Chapter 15

Though Cecilia did nap in the afternoon, she was rested and up before dinner. She chose a dark-green gown with a red shawl for dinner. She thought the red against her face would reflect more color to her wan complexion.

She left her room early and sat in one of the settees that were spaced at intervals down the wide hall of the ladies’ wing, waiting for Julia and Mrs. Vance.

Mrs. Vance was the first to join her, dressed in an icy-blue formal gown. She sat down next to Cecilia and, at Cecilia’s raised brows at her attire, Mrs. Vance laughed.

“Where else do I have to wear it?” she said merrily. “And it just gives my obnoxious nephews more reason to see me locked up here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Four years come September.”

“Why?”

“I became extremely depressed when my daughter died, followed in less than three months by my husband. My husband was in business with his brother. Other than our daughter, Rose, we had no children, so the business went to his brother and his brother’s sons, Enoch and Jeffrey. I asked to come here. I’d heard about it and at the time I couldn’t stand to be in my home where I’d lost two of my loved ones so close together. It sounded so restful, and it has been, up until now. And now I find I’m done with restful and I’m ready for adventure!” she said, rubbing her gloved hands together, her eyes twinkling.

“So why are your nephews being troublesome now?” Cecilia asked.

Mrs. Vance smiled. “They didn’t know until after their father died how much of the business I own and how much money was left to me. They are my heirs as I have no one else, but they want control of my money now.”

Cecilia nodded. Mrs. Vance must be one of the patients at Camden House who have been in residence since before Mr. Montgomery came. “How well did you know Mr. Montgomery?” she asked.

“Socially here at Camden House. Card playing is a regular activity in the evening in the library and he and I often played partners. Now that I think about it, that was his only social activity. Kept much to himself,” Mrs. Vance said thoughtfully. “He read a lot, was friendly enough when addressed. A quiet man.”

“Did he ever have visitors?” Cecilia asked.

“Not regularly, except for that cousin of his,” she said.

“Mr. Ratcliffe?” Cecilia clarified.

“Him? Nasty man. Not nice at all. Leering. Haughty. Looked down on all of us. I can tell you, Mr. Montgomery certainly did not like him and strived to be least in sight when he came. He’s also the banker for Camden Hall. Imagine a man like him as guardian to sweet Mr. Montgomery. Shameful.—A little over a year ago, shortly after Christmas, a nice Scotsman did come to visit him.”

“Which nice Scotsman?” Cecilia asked. Then she remembered the Scotsman who’d been in London and suddenly left when Mr. Montgomery was pronounced alive. “Mr. Cameron Ramsay?” she asked.

“Yes, that was his name. Mr. Montgomery’s Scottish solicitor, you know.”

Cecilia blinked in surprise. Mr. Ramsay was a solicitor? “No, I didn’t know,” she said. She looked across the wide hall.

How did Mr. Ramsay come to know he was alive? Did Mr. Montgomery send for him? If he knew, who else knew before Mr. Montgomery died? What would his Scottish solicitor be doing visiting him at Camden Hall? Unless?—

Cecilia turned back to look at Mrs. Vance. “Was Mr. Ramsay here to draw up Mr. Montgomery’s will?”

“Oh yes, he was. Did it very legal, too. I was one of the witnesses.”

Cecilia realized how valuable a resource Mrs. Vance could be for her investigation. “You were?” she said. “Who else?”

“Mrs. Worcham and Miss Hammond, who is not here anymore unfortunately. He would have liked Lady Stackpoole to be a witness but she had not yet returned from her yearly holiday visit to her home.”

Her lips twisted into an amused smile. “—Not a gentleman amongst us. Mr. Ramsay said it would still be legal. We all met in the library, back when visitors were allowed in there before Mr. Turnbull-Minchin and his rules,” she said disgustedly. “It was all formal. He also had me, and Mrs. Worcham, read the will. Miss Hammond didn’t read that well, not all that legal stuff, but I did since I helped my husband with his correspondence. I read it aloud for her benefit.”

