Page 77 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘Hmm. But strychnine could cause the same symptoms,’ he said, ‘and there’s rat poison lying about in most barns. A stray could easily eat some while it was sniffing about for food. You said it seemed starving?’

‘It gobbled up the cake in a second. It seems queer, just after it ate it . . . And she ran after me to give it me. Why should she bake me a cake when she doesn’t like me?’

‘It’s a delicate business,’ he said, drumming his fingers on the desk in thought. ‘A person would have to be unbalanced to do such a thing.’

‘You mean queer in the head? Well, I think she is. Michael – Mr Woodrow – said she’s always been a bit strange.’

‘But strange enough to attempt murder?’

‘Murder?’

‘That’s what it is, if the cake was poisoned.’

It was what she’d been wondering, but it was a shock hearing the word. ‘The thing is,’ she went on after a pause, ‘what should I do? If it was her, I don’t want her having another go at me.’

‘A cook certainly has opportunities,’ he mused. ‘But I don’t think you’ve got enough evidence to go to the police.’

‘The police?’ She was shocked. ‘No! But what I’m wondering is, should I tell Michael? It’d cause ructions.’ She gave him an appealing look, not having the words to spell out all the scenes she could imagine.

‘Yes,’ said Afton. He saw well enough.

‘Or should I say nothing and just not see him any more?’

As she said it, she realised she didn’t like that option. She had grown fond of him in a particular way – a fluttery and yet sharp-edged feeling, perilously hopeful, warm and comfortable and more than half amazed. No-one had ever shown that sort of interest in her, and she had never thought anyone would. She didn’t want to lose it.

Afton said slowly, ‘I don’t see how you can say nothing. You have to put him on his guard. If she did try to poison you, she might try to poison him.’

‘Why would she want to kill him? I don’t understand,’ Rose said, frowning.

‘She doesn’t want to share him with anyone. She wants to keep him all to herself. And if he was dead, no-one could ever take him away from her, could they?’

She was silent. She thought at first that was stupid, but then it made a kind of sense. ‘You really think that?’ she said at last.

He lifted his hands. ‘I don’t know these people, only what you’ve told me about them. I’m just saying it’s possible, given what you’ve said.’

‘You think I should tell him what happened?’

‘It’s only fair. Apart from saving your own skin, think how you’d feel if anything happened to him.’

She shook her head doubtfully.

He said, ‘When I lived in New York, there were some friends of my master, a married couple – he was a wealthy businessman, she was the daughter of a railroad baron, with a lot of money of her own that she’d inherited. She was supposed to have a delicate stomach – every now and then she’d have vomiting fits, and take to her bed, and live on boiled water for a few days. She recovered each time, but it was taking its toll. She was gradually getting more frail. The doctor put her on different diets but still these attacks came back. Then one day she had really bad one, and died. It was very sad. But I remember my master saying to me one day a few months later, when I was shaving him – gentlemen often unburden themselves when they’re being shaved – that this businessman had been in trouble. He’d borrowed unwisely and from the wrong people, and his wife’s death had saved him. They didn’t have any children, so all her money went to him.’

He looked at Rose, and she said, ‘You thought . . . ?’

‘I didn’t think anything, it wasn’t my place. But my master dropped the acquaintance after that. And I often think about that poor woman, maybe being poisoned just a bit, over a long time, getting sick and getting better for a while, so as to prepare everybody for the big one when the time came. Arsenic, I believe, is the thing, if you get the dose right. A weak stomach . . . Lots of people suffer from that, don’t they? Who’s to know?’

Rose looked at him, head up and neck stiff, like a frightened horse. ‘You’ve got a very dark mind, Mr Afton, if you don’t mind me saying.’

Michael Woodrow seemed a fit and healthy man. But if his food did disagree with him now and then, no-one would think anything of it. And lots of people died of violent stomach pains, and no-one thought anything of that. Not if they weren’t important people. Your insides were full of all kinds of tripes, and things could go wrong with any of them, any time.

‘I think I’d better talk to him,’ she said unhappily.

* * *

Mr Cowling was still away a great deal, with Portsmouth and Nottingham added to his usual rounds, and he apologised to Nina.

‘It’ll get better as things settle down. I’ve got Decius back now, and Truman, and Tullamore is proving himself a real find – worth his weight in gold, that young feller. He really knows his stuff. His father must be kicking himself for letting him go! He’s going to need a Decius of his own before long. He’s well worth the big salary I’m going to give him – don’t want anyone else poaching him away from me! And if he marries that nice girl, all the better, because marriage settles a young chap down, there’s no doubt about it. What was I saying?’