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“You put it into a jar with a beetle or butterfly, and it will die. It’s very popular with children.”
“That’s… concerning.”
“Duncan was particularly fond of them.”
“Even more concerning.”
She laughs. “I suspect some children might have a disturbing fascination with killing insects, but for Duncan, it was about studying them. Laurel allows them to perish intact.”
“Ah, that makes sense. So all these plants also have uses in chemistry, I presume?”
The corners of her mouth twitch. “Not all. While some are for my work, there are several selected purely for interest. Also, it is possible that a few were planted after my marriage, when it behooved me to discreetly remind my husband of my particular skills.”
I snort a laugh. “I’ll bet.”
“Not that I would have ever made him seriously ill. But a tiny pinch of laburnum in his soup did help when I felt particularly helpless in my situation. Even the discomfort of a bad oyster had him thinking I’d found him out on something or other. With Lawrence, there was always something or other.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Had I been the sort to suffer his infidelities and insults in silence, I suspect there would have been fewer of them. The more I objected, the more he was determined to prove his right to both. I had not been raised to accept either, and so I would not.”
“Rightly.”
“I thought so. Others disagreed. Annis…”
She inhales deeply, and seems about to stop but then plunges forward. “Annis counseled me to turn a blind eye. She did so in her usual imperious manner, but it was not… unkindly meant. Let Lawrence do as he would and take full advantage of my position as a married woman, as if it were a business arrangement that was not entirely satisfactory but sufficient to my purposes.”
“Likehermarriage.”
“Yes. I wanted more. I wanted what my grandparents had. A love match and a true partnership. Annis could not understand that.”
I think I might know why, though I say nothing.
“Communing with my pretty plants?” says a voice behind us.
Even when I look, it takes a moment to realize I’m seeing Annis. She’s dressed in what I’ve come to realize are called widow’s weeds. It’s a form of mourning modeled after Queen Victoria, and it’s only expected of women. Annis’s dress is black and heavy enough to conceal her figure. Everything on her—from her shoes to her umbrella—is black, and she has no jewelry. She’s expected to wear all this for at least a year, after which she can don more fashionable black dresses and black jewelry. Next comes the stage Isla is at—a full two years after losing her husband—where she can wear shades of gray and other muted colors. It’s fine for a woman like Queen Victoria, who chooses such a path, but for women like Annis and Isla, coming out of horrible marriages, it seems like a punishment.
Isla and I both turn as Annis walks over, lifting the heavy veil from her black hat. Sarah lingers behind to speak to the coachman before hurrying to catch up.
“Mallory and I were discussing my garden,” Isla says.
“You meanmygarden. Or it was, before I gifted it to you, my interests having moved on.” She glances my way, her eyes glittering. “Or did they?”
Sarah closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“Annis,” Isla says sharply. “This is not a game.”
“No, it is a matter of life and death. First my husband’s and now mine. Your little housemaid is investigating Gordon’s murder, along with our brother and his friend. While I appreciate your concern, Isla, it only takes one disgruntled former employee to recall that this garden used to be mine, and then it will seem a sure sign of my guilt.”
“Fine.” Isla turns to me. “This garden was, as my sister says, hers.”
“A very long time ago,” Sarah says. “And Annis’s interest was purely theatrical.”
Annis’s brows rise. “Theatrical?”
“You took immense pleasure in tending a garden of poisonous plants because you are a perverse creature who loves to shock the good people of polite society.”
“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, dear Sarah,” Annis murmurs. “I am the very modelofpolite society.”
