Death in Kew Gardens Read online

  “Lord Rankin has retired to Surrey,” Mrs. Bywater reminded me, echoing what Mrs. Daley had said downstairs. “He pays your salary but left me in charge of decisions about the staff. My decision is that you will retain your Thursdays out, but not Monday afternoons, and we will keep Tess. That way you will not fall behind in your duties.”

  That verdict was slightly better than what Mrs. Daley wanted, but it was still unacceptable to me.

  If I were unattached, like Mr. Davis, I doubt I’d leave the house much. This was an agreeable place, for the most part, and an evening with an entertaining book was enough to relieve my mind.

  But I had Grace, and from the moment I’d realized I had to work hard to keep her from starving, I determined that she would not grow up out of my sight. I’d do anything I must to both earn our keep and make certain we could be together as often as possible. I would not be one of those mothers who made her painful way to the Foundling Hospital to set her baby on their doorstep, and tear out her heart as she walked away. My friends the Millburns had come to the rescue, but even so, I did not want my daughter to not know me.

  I cleared my throat. “In that case, Mrs. Bywater, I must give you my notice.”

  Mrs. Bywater blinked at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A day and a half are the terms of my employment. If you take them away, I must give my notice.”

  Mrs. Bywater’s brows climbed. “Well, I never, Mrs. Holloway. You would give me your demands?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “But if my work has been unacceptable to you, then I must seek employment elsewhere. I ask leave to spend the night, but I will go tomorrow if you wish.”

  Mrs. Bywater’s jaw went slack, but I saw a smile of victory hovering on Mrs. Daley’s lips.

  “A week will do,” Mrs. Bywater said once she regained her composure. “Thank you, Mrs. Holloway.”

  I curtsied and turned away, my heart heavy. Behind me, Mrs. Daley said, “It will be for the best. You will find a better cook than that one.”

  Mrs. Bywater didn’t answer. I shut the door behind me and descended to the kitchen, the echo of my footsteps loud in the silence.

  8

  “You can’t give notice!” Tess wailed. “You can’t leave me here with that old witch!”

  I wasn’t certain whether the old witch was Mrs. Daley or Mrs. Bywater, but I chided Tess to watch her tongue.

  Those in the kitchen crowded around me: Mr. Davis, Elsie, Charlie, a couple of the footmen, Tess, Emma.

  “I had no choice,” I told Tess. “Though I admit, I will be sorry to leave.”

  This was a comfortable house, thanks to Lord Rankin’s wealth. When I’d first arrived, he’d had the despicable habit of dallying with the maids in return for his generosity, but now that he was far away in Surrey, this no longer worried us. He’d been bowed with grief the last time I’d seen him, and my disgust for him had turned to some pity.

  I had made friends here—Mr. Davis in spite of his foibles, Tess, Lady Cynthia. I knew I could see them again—we’d visit—but it would not be the same. Mr. Davis might not remain much longer, in any case, with Mrs. Daley wedging herself in, and who knew where he would go?

  Tess faced me in true fear. She had difficulties in life, including a simple brother she looked after, and she’d found a refuge here. I could not guarantee that refuge would remain once I was gone.

  “I will find a way to bring you with me,” I told her. “To my new post.”

  “Ye can’t promise,” Tess said, tears in her voice. “Ye can’t make them hire me.”

  That was a point, and I could not lie and tell her otherwise.

  Mr. Davis glowered. “All was fine until she came poking her big nose in. Well, if you’re off, Mrs. Holloway, I am too. I’ll give my notice