Page 22 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

W hen Willa called the next day, Graves directed her to the carriage house. By now, she knew the way to Ben’s workroom, so she declined the offer of an escort.

She found her fiancé sitting at the table in the center of the room. He looked in reasonably good health, except that losing weight had left his face a bit gaunt.

“Good afternoon!” Willa called.

He flinched like a startled horse but relaxed when he looked up and saw who it was. “Arsenic!” he exclaimed, apropos of nothing.

“Arsenic to you, too!” she replied.

Ben cocked his head, looking baffled.

“‘Arsenic’ is an interesting salutation.” Willa hung her bonnet on a peg by the door. “In what country do people greet each other that way?”

“Oh, you are joking.” Ben shook his head. “For a moment I thought I needed to explain what arsenic was.”

“I do know that much.” Arsenic was such a common poison that nearly everyone would have heard of it. “I read a book about the Italian Renaissance that discussed arsenic. At one time, arsenic was a popular poison in Italy. People used it to dispose of their political enemies.” She took the chair next to Ben. “I suppose we should have thought of it earlier. Arsenic is supposed to be tasteless, isn’t it?”

“Precisely,” he agreed. “Oxide of arsenic dissolves in water and has neither taste nor smell. More importantly, it looks much like sugar.” He took the lid off a small stoneware crock and tipped it toward her so she could see the contents.

Willa’s eyes widened. “Is that arsenic?” she breathed.

“I do not know yet,” he admitted. “Some of it is sugar. I can tell that much from the taste.”

Willa gasped. “You tasted poison?” Why on earth would he risk getting sick again? Hadn’t he had enough stomach trouble to last a lifetime?

“I only put a little bit of it at the tip of my tongue,” he explained. “Just enough to tell that it was sweet, which means some of this is sugar. But I suspect arsenic has been mixed in.”

“How can we tell for certain?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “There are experiments you can do to identify arsenic, but I don’t know how the addition of sugar might affect the experiment. If I put this over a fire, the sugar would burn, wouldn’t it? And I do not know enough about chemistry to know if that would affect the chemical tests for arsenic.”

“You need to consult a chemist, then,” Willa suggested.

He nodded. “Fortunately, Dr. Gladwell has already been summoned to attend Grandfather. I am sure he will know what to do with this.” He put the lid back on the crock of poison. “In the meantime, we should think about how the arsenic could have gotten mixed in with the sugar.”

“Ah. You know, I have been thinking about that question since yesterday.”

“Yes?” Eager interest filled his face.

Willa hesitated, trying to get the words in the best order. “The only reason I knew who took sugar in their tea was because your cousin Almeria asked about it the night I dined with the Millingtons. Do you remember that?”

“Oh, yes. How did that subject come up in conversation, anyway? It seems an odd subject.”

“Yes, very odd,” Willa said firmly. “It came up out of nowhere, and I remember wondering at the time why Miss Millington should care whether you or your aunt took your tea with sugar. She explicitly asked if your grandfather was the only one who used sugar.”

She drew a deep breath before asking what she suspected was a crucial question. “Ben, who inherits your grandfather’s estate when he passes away? Will it go to your aunt?” She held her breath as she studied his reaction.

Ben scratched his head. “I believe the will stipulates that Aunt Faith has the right to live here rent-free all her life, but my grandfather has always said that the ownership of the house will pass to a family with children. I assume the Millington family would inherit it, because they need it more than my family does.”

That was what Willa would have guessed, too. Ben was already heir to his father’s baronetcy. According to her family’s solicitor, the Radcliffe estate was thriving. Ben did not need a second estate or an additional fortune.

“Would either Marlowe or Almeria be desperate enough for that fortune that they might kill to get it sooner rather than later?” She whispered the question, though there was no chance of their being overheard. Then she bit her lip, half-afraid Ben would lose his temper at that accusation.

But he remained as calm as ever, apart from drumming his fingers on the table as he pondered the question. “I would not have thought it of either of them, but I cannot rule it out. The Millingtons probably stand to gain the most if Grandfather dies.” His frown deepened as he asked, “But why would they want to kill me ?”

“A good question,” Willa admitted. The only reason for the Millingtons to kill Ben would be if they thought he stood in the way of their inheritance. But there was no reason to think that. “Could your illnesses have been accidental? Perhaps you weren’t intended to consume the poison.”

“But that makes no sense either!” he protested. “I had my first case of gastritis weeks before my grandfather did, and Aunt Faith nearly died after the picnic. If Grandfather Marlowe was the target all along, our poisoner must be remarkably inept.”

The picnic! Willa gnawed on her lower as she teased out an idea. “Ben, didn’t your cousin Almeria make that fruitcake you brought to the picnic? The one that reeked of rum?”

His eyes widened. “Yes. Good heavens, you are right. Why didn’t I remember that?”

Willa grinned. “Probably because fruitcake did not seem important. You didn’t eat any of it, did you?” He shook his head. “Neither did I. I think Cousin Sarah tried a little bit, but the only person who ate more than a slice was—”

He finished the sentence for her. “My aunt. Aunt Faith was the only one at the picnic who really liked the fruitcake. I think she had a couple of slices.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, then flicked his gaze back to her. “You must be right. Almeria must have poisoned the fruitcake. She would have thought Grandfather would eat it—he used to love that recipe. She might not have intended Aunt Faith to get sick at all.”

A delicious thrill of excitement swept through Willa. She loved being the one who got the right answer. “It all fits, doesn’t it?”

But Ben frowned again. “The fruitcake and the sugar explain the two most recent poisonings, but what made me sick at the end of April?”

“Were there any other foods your cousins sent?” Willa suggested. She and Ben would not be able to prove the identity of the poisoner unless they could propose a possible vehicle for the poison.

