“I promise,” I say. “The weekend went fast—I can’t believe I have to go back to work tomorrow.”
“Have you talked to Jack at all?”
“We’ve texted a few times. He called last night but I missed it. I’m surprised he even noticed I was gone—he’s been camped out at the office all weekend. I think he’s just happy I’ve found a hobby and other people to spend time with so he doesn’t feel bad for leaving me alone so much.”
“Bleh—men.”
“Elyse,” Kat appears then, her eyes tracking between Aubrey and me. I get the sense she’s been listening; I get the sense that this woman isalwayslistening. “Take a walk with me.”
My eyebrows lift before I catch myself and smile. “Sure.”
I stand and she holds her arm out for me. We loop at the elbow and she guides me away from the pool and out of Aubrey’s earshot. Most of the other women have left already—only Susan remains as she waits for her car to arrive to take her back to the city.
“I’m so glad we had the chance to connect this weekend,” Kat finally says.
I nod. “Me too.”
She trains her eyes on the woodline in the distance. “I wanted to have a word with you privately before you head home. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” I smile. We walk down a worn path that leads between two fields of wildflowers. A few cows graze in the distance, shaded by the trees that line one of the fields. Honey bees hover between blooms of tulips and violets and lilies. “It’s so beautiful here, like something out of a movie.”
Kat hums quietly, eyes focused on the path in front of us as a soft smile lifts her lips. “Isn’t it funny how beauty and deadliness can coexist so peacefully?”
“Excuse me?” I think maybe I’ve misheard. “Deadliness? What do you mean?”
“Well, get too close to some of these flowers and it could be deadly.”
“Really?” I scan the fields of beauty surrounding us. “Which ones?”
“Almost all of them.” She catches the look of shock thatcrosses my face. “Oleander, snakeroot, the flower of the castor bean, even hydrangeas—so common in weddings—actually contain trace amounts of cyanide. And bleeding hearts contain properties capable of causing breathing problems and seizures. Even tulips have a poisonous sap that can cause rashes. The weaponization of plants is one of the few ways women have been able to wield power and exact revenge—especially within relationships—throughout history. Wives in India used a lovely white flower that had the nickname ‘the devil’s trumpet’ for its deadly and hallucinogenic properties. All around us toxins are hiding in the pretty and the ordinary. Have you heard of Aqua Tofana?”
“No, I haven’t.” I watch a fat bumble bee bob and weave around a group of crocuses.
“During the Italian Renaissance, a woman named Giulia Tofana made makeup and perfumes, and one of her products, called Aqua Tofana, was a poison made with arsenic and belladonna—a beautiful purple flower with striking black berries. She sold her specialty to women in abusive, arranged marriages, which were so common at the time. She was eventually caught and tortured, and she admitted to killing more than six hundred men over the span of twenty years—wives would only need to add a few drops of the tasteless liquid to wine or soup and their husbands would get progressively sicker over the days from an ailment that seemed totally natural—post-mortem exams showed no sign of the poison.”
A shiver courses through me. “Do you grow belladonna?”
“Of course, it’s a member of the nightshade family—one of the most common plant species in the world. Tomatoes, eggplant, peppers—all are in the nightshade family. Most home gardens have at least a few nightshades. It’s fascinating, isn’tit? So many different flavors of evil and sometimes what’s dismissed as simply pretty is really concealing the most sinister ingredients of all.”
I nod, at a loss for words. These women aren’t just regular, run-of-the-mill garden society women like they let on. Their focus on women’s issues runs deeper than I anticipated. I hadn’t considered all the ways women exacted justice throughout the course of history. Of course poison would have been one method, given their access to kitchen items and gardens and cooking, but it’s especially chilling to think of it included as a tasteless addition in everyday soups and wine.
“I feel like I’m honoring all the women who came before me by growing these beautiful, toxic flowers. We don’t need them anymore, of course—we have a justice system that’s set up on the grounds of equality. Well, it’s supposed to be, anyway. Plus, few of these flowers would escape a toxicology report now. We live in such an advanced world.” Kat stops at the end of the path that leads to the fence that keeps the few dairy cows enclosed. She notices me watching them grazing in the distance. “We have goats too—there’s nothing better than fresh goat cheese and raw milk. It’s a shame it’s not more widely available. Such a treat.”
“Do you harvest honey, too?” I ask, thinking of the bees.
“We have a beekeeper who comes a few times a year.” She smiles.
“Tempsford Manor is so self-sufficient.”
“Well, not even close, but it is nice to have the freshest ingredients. It’s why I wanted to move to the country to begin with. I have a bit of a green thumb; I just don’t have the time to nurture these things like I wish I could.”
We remain silent for a few long moments.
“Well, enough of gardening talk—I wanted to touch basewith you on something. The Society thoroughly vets all prospective members. I’m aware that you see a therapist on 57th for anxiety and sleep issues—I’d like to respectfully request that you keep all interactions and communications you have related to The Society confidential. This is crucial to our success and discretion is the first requirement for all members.”
“Oh.” Anxiety spirals through me as I realize that somehow, despite the fact that my records with my therapist are supposed to be confidential, this woman knows more about me than she should.
“I need your verbal confirmation, Elyse,” Kat nudges.