“Can you tell me about the will?” Cecilia asked, her voice growing rebelliously hoarse again.

Mrs. Vance nodded. “That was the big surprise to all of us. He left everything to his wife with a man named Mr. Sedgewick as the co-executor for his estate with Mr. Ramsay, the solicitor. We had no idea he was married, and we were pledged to secret for that part. We couldn’t even tell Lady Stackpoole, and she was supposed to be one of the signatories. Because she wasn’t here, she couldn’t know.”

“Did you say Sedgewick?” Cecilia squeaked out. She grabbed her handkerchief from where she’d tucked it in her sleeve and tried to clear her throat. “Did you say Sedgewick?” she managed to ask again, before her cough came.

“Yes.” Mrs. Vance tilted her head. “Do you know him? Mr. Montgomery said he was a childhood friend and he trusted him to take care of his family.”

“Yes, yes, I do know him.” Cecilia coughed again, this cough cleared the congestion. “Mr. Sedgewick is the man the magistrate arrested for Mr. Montgomery’s murder.”

“I thought they arrested a peer,” Mrs. Vance said, her brow furrowing with confusion.

Cecilia nodded. “They did. Alastair Sedgewick, Earl of Soothcoor.”

Mrs. Vance’s confusion turned to a frown. “Hmm. He even made a statement in his will hoping this Mr. Sedgewick would marry his wife if he should die. Mrs. Worcham questioned him severely about this. She feared he was planning suicide. He had threatened that before. He laughed and assured her that the ‘others’ wouldn’t let him.”

“Do you know who the ‘others’ are?”

“Oh, that was just Mr. Montgomery’s little joke,” she said dismissively. “Those characters he played. He said by acting out through his characters he could better deal with his emotions.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Cecilia said with a long sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind me.—Julia!” Cecilia called out when she saw the woman come up the stairs.

Julia appeared agitated, her eyes over-bright. She walked quickly to where she and Mrs. Vance sat. “Cecilia! Your suspicions were correct. Many gentlemen came to visit Mr. Montgomery over the last couple of weeks. Including my husband!”

“Why should Baron Stackpoole wish to visit Mr. Montgomery?” Mrs. Vance asked.

“Because our son wishes to marry Mr. Montgomery’s daughter,” Julia explained.

Mrs. Vance laughed. “And with him not liking foreigners! I’ll bet that had him knotted up.”

“It did indeed. I can’t think why he would want to meet Mr. Montgomery. He has no control over Benjamin, financial or otherwise. It has had him practically foaming at the mouth in frustration that Benjamin does not need to listen to his father.”

“He is helpless in the face of Benjamin’s independence. Worse, Benjamin tries hard not to sneer at his father’s ideas. Stackpoole knows he is only trying not to laugh at him and that irritates him more. The majordomo told me he tried to give Mr. Montgomery a gift, it looked like a jar of something. Mr. Montgomery refused it. He heard him saying it wasn’t allowed. He said Baron Stackpoole looked frustrated and angry that his gift had been rejected and quickly left.”

Cecilia thought about what the gift could be, she wondered…“Mr. Turnbull-Minchin explained to my husband and I when we first came here that the one thing Dr. Worcham does not want the patients to have is any form of sweet. He said it causes agitations.”

Mrs. Vance nodded. “I’ve been here long enough to have seen that happen. Julia, remember Polly Reubart?”

Julia thought for a moment. “Yes, sometimes she would pass out if she had sweets. Faint dead away. In others, it can cause agitation. And I believe Dr. Worcham even wondered if sweets had anything to do with Miss George’s drowning in the canal.”

“Do you think the Baron was trying to give Mr. Montgomery something sweet?” Mrs. Vance asked.

Cecilia’s lips compressed, then she sighed out grimly at where her suspicious thoughts went. “Not just something. I’m thinking it was honey.”

“Honey!” Julia exclaimed. “Stackpoole hates honey. He’s hated it ever since an incident he experienced in Damascus. He refused to ever allow any honey in our house and Benjamin loves honey.”