“I don’t think so. Marlowe didn’t bring any food with him when he visited, so far as I remember. In fact...” His voice trailed off.

Then, to her surprise, Ben got up from his chair and walked over to one of the shelves. He lifted up a fat blue crock. Then he turned to Willa. “Do you remember that jar full of peppermints I had in here the first time you visited?”

“I think so,” Willa said. “But it was a different jar, wasn’t it? I remember a glass jar.”

He nodded and put the little crock back on the shelf. “Yes. That jar broke when Marlowe knocked it off the table. There was glass everywhere, and I had to throw out all the peppermints.”

It took Willa a moment to make the connection. “You think the peppermints were poisoned, and Marlowe spilled them on purpose to prevent your eating them?” Doubt filled her voice. It seemed like a bit of a stretch to her.

“Remember, I’m not the one who likes peppermints. The peppermints were supposed to be for my grandfather, too. Everyone in the family knows he loved them. He avoids sweets now because they hurt his teeth, but Almeria and Marlowe probably didn’t know that.”

“Just as they didn’t know that fruitcake is too rich for his digestion now.” The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed. “If that’s right, then all the poisonings were accidents, except for when your grandfather got sick.” The Millingtons did not seem like very efficient poisoners.

“He is still very ill. The Millingtons may succeed in murdering him yet.” Ben sounded grim, and no wonder, if his cousins were trying to kill his grandfather!

“But if we know what is poisoning him, the doctor might know how to treat it,” she pointed out. If arsenic poisoning could be treated. She knew there were some poisons that had no antidote.

“I certainly hope so. Maybe Orfila has some suggestions.” Ben reached for a heavy leather-bound volume that rested on the table. “This is the treatise on toxicology I consulted, It helped me identify the arsenic, but it might also—”

“Ben?”

An ominous sense of familiarity struck Willa as she turned toward the doorway. Ben’s father glowered there, hands resting on his hips. The panicked look on Ben’s face was quickly followed by shame. He hung his head, and the tops of his ears burned red.

“Benjamin, when last we spoke on the subject of propriety, I thought you understood what was at stake.” Sir Lewis did not raise his voice, but his anger was palpable despite the softness of his voice. “I am very sorry to discover otherwise.”

Willa jumped into the fray, hoping to help. “Sir, it was not Ben’s fault. I should have asked for a maid to accompany me here. Ben is no more guilty of impropriety than am I.” She ought to have remembered that even betrothed couples were not generally left alone behind closed doors—at least not for long periods of time.

“That may be, my lady,” Sir Lewis said gently, “but it is Ben’s responsibility to treat you with all the respect due to your rank, age, and situation in life. Until your wedding, your reputation must be protected.”

“Yes, sir.” Ben rose to his feet. “Willa and I can return to the house—”

“No,” Sir Lewis interrupted. “I will accompany Lady Wilhelmina home. I wish to speak with her.”

Willa and Ben exchanged uneasy glances. I am not a child , Willa reminded herself. And even if she had still been a schoolgirl, Sir Lewis had no right to scold her! He was neither her parent nor her guardian.

She walked out of the room with her chin held high, hoping to disguise the sweatiness of her hands and the rapid beating of her heart. But she doubted she fooled Sir Lewis once he offered her his arm for support. Her nervousness must have been palpable.

“You need not be afraid, my dear. I have no desire to act the part of an overbearing father with you.” The faint emphasis on “you” suggested Ben might not be so lucky. “I am, however, concerned that my son is not demonstrating the maturity required of a young man who intends to be set up his own household.”

It took Willa a moment to parse that. “Do you mean to say that because he sometimes forgets about propriety, he is not ready for matrimony?” If so, that surprised her. Most people thought a young man who kept running into scandal would do better in wedlock, as if having a wife would prevent future indiscretions.

“You may have perhaps noticed that Benjamin can be absent-minded,” Sir Lewis said drily.

The corners of Willa’s mouth quirked up. It would be hard for anyone who knew Ben not to notice that! “There is nothing wrong with his mind,” Willa explained. “When he focuses on one subject, he may forget about others, but that could happen to anyone.” How often had Cousin Sarah left the house, only to hurry back when she discovered she had left behind her reticule, her umbrella, or something of equal importance?

The baronet looked down at her and smiled wryly. “But you cannot deny that it happens more often to Ben than to most people.”

She hung her head, knowing he was right. “I am not sure Ben can prevent that, though. That may just be part of who he is.”

The corners of Sir Lewis’s mouth tipped down. “I do not think it is unreasonable to expect Ben to remember that people will gossip about the two of you if you keep meeting alone, behind closed doors. And the gossip will hurt you far more than it does him, my lady. If he cannot behave responsibly in so simple a case as this, what will he do when more challenging situations arise?”

His frown looked thoughtful rather than angry as he added, “And challenges will arise, you know. Everyone encounters troubles of one sort or another. Married life may be a joy, but it is not a fairy tale.”

Willa flushed. “I have never thought it was a fairy tale!” Hearing the angry bite in her voice, she paused to collect herself before continuing. “All I say is that Ben is preoccupied with important concerns at the moment.”

“More important than your reputation?” He lifted his brows.

“Yes,” she said firmly. Murder was certainly more important than scandal. “I think you should talk to him about what he has discovered. It might well be a matter of life and death.”

Sir Lewis’s mouth gaped open, though he recovered quickly. “Well, I certainly shall speak to Ben. But in the meantime, I would prefer you to refrain from disturbing his healing process.”

Willa tipped her head back to peer up at him. He looked serious. “You mean, I am not to visit anymore?” she guessed.

“Not at the moment. I believe Benjamin has some hard thinking to do.” They parted on that cryptic note, leaving Willa full of questions.