Page 21 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said more sharply, “the young ladies’ constitutions may simply be more robust. There is no mystery in that.”

“No mystery?” Miss Bingley’s eyes glittered. “When every other person at the table was grievously affected? I find it remarkable that you should be so quick to dismiss such obvious—”

“There is nothing obvious about it,” Darcy replied firmly. “I will thank you not to cast aspersions on the character of ladies who have shown nothing but kindness to this household.”

Mr. Harding looked between them with growing confusion. “Perhaps we should proceed to examine Mr. Bingley next? I am afraid I am uncertain how I will apply the proper tests without a crucible and some oil of tartar per deliquium.”

Bingley paled visibly. “Tests, sir?”

“Oh yes, most necessary. There are certain chemical signs—vapours when exposed to flame, for instance—but such methods are regrettably impractical without proper equipment. Though I suppose that would require, that is to say—” Harding trailed off, suddenly realising the practical difficulties of his textbook procedures.

Darcy rose and began pacing as he again addressed the magistrate. “Might I suggest we focus on establishing what each person ate and when they became ill? Such information would surely be more immediately useful than anatomical examinations which cannot be performed.”

“But the book clearly states—” Harding began.

“The book,” Darcy interrupted, “appears to address cases where the victim has died. Fortunately, that is not our situation.”

“True, true,” Harding admitted, looking somewhat deflated. “Though I must say, this makes the investigation considerably more difficult. How does one properly examine a living stomach for signs of arsenical influence?”

Mrs. Hurst gave a small shriek and slumped forward in her chair.

“Perhaps,” Darcy suggested dryly, “we might postpone such examinations indefinitely. To determine what might have caused the misfortune, surely the actual circumstances of preparing that evening’s dinner demand our most prompt and serious consideration?”

The magistrate nodded and put his materials in order..

“Yes, yes, of course. You are quite right. You are quite right, sir. We must now turn our attention to the more immediate matters requiring inquiry, commencing where the day’s labours first began.

To the kitchens.” He rose with renewed purpose and turned smartly toward the door—then paused, turning to the footman. “Kindly direct me.”

The kitchen at Netherfield presented a scene of barely controlled chaos.

Mrs. Christopher, the cook, stood with flour- dusted hands wringing her apron, whilst Mrs. Nicholls, the housekeeper, maintained her dignity despite the unprecedented intrusion of a magistrate into her domain.

Mr. Hegarty, the butler, positioned himself with stiff formality near the servant’s entrance, affronted by the entire proceeding.

Mr. Harding entered, his books clutched to his chest, spectacles slipping down his nose as he surveyed the room with the air of a man preparing to issue orders..

“Now then,” he announced, “We must examine the kitchen, being the source of all victuals, it requires the most minute inspection.” He peered around uncertainly. “Where might I conduct tests for arsenical vapours in such an establishment?”

Mrs. Christopher gaped at him. “Arsenical what, sir?”

“Vapours, woman! Blue vapours with the odour of garlic!” Harding waved his book importantly. “We must determine if any such substances were present in the kitchen to produce such effects. They ought to be subjected to high heat—burning coals, ideally—to reveal any telltale vapours.”

“The only thing I throw on burning coals is the coal itself, sir,” Mrs. Christopher replied with bewilderment. “Though I did notice a powerful smell of something burning yesterday evening, but that were just—”

“Aha,” said Harding, seizing the point. “Was there any unusual colour to the flame? Blue? Was there a disagreeable smell?”

“Well, it were disagreeable right enough, but I would not say blue exactly—”

“Mr. Harding,” Darcy interjected, “perhaps Mrs. Christopher might simply describe what occurred during the preparation of the dinner on the evening in question, rather than last evening?”

The magistrate looked disappointed but nodded. “Very well, though we must not neglect the proper chemical examinations.” He turned to the cook. “You must tell me if you observed any foreign matter in the cooking vessels. Any substances of an acrid nature, or those possessing stupefying powers?”

Mrs. Christopher looked helplessly towards Mrs. Nicholls, who stepped forward with admirable composure.

“Mr. Harding, if I may,” the housekeeper said, “Mrs. Christopher prepared the dinner according to her usual methods. She keeps a spotless kitchen. I can assure you her cooking vessels are scrubbed thoroughly after every use. Perhaps if you explained what you wish to know?”