“Julia, at The New Bell Inn, I heard Mr. Price tell your son that Baron Stackpoole had left a jar of honey for him.”

“What! Honey!” Julia’s eyes narrowed and glinted with anger. “Mad honey! Why would he do that? How could he do that to his own son!”

“What, what is it?” Mrs. Vance asked.

“There is a honey found in the Middle East that contains something from a certain variety of rhododendrons that makes anyone who eats that raw honey violently sick. They call it Mad Honey. It was given to Jacob as a joke when he was there. It made him so sick he developed a keen dislike for any honey. Would not allow it in the house.”

Disgust replaced anger. “Benjamin would be surprised by the gift but he would accept the honey as a gift at face value. That boy is such an optimist he’d think it a peace offering from his father.”

“And, I assume, he’d share it?” Cecilia asked.

“Most likely.”

“I need to send a note to James immediately to confiscate that honey. I know Mrs. Price and a maid at the inn have both succumbed to the same violent sickness Mr. Stackpoole has, and if they are drinking medicinal tisanes, they are continually staying sick if they add honey to their drink! Excuse me while I write a quick note to my husband. Do you think I can get someone to take it to The New Bell Inn today?”

“For a coin or two one of the porters will as they go home for the day,” Julia said.

“I’d best hurry then.”

Cecilia rushed back to her room and found a pencil and paper in her portmanteau. She quickly related what she had learned about the Mad Honey and how it could be the source of the illness at The New Bell. As a last thought, she told him about Mr. Ramsay being Mr. Montgomery’s Scottish solicitor and the will Mr. Montgomery had drawn up a year ago that had Soothcoor as its executor with Mr. Ramsay.

She dug a couple of coins out of her reticule, then hurried back to the hall. The ladies were still there with more of the residents beginning to mill about waiting for the call to dinner.

Cecilia was breathing hard when she resumed her seat next to Mrs. Vance.

“Careful, my dear,” Mrs. Vance said. “You were coughing not long ago and rushing about could bring it on again.”

Cecilia nodded. “Yes,” she said, her breathing raspy. She held her handkerchief up to her lips again. “Sometimes my sense of urgency gets ahead of me.”

Mrs. Vance patted her hand. “Just relax now,” she instructed.

Cecilia sat for a moment as her breathing calmed. She thought more about that Mad Honey.

“Julia, do you suppose that honey could be used as a poison?” Cecilia mused.

“I don’t know,” Julia said. “I know it makes people sick. I suppose if it were given to someone long enough…We should ask Dr. Worcham.”

“Matron! Matron, dear,” called out Mrs. Vance, waving at their floor matron who was just coming up the stairs.

“Yes, ma’am,” the matron said as she trundled across the room to them.

“We would like to talk to Dr. Worcham. Is he available?” Mrs. Vance asked in her bird-bright voice.

“I don’t rightly know,” matron said, hesitantly.

“Could you go find out, please?”

“But it’s time for dinner. I was just coming to tell you that,” she protested.

“That’s fine. Perfect, even. Wouldn’t you say so, ladies?” she said to Julia and Cecilia.

They nodded.

She turned back to the matron. “If you can find him while we eat our dinners, we would so appreciate that,” she said sweetly, slipping a coin into her hand.

The trio went down the stairs together as matron went off in search of Dr. Worcham. Julia introduced Cecilia to one of the young porters who was getting ready to leave for the day. He eagerly agreed to take her note to Sir James, cheerily saying it gave him an excuse—and the funds—to stop off for a pint.

As they approached the dining hall, Cecilia threaded her arm through Mrs. Vance’s. “I was impressed how you handled matron. Well done!” she said.

The woman smiled impishly. “At least this way she won’t be hovering over our table as she likes to do.”

“Does Liddy eat with you every night?” Cecilia asked.

“Not every night,” Julia said. “She makes the rounds between several tables. She has a lot of friends here. I think she feels she needs to associate with all of them so as not to lose them as friends, seeing as how her mother does not number among the friendly faces.”

“Do you know Liddy’s last name?” Cecilia asked.

