Page 98 of Mischief at Marsden Manor

“Not to say searched, sir. It was right there on the bedside table. I saw it as soon as I stepped in to see how the young lady was doing.”

“Good work,” Tom said, eyeing it. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to test it?”

“No, sir. But I’d have to say that I think it’s the same thing that killed the other young lady and knocked this one out.”

Tom nodded. “I’d have to agree with you. But we still have to test it.”

“Of course, sir. The thing I wanted to show you—other than that I found the vial—is that there are no fingerprints on it.”

Tom’s brows arched. “None?”

Collins shook his head. “No, sir. Not the young lady’s, nor anyone else’s, either.”

“That’s interesting,” Tom said, “isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was silence in the room while we all stared at the small vial as if waiting for it to come to life.

“Open it, Collins,” Tom said.

“Sir?”

“Pick it up—in the handkerchief, if you please—and take the cork out, and smell it.”

Collins did as bid. His face twisted into a grimace as he held the open vial up to his nose—perhaps he was afraid that the fumes would knock him out on contact—but it cleared as soon as he took a whiff (and didn’t crumple in a heap on the floor). “Mint, sir.”

Tom waved a hand. “Let Miss Darling have a sniff, if you don’t mind?”

Collins turned towards me and proffered the vial. I leaned in and inhaled. And nodded. “Spearmint. Yes.”

“The same thing you smelled in the tea last night?”

“Spearmint is spearmint,” I said, “but yes, as far as I can make out, it smells the same.”

Tom nodded. “Best go and make sure, Collins. Hand it off to the lab boffins, there’s a good chap.”

“Yes, sir.” Collins corked the vial again and carried it carefully towards the door.

“Good job, Collins,” Tom called after him.

“Thank you, sir.” Collins looked pleased as he shut the door behind himself.

Tom let the silence sit for a moment before he looked from me to Christopher and back. “You understand what this means?”

“Violet didn’t dose herself?” I said. “I didn’t think we thought she had done.”

“Of course not, Pippa,” Christopher said. “Someone dosed her, and then left the vial in her room to make it appear as if she were the one who killed Cecily. Is that right, Tom?”

“Very good, Kit,” Tom nodded.

“So…” I thought about it. “Not Aunt Roz, surely?”

“Of course not, Pippa.” Tom flipped his notebook shut and stowed it in his pocket along with his pencil. “And not you, either.”

He pushed the chair back and got to his feet. “I better go and discuss procedure with the others. See whether I’m authorized to arrest anyone.”

He headed for the door, whistling under his breath.