“What I wish to know,” Harding declared, consulting his book again, “is whether any noxious substances, or metallic salts or semi-metals such as arsenic were introduced into the food. We must also consider poisonous agents of vegetable origin—such as Cicuta, lauro-cerasus, or solanum—as well as certain mineral substances.”

The three servants exchanged bewildered glances.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Mr. Hegarty said stiffly, “but Mrs. Christopher does not hold with any foreign vegetables in this kitchen. Everything comes from our proper English gardens or the village market.”

“Foreign vegetables?” Harding looked confused. “No, no, these are poisonous plants—Cicuta major, various fungi of a dangerous nature—”

“Fungi?” Mrs. Christopher’s voice rose in alarm. “You mean mushrooms? Oh, sir, I never use foreign mushrooms! Mrs. Nicholls can tell you—we only gather what we know from the home woods!”

Mrs. Nicholls nodded approvingly. “Mrs. Christopher is most careful about such things. She has been gathering mushrooms in these parts for thirty years.”

“Mushrooms,” Harding muttered, consulting his book frantically. “Yes, yes, here it is—’several of the class of fungi’ are listed among poisons of a thickening and drying quality. Were mushrooms served at the dinner?”

“Only in the mushroom catsup served with the ragout, sir,” Mrs. Christopher admitted nervously. “Though I should mention—Mr. Hurst was that pleased with the mushroom catsup at the previous dinner, he and Miss Bingley both particularly requested more for the next day’s meal.”

Darcy’s attention sharpened immediately. “What manner of mushrooms were used in the ragout, Mrs. Christopher? Where did you obtain the mushrooms for this request?”

Mrs. Christopher wrung her hands. “Well, that’s just it, sir. Our supply was quite depleted, and with such short notice.” She glanced uncertainly at Mrs. Nicholls.

“What did you do?” Mrs. Nicholls asked with growing concern.

“Miss Bingley said to send Tibby out to the pastures with a basket,” Mrs. Christopher confessed. “Bet said she would go along and find what they could.”

“Who is this Tibby?” Harding demanded.

“A scullery, sir,” Mrs. Christopher’s voice dropped.

“A scullery maid?” Harding’s eyes widened. “Then the possibility of misidentification must be seriously entertained. My authorities state that fungi of unfamiliar types may possess qualities not easily discovered!”

Mrs. Nicholls turned to Mrs. Christopher with barely concealed alarm. “You sent the scullery maid to gather mushrooms? You know you must use only familiar varieties!”

“Miss Bingley insisted. I was pressed for time,” Mrs. Christopher protested. “Tibby’s a careful girl—I told her to only pick what she recognised. Bet went along with her. Though when they came back,” The cook hesitated, looking troubled.

“What is it?” Darcy pressed.

“Well, sir, some of the mushrooms in the mixture she chopped looked different from our usual sorts. Smaller, narrow stems, with a golden tinge to them. When I asked about them, Bet said they were the regular ones, and they smelt right.”

Mrs. Nicholls closed her eyes in horror. “Mrs. Christopher, how could you use mushrooms you could not identify?”

“They said they looked wholesome enough,” the cook said defensively. “No slug damage, no rot, and they had a pleasant earthy smell. By the time I saw them, Tibby had chopped them in with the rest.”

Darcy’s expression grew stern. “Where is this Tibby now? She must be questioned immediately.”

Mrs. Nicholls shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, I fear the girl took fright when she heard about the illness. She is nowhere to be found since yesterday morning—likely fled back to her village.”

“Fled?” Harding looked up from his frantic note taking. “But this destroys our ability to examine the location of the gathering! How can we conduct a proper field investigation without the primary collector?”

Mrs. Christopher wrung her hands more frantically. “She’s just a country lass, sir. She wouldn’t have meant anything. She thought they was the safe mushrooms.”

“Tell us what you noticed about how they appeared, madam?” Darcy asked softly.

“What I saw of them, they were a bit small, with a more pointed cap, not smooth like usual. But I only saw scraps.” Mrs. Chrisopher looked from person to person, her eyes pleading.

“Liberty-cap mushrooms,” Darcy said quietly, more to himself than the others.

“You know them, sir?” Mrs. Nicholls asked with eyes widened in relief.

“I know of them,” Darcy replied carefully. “Small fungi with peaked caps, often found in pastures. They are not suitable for consumption.”

Harding consulted his book with renewed vigour.

