The baroness nodded at her daughter and began. “In low, sustained doses, belladonna does not kill. It convinces. A woman given enough of it, slowly, over weeks, could begin to believe she had lost the pregnancy when she had not. And we all agree that the leaves could be belladonna or harmless woody nightshade. But considering the symptoms the first wife had experienced, I am inclined to say it was belladonna that caused the single, consistent hallucination. It is also in my daughter’s best interest to make that assumption and act accordingly.”
“Agreed,” Mrs Bickle said. “The third death seems consistent with belladonna poisoning, except she was given more potent doses over a shorter period of time to cause the type of symptoms she had.”
“But it may not have had anything to do with the second death,” came the small voice of Mrs Acklam.
Violet nodded. “The use of belladonna shows the murderer’s character. Knowledgeable about poisons. Patient. Resourceful. And able to disguise themselves. They may have drugged the second wife to weaken her or disturb her mind to cause the drowning.”
Mrs Finney’s hand went to her chest. Mrs Colston’s mouth shapedOh dear.
“We have all heard of the duke’s mother being quite skilled at herbs,” her mother said. “Perhaps search her belongings as well. See if she had a vial of Belladonna extract or had trained someone in the household to make medicinal tinctures.”
Everyone bobbed their heads.
“The killer would be keeping the poison in a cool dark place.” Mrs Brindle tapped her cane on the floor.
“Could the extraction be done at home?” Violet asked.
“Any woman with a stillroom and patience could manage it,” Mrs Bickle said. “And it keeps for years if you store it in the dark or in alcohol. That is the trouble with the stuff. It can wait.”
“If I were the murderer,” Mrs Colston said, “I’d keep it in plain sight. Belladonna tincture has legitimate uses: stomach cramps, monthly pain, headache.”
“And its property would not be destroyed in hot tea?” Violet asked.
“No. And hardly distinctive when blended with rue, nightshade, and raspberry.”
A hush descended on the room. It was Mrs Acklam who broke the silence.
“You may wish to consider, Your Grace, a spy of some sort below stairs. Or assign one person you trust to prepare your tea.”
“Excellent suggestion, Mrs Acklam,” her mother said and reached for Violet’s hand “Even in small quantity, belladonna can prevent pregnancy, my dear.”
Violet squeezed her mother’s hand. “I do not wish to alert the killer. Their activity gives us the clues to follow.”
“But at your expense,” Mrs Bickle said.
“I am quite careful, Mrs Bickle. I prefer the killer’s subtle method to something with force.”
“Quite right.” Mrs Bickle clapped rapidly twice. “Let us gather in a week or two to investigate this further. In the meantime, look through your books, talk to the villagers, see what they know about the deaths.”
“Thank you for your assistance,” Violet said.
“It is our honour.”
The women rose. Mrs Finney embraced as she had embraced Violet since she was a little girl. Mrs Acklam pressed her hand and held it a moment longer than usual, accompanied by her usual gentle smile. Mrs Colston said, very quietly, that she would look through her books that evening. Mrs Brindle said nothing but nodded at Violet on her way out, which was more than she had ever offered.
They emerged onto the pavement into the afternoon. After her mother settled inside the carriage with the assistance of a footman, Violet gathered her skirts to follow when she saw Kit coming around the corner. She waved him over.
There was plaster dust on his jacket and sawdust in his hair. He was carrying a length of timber under one arm. He stopped and looked at Violet.
“Next week,” she said. “Come to London when the roof is done.”
He nodded once, shifted the timber, and went on his way.
They took their tea in the garden. The afternoon had gone mild. The tea was properly steeped in a pot that had been filled without stinting. Her mother put milk in it, then sugar, without pausing to consider either.
Violet noticed and smiled. Then she saw her shoes.
“You bought shoes.”