Julia thought a moment. “How odd, but I don’t. Do you Mrs. Vance?”

“I know I have heard it. Wind, or Winter, or Wing, or something like that,” she said. “I also heard her father would have been in line to a title and property if he had hadn’t died. Liddy has mentioned that.”

“Many times,” Julia added drily. “I don’t think she knows what that means. It’s just something she’s heard.”

Cecilia frowned. “Surely a child of her age would be educated about such things.”

Mrs. Vance huffed. “Liddy has scarcely been educated in anything, except for what Mr. Montgomery taught her. The sanatorium is not set up for children and their education. She should be in a school for girls, not a sanatorium,” she said as they walked into the dining hall. “Ah, the gentlemen are before us, and Liddy is sitting with them.”

Cecilia’s brow drew together on hearing learning was not an opportunity for Liddy at the sanatorium. “Do you mind if I sit next to Liddy?” Cecilia asked. “I’d like to get to know her better.”

“I have no objection,” Mrs. Vance said. “It will be interesting to see if she has any objections.”

“Hello, Miss Lydia. May I take this seat next to you?” Cecilia asked as she pulled out the chair next to Liddy’s.

A fleeting expression of startled fear crossed Liddy’s face, quickly replaced with a non-committal shrug. “I guess.”

“Thank you. I wanted to apologize,” Cecilia said.

“Apologize?” Liddy repeated, her face crumpled up in confusion.

“Yes, I’m sorry I was not awake when you came to visit me in my room yesterday,” Cecilia said, determined not to mention she’d seen her in her portmanteaux.

“Oh.”

“Mrs. Vance and Lady Stackpoole have told me you were a good friend to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Yes. He teached me and listened to me.”

Cecilia nodded. “It is very special to have a friend who listens to you.”

“And he didn’t laugh at me,” she said solemnly, shaking her head.

Cecilia frowned. “I don’t think anyone here laughs at you. From what I’ve heard, everyone likes you.”

Liddy sighed dramatically. “I know. I’m not talking about this stupid purple birthmark. That’s just me.”

“Oh, then I confess I am confused. What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, speaking with careful emphasis, “he never laughed at my treasure chest.”

“Your treasure chest?”

She nodded and took a bite of food.

“Our Miss Liddy likes to collect things and store them in a box she calls her treasure chest.”

“It is my treasure chest,” Liddy defended fiercely.

“We,” Mrs. Vance continued sadly, waving her hand to indicate everyone in the room and beyond, “have made the mistake of laughing at an item or two in her collection.”

“Mr. Montgomery never thought them silly,” Liddy said stoutly between bites. “He liked them all.”

“What do you like to collect in your…treasure chest,” Cecilia asked.

She shrugged, one thin shoulder rising nearly to her ear. “Things.”

“Things you see and like?”

The child nodded as she quickly shoveled more food into her mouth. Cecilia wanted to tell her to slow down, but didn’t want to risk breaking the tenuous communication she had with her.

“I did something like that at one time,” Cecilia told her. “My grandparents took me to the beach, and I collected shells and bits of sea glass from the sand. I kept the shells in glass vases on a shelf in my bedroom.”

“Do you still have them?”

Cecilia smiled sadly. “No, I moved away from there,” she told her, thinking back to all she’d left behind in her forced arranged marriage to George Waddley so many years ago. She wondered if the shells were still there. Or if her father even owned that house any longer, or if he’d finally wagered it away like everything else he did in his life.

She pushed those thoughts away. Another time, another place, another life. Now, she had wonderful, loving James and their coming babe. She laid a hand on her growing stomach.

“Do you miss them?” a serious Liddy asked her, bringing Cecilia out of her past.

“My shells? Yes, I think I do. I hadn’t realized that until you asked me,” Cecilia told her.

Liddy looked at her intently. “Maybe I will show you my treasure chest. If you promise not to laugh.”

“I should like that, and I make you a solemn promise not to laugh.”

She nodded, then looked around. “I’m done,” she proclaimed to the room, her chair scraping across the stone floor as she pushed her chair away from the table and skipped out of the room.