“Yes, yes! Here it mentions fungi of various types causing ‘nausea, delirium, convulsions, stupefying powers’—this aligns perfectly with the documented effects! ‘Unknown fungi affecting multiple subjects simultaneously’—we must immediately examine the contents for harmful substances.” He looked around the kitchen wildly. “Have you a crucible at hand?”

“A what now?” Mrs. Christopher asked faintly.

“Basic chemical apparatus—for testing! Surely there is some provision for such things?”

Mr. Hegarty drew himself up with offended dignity. “Sir, this is a gentleman’s establishment, not an apothecary’s shop.”

“But how then do you test your ingredients for contamination?” Harding demanded, genuinely perplexed.

“We do not,” Mrs. Nicholls replied with admirable restraint, “because we do not typically expect our ingredients to be contaminated.”

“Most irregular,” Harding muttered, making frantic notes. “We must improvise chemical tests immediately. Mrs. Christopher, do you possess any alkaline liquors? If we pour them onto the suspected matter and observe a brownish colour—”

“Mr. Harding,” Darcy interrupted firmly, “I believe we have established the likely cause. Unknown mushrooms, gathered from an unfamiliar location, were used specifically in the ragout and catsup, which several guests consumed. Might we now focus on practical matters—such as determining whether any remaining portions of the dish were disposed of safely?”

Harding looked up from his frantic page-turning. “But we have not conducted any tests! Or examined the stomach contents for livid spots! The proper procedures require—”

“The proper procedures,” Darcy said through gritted teeth, “are designed for investigating murders, not preventing further illness from tainted food.”

Mrs. Christopher had gone quite pale. “You mean I have poisoned the entire dinner party? Oh, Mrs. Nicholls, what have I done?”

“Now, now,” the housekeeper said soothingly, though her own composure was cracking. “It was an honest mistake—”

“Honest mistake?” Harding looked scandalised. “According to my authorities, the administration of poisonous substances, whether intentional or accidental, requires the same thorough investigation! We must examine all remaining food for signs of putrefaction, uncommon odours—”

“There ain’t no remaining food,” Mrs. Christopher wailed. “It was nearly nothing, not enough even for a servant’s meal. What was not served was thrown to the pigs in the morning, as always!”

“Thrown to the pigs?” Harding nearly shrieked. “But that destroys all evidence! How can we examine it without specimens?”

“Perhaps,” Darcy suggested dryly, “we might examine the pigs.”

A moment of profound silence fell over the kitchen as everyone contemplated this suggestion.

“The pigs,” Harding repeated slowly, consulting his book with renewed interest. “Yes, yes—here it is: ‘Another portion of the dried mass is to be given to other animals, such as fowls, dogs, which, if it causes their death, it is a proof that poison made a part of its contents.’”

Mr. Hegarty cleared his throat ominously. “Sir, I regret to inform you that the pigs were extremely ill the following day. One is deceased.”

The revelation fell upon the assembled company like a thunderclap. Mrs. Christopher gave a small shriek and sank onto a kitchen stool, whilst even Mrs. Nicholls visibly paled.

“A dead pig?” Harding said, straightening. “That may provide an ideal specimen for post-mortem study. The external condition may yield clues to the cause!”

“I think not,” Darcy said firmly. “I believe we have quite enough evidence to conclude that the unfamiliar mushrooms were the cause of last evening’s difficulties.”

“Now I think about it,” Mrs. Nicholls said thoughtfully. “It struck me as odd that Bet was the one accompanying Tibby. She’s never one to volunteer for outdoor work—complains bitterly about mud on her shoes. ‘If I wanted to be a farmer, I would have stayed at the farm,’ she says.”

Mrs. Christopher nodded. “That’s true enough. When they came back, Bet was hurrying along, setting Tibby to chopping the mushrooms from one basket. ‘These are freshest,’ she said, like she’d wanted them hidden.”

“Hidden?” Darcy inquired.

“Well, she claimed she did not, but she saw to it they were chopped right up before I really got a good look at them.” Mrs. Christopher shrugged uncertainly.

Mr. Hegarty and Mrs. Nicholls exchanged a pointed glance.

“Are you quite finished in the kitchen, Mr. Harding?” Mrs. Nicholls asked as Mr. Hegarty turned and began to usher the assembled party out of the room.

“For the nonce. I may require a more thorough examination of the vessels later. I believe that I will proceed now to formal questioning of the witnesses.” Mr. Harding turned and took the lead, heading back to the study.

Mrs. Christopher ordered tea prepared and sank onto her stool, her head in her hands.