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Isla blinks. “I… Yes, I suppose that would be—”
“We shall go tomorrow to buy you a proper knife, ma’am. And then I will teach you how to use it. This one”—she jabs the blade at me—“will get you killed with that lunging and stabbing nonsense. She looks like a player on the stage.”
Simon snickers, and she wheels on him.
“And you, lad, watching this fiasco and not saying a word. Please tell meyouknow how to use a knife.”
“He employs a different defense strategy,” I say. “Running for his life.”
“And yet Dr. Gray sends you to watch over his sister in his stead? How are you supposed to manage that?”
“I am quite strong,” Simon says. “I could probably carry Mrs. Ballantyne as I flee.”
Mrs. Wallace waves the knife at him. “You will learn to use one of these, in case the mistress ever requires you to do so. She will also learn. And you, too, Mallory, if I can manage to undo whatever damage has already been done by whoever trained you.”
“And me?” Alice pipes up from behind the housekeeper.
“That is up to Mrs. Ballantyne.” Mrs. Wallace puts her hand out for Isla’s knife. “Now give me that.” She pauses and modulates her tone. “Please, ma’am.”
Isla mutely hands it over.
“Okay, I’ve gotta ask,” I say, “since no one else is going to.Youknow how to use a knife?”
“Of course,” she snaps. “One does not carve a roast ham with one’s bare fingers.” She catches my look. Then she turns toward the barn, twenty feet away. “The tree there, with the knot in its side. Do you see that?”
I nod.
She draws back her hand and before I can blink, she whips our knives, one after the other. Both embed themselves squarely in the knot.
Then she turns to me. “Do I know how to use a knife, Mallory?”
“Holy—” I cut myself off before I finish the curse.
Alice claps. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“The circus.” Mrs. Wallace strides to the door as we all stare after her.
“Wait,” I say. “The circus? You were in—”
The door slaps shut behind her. I continue staring. Then I turn to Isla. “Is she serious?”
“I have no idea. There is much I know about Mrs. Wallace, and I have long suspected there is even more that I do not. Now, Alice, are you done with your lessons?”
TWENTY-NINE
Aliceisfinished with her lessons and has gone to help Simon with the horses. Isla and I have retrieved our knives, and we’re heading inside when I notice the little gated garden and stop.
“This garden,” I say. “Is it…? Er, that is to say, I have heard about such things as…”
“Poison gardens,” Isla says. “You may say the word, Mallory. I will not take offense. It does grow toxic plants. Not all are dangerous, and none would kill you with a single touch. That is melodrama for works of fiction, where some spinster lady tends her poison garden, purely as a hobby, you know.”
“As one does.”
I touch the wrought-iron gate around the tiny plot. Isla comes up beside me and starts naming off the contents. Some I know from my macabre interests. Deadly nightshade. Opium poppies. Castor plants. There are a few I’m surprised to see because I recognize them from my dad’s garden at home, like hellebore, which Isla says is a purgative and, yep, too much is deadly. Then there’s laurel…
“It is used for making killing jars,” she says.
My brows shoot up. “Killing jars?”