“You have made a conquest,” Mrs. Vance observed.

“She’s really a sweet child. While she hasn’t been physically abused, she has none the less been abused. I feel sorry for her.”

“As do we all,” said Julia from across the table.

“Do either of you gentleman know the child’s last name?” Cecila asked.

Mr. Quetal and Mr. Hobart shook their heads. Beyond them, Cecilia saw Matron enter the dining hall and walk toward their table.

“Ladies, Dr. Worcham says as how he will see you in the library after dinner.”

“Thank you, Matron,” Mrs. Vance said.

“Matron,” Cecilia said before the woman turned to leave. “What is Miss Liddy’s last name? She reminds me of someone, and it is teasing my mind.”

“Wingate, my lady.”

An explosion of surprised and shocked thoughts bashed against each other in Cecilia’s mind.

“Wingate?”

Matron looked at her, a curious look on her face.

“You look as if you know that name,” Julia observed.

“I do,” Cecilia said. “…It is the family name of the Duke of Ellinbourne.”

“I wonder where she might fit in his family,” Julia mused.

“Hmm, yes, how far the branches might extend to get to Miss Liddy,” Cecilia said.

“Wasn’t there a painter by that name as well?” Mr. Hobart asked.

“Yes. Clarence Wingate. He was an uncle of the current duke. In fact, the current duke is as much of an accomplished artist as his uncle was. He had a painting in the Spring Royal Academy of Art show that just ended,” Cecilia said.

“Do you think she could be closely enough related to the duke for him to take an interest in the child?” Julia asked.

Cecilia shrugged, then smiled. “I don’t know the duke well, nonetheless, Ellinbourne will be on the receiving end of a severe set-down from me if he doesn’t,” she said.

“You would do that to a duke?” squeaked Mr. Quetal.

“Immediately. A duke might have a title, but he is not a god and has a responsibility to show others the proper way to go on.”

Mr. Hobart laughed. “I find that a na?ve notion.”

Cecilia smiled. “It depends on how one does it and in what company,” she said with emphasis, cagily thinking of her grandfather, the Duke of Cheney. She rose from her chair. “Ladies, shall we go speak to Dr. Worcham now?”

Mrs. Vance and Julia followed her down the corridor to the library,

They foundDr. Worcham sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, reading.

“Good evening, Dr. Worcham,” Cecilia said.

Dr. Worcham looked up, removing his reading glasses as he did so. “I understand from Matron Mildred you wished to speak with me.” He placed his book on a table next to him.

“Yes,” Cecilia said. She sat in the chair opposite him. Mrs. Vance and Julia sat on the settee that completed the inviting social congregation area in front of the fire. “Have you ever heard of a substance known as Mad Honey?” she asked.

“Mad Honey?” He frowned. “Yes, I have. Why?”

“Is it poisonous?” Julia asked, leaning forward.

“Not to a healthy person, no. It could be detrimental to a person already weak from another illness. Nothing I have read has suggested it is inherently poisonous. And the effects can vary based on the health of the person ingesting the substance.”

“Even if they had it repeatedly?” Julia insisted, her lips compressed.

“Why are you asking about Mad Honey?” he asked, a deep frown creasing his brows.

“We think Mad Honey might be responsible for the spate of illness that has been occurring at The New Bell Inn,” Cecilia explained.

“How do you know about that? I only heard about it this afternoon.”

“We know my son was coming to visit, and that he has taken quite violently ill repeatedly since staying at the inn.”

The doctor nodded.

“From Lady Branstoke I have learned that my husband was at The New Bell Inn shortly before Mr. Montgomery died, and he left a jar of honey with the innkeeper in keeping for our son when he next came to visit. I think it was Mad Honey, and I believe the original intended recipient of the honey was Mr. Montgomery.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he tried to give it to Mr. Montgomery, but he rejected the gift, saying sweets are not allowed.”

Dr. Worcham raised his eyebrows. “That is true, and I commend Mr. Montgomery’s memory that he rejected it for that reason. How do you know that?” he asked, his tone turning severe.

