“We must act quickly to keep the guests from this scene.” Nate paced. “Thomas, help me pull her out. Bridget, go inside and get a sheet to cover the body, then send the footman to fetch the magistrate. But tell him to be discreet.” Nate glanced at the sky. Dawn was breaking through the clouds. “We still have a few hours before the guests start filtering outside for their morning activities.”
Bridget had been rooted to the spot, but the idea of the guests enduring the sight of Abigail’s bloated dead body propelled her forward, and she raced to the house with Bijou following at her heels.
*
Less than anhour later, Magistrate Hunt stood over Abigail’s lifeless body. He peeled back the sheet, exposing the young woman’s blue lips and dull green eyes that stared into the abyss. She looked as cold and lifeless as a neglected porcelain doll.
The magistrate kneeled and smoothed his hand over her eyes, closing them, and she instantly looked more peaceful. “So, you think someone killed her, do you?” Magistrate Hunt turned to Nate. “There doesn’t seem to be any injuries to her body—no blows to the head or marks around her neck. Could your housemaid swim?”
“I doubt it, but it’s a long shallow fountain. All she had to do was stand up,” Nate pointed out.
“Not if she was inebriated or otherwise impaired.” The magistrate stood up and surveyed the area. His eyes landed on Bijou, who sniffed something on the ground, whimpered, and retreated.
“I say, what’s the mutt found?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
“What is it, boy?” Bridget bent to stroke the pup’s fur as he cowered next to her. “What scared you?”
Magistrate Hunt stepped forward and inspected the area where Bijou had been sniffing. Then he bent and picked something off the ground. “It’s a small pouch of mushrooms,” he said, emptying the little bag and holding the contents in his palm for the others to see.
Bridget, Nate, and Thomas peered at the fungi in the magistrate’s leather-gloved hand.
Bridget glanced at Nate, who said, “It think it’s—”
“Deadly,” Thomas said decisively.
All three turned to the gardener.
“Deadly?” Bridget asked. “Do you mean these wild mushrooms? The ones that give people Kubla Khan visions? Why should they be deadly?”
“No.” Thomas’s gray eyes danced with fear. “These might look the same as the harmless ones, but they’re not. These here will kill you.”
“Good Lord!” Nate said. “I warned them about this! I specifically told them to check with you, Thomas.”
“Aye, so they did. I begged them not to go hunting for wild mushrooms by their selves.” Thomas’s lined face took on a pained expression. “That’s why I picked the mushrooms for them myself—I know which ones are right. I gave them the right ones, I swear it.”
“Of course, you did, Thomas,” Bridget said. There was no doubt in her mind that Thomas had picked the correct mushrooms. He’d lived in the Lake District all his life and was an expert on its plants. Even with her knowledge, she always left the mushroom foraging to Cook or Thomas, and she never let Bijou near any wild fungi.
“This poor lass must have gone out looking for some on her own.” Thomas’s entire face seemed to crumble as he stared at the mushroom.
“Just which gentlemen are you referring to, Mr. Thomas?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
The gardener glanced at Nate, clearly afraid to articulate the truth aloud.
“I believe he is referring to our guests Lord Frederick, Lord Dodsworth, and Mr. Jefferson,” Nate said. “They read about vision-inducing fungi in some ancient text and wanted to use them for relaxation purposes—as the poets do with laudanum.”
“Why didn’t they use laudanum then?” the magistrate barked. “It’s much safer than foraging for wild mushrooms.”
Nate shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose they thought this would be more interesting.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with your housemaid. Why would she go in search of vision-inducing mushrooms? It seems like very odd behavior for a maidservant.” The magistrate raised his eyebrows at Bridget as if silently admonishing her. She shrank back, remembering his painful rebuke when Madam Bouffant died—“Mr. De Lacey would not have approved.”
“You’re correct, magistrate.” Nate interrupted the cold silence that followed. “It certainly is odd behavior for a servant, and we do not condone it. I warned Abigail a few days ago about her inappropriate conduct and threatened her with prompt dismissal if it continued.”
“Is that so?” Magistrate Hunt’s creased brows cleared, and he nodded his approval. “Well, then, it seems clear that your wayward servant ate a poisonous mushroom after mistaking it for harmless fungi and suffered the deadly consequences. It’s a case of bad judgment all around.”
“Aye, but death wouldn’t be immediate,” Thomas said. “There’d be a good deal of stomach pain, nausea, and the like that could last for some time.”
“Yes, well, that makes sense. I conclude that she ate the fungi at some point before leaving the servants’ quarters and then became weak and sick as she ventured into the garden where she stumbled toward the fountain, no doubt wanting a sip of water or to cool her face. She must have been carrying this purse of mushrooms on her person and dropped it at some point before she fell into the water.With the poison eating away at her insides, she didn’t have the strength to save herself.”
