Pennyroyal.”
“What?”
“Inglewood told his son to go to Folkestone to see if he could get pennyroyal for his sister. When he returned, he gave it to his father.”
“And his father placed it in the canister.”
James nodded. “Inglewood wanted his daughter to die.”
“No!”
“Oh, yes. And Miss Inglewood knew it. When the pot was brewed, she thought she would triumph over her father and show him she was perfectly healthy. She saw that as some kind of revenge on her father. He wanted to control everyone in his family, and she wasn’t having that. She wanted to hurt him, hurt his pride.”
“They had odd family relations.”
“Yes. We know from the diary that Inglewood did inflict pain if he didn’t get his way. Cecilia and I imagine that is why Lady Inglewood does not come to Sunday services often, for the bruises she needs to hide.”
“You consider making this information public will cause him to reveal himself?”
“That is the plan. I do not expect it will happen as swiftly as Cecilia does, but eventually, he will break. You saw him at the church. He was angry with me because George helped us prepare the estate for today’s gathering. Said it was beneath an Inglewood.”
“He does think well of himself.”
“And will attempt to use his magistrate role to punish me,” James said drolly as they approached the front door of Summerworth.
“I assume I am to share these revelations?” Aldrich asked as they entered the manor.
“In akeep-this-to-yourselfmanner.”
Aldrich rubbed his hands together, his eyes laughing. “But, of course!”
Cecilia had been correct,James mused some ninety minutes later as he looked around the throng in his house and spilling out across the terrace and into Cecilia’s garden. The parish had come to honor Mrs. Jones and give condolences to the vicar and to Hope and Faith Jones. He almost wished Inglewood was present to see the attendance and the stories exchanged about her many kindnesses. Then again, not, for then the stories of his family and his perfidy would not have been shared. And his perfidy was being shared. He saw it in the faces of those who learned of it, the frowns, the anger.
He walked through the rooms of his house and out onto the terrace, exchanging solemn nods and condolences. He felt pleased with the appearance of the house after its two years ofrenovations. It did not have ornate rooms like the earl had in his manor; nonetheless, it was beautiful. They’d done well.
Per prior agreement with Cecilia, neither he nor she mentioned the diary or what they knew. They let those they had told ahead of the gathering carry that torch forward.
He knew their plan had been successful when the Earl of Mortlake approached him on the terrace.
“A word, Sir James,” Mortlake said, coming up to him, a mug of ale in hand. “I heard you have possession of a diary of Miss Inglewood’s.”
“It is actually Lady Branstoke who claims the diary,” James corrected.
“Are you certain it is hers and not something planted to cause problems in Mertonhaugh?”
“We are confident it is authentic,” James replied.