“Ah, well?—”

“Please just accept our knowledge,” Cecilia said, smiling at Julia.

Dr. Worcham frowned again. “I don’t like it, but for the moment I will. What would be Baron Stackpoole’s motive?”

“I believe he didn’t want Mr. Montgomery and our son to meet,” Julia explained. “You see, Benjamin has recently asked Mr. Montgomery’s daughter to marry him.”

“Mr. Montgomery’s daughter?” Dr. Worcham asked, now giving the women his full attention.

“I know Mr. Montgomery was not single,” Cecilia told Dr. Worcham. “And I know you encouraged those here to believe he was single. I’m sorry if I spoke out of line to advise he was not.”

He waved his hand negligently. “That was Malcolm’s idea. I didn’t contradict him. Yes, I knew he’d been married. How did you know he wasn’t single?”

“I met Mrs. Montgomery last December at a musicale,” Cecilia said. “We became friends when she was able to provide information needed to rescue a kidnapped child.”

He looked at her with such intensity he made her uncomfortable. “You were in Scotland?” he finally asked.

“No, no. I met her in London. She’d brought her family to London to get them settled before the Season started.”

“Harrumph,” said Dr. Worcham, the frown back across his brow. He tapped his fingertips on his chair arm. “No one said anything about Malcom having a child,” he said fretfully.

“Three children,” Cecilia said.

“Three?”

Cecilia nodded. “Three. Aileen, Sorcha, and Hugh. And it was for Aileen’s season that they are in London. Aileen seems to have caught the fancy of Lady Stackpoole’s son, Benjamin.”

“My husband does not approve of the match as Mr. Montgomery is Scottish and that he resides here, at Camden House,” Julia said, picking up the story.

“If Baron Stackpoole denied the match, why would he want to keep them from meeting? Wouldn’t that be the end of it?” Dr. Worcham asked.

“My son is not under any control of, or obligation to, my husband. The baron could decry the match, but he could not deny it. He probably wanted to see if he could turn Mr. Montgomery against the match as well.”

Dr. Worcham nodded his understanding as he again drummed his fingertips on the arm of his chair. “Badly done,” he muttered. “Badly done all around.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Cecilia, leaning closer.

He frowned as he shook his head. “Nothing for you ladies to be concerned about.—Lady Branstoke, have you sent word to The New Bell Inn concerning the jar of honey?”

She nodded. “I did so before dinner.”

His lips pulled to one side, then exhaled sharply. He slapped his hands against the chair arms as he stood up suddenly. Cecelia wondered if that was in approval or disapproval. There was something about the doctor’s manner that bothered her. And what did he mean by Badly Done. What was badly done?

“Dr. Worcham, why was it put about that Mr. Montgomery died two years ago?” Cecilia asked.

He shook his head “I have to go now. Did you get the information you required about Mad Honey?”

Before they could answer, he hurried out of the library. The ladies looked at each other in concern and confusion for the doctor’s hasty departure.

“Is there something going on I don’t know about?” Mrs. Vance asked.

“Can we tell her?” Julia asked.

“I think we should, as I believe Mr. Montgomery’s will might soon become a matter of great importance,” Cecilia said. “And I believe it is time for a chat with Mrs. Worcham, as well.”

“She’s probably in the strawberry parlor at this hour,” Mrs. Vance said. “Let’s check there.”

She stood and Julia and Cecilia followed her.

“Strawberry parlor. I haven’t heard of that room,” Cecilia said as Mrs. Vance led them down the length of the library toward the windows. Just before they reached the windows, Mrs. Vance turned to the right and pressed a hidden latch in the shelves, releasing a door into a cozy parlor decorated with strawberry-patterned wallpaper and fabric with other pieces in solid strawberry red or leaf green.

Mrs. Vance had been correct. This was where Mrs. Worcham sat alone, working on her sewing.

“Excuse us for bothering you, Mrs. Worcham, but might we talk with you?” Cecilia asked. Behind her, Julia carefully shut the door leading back to the library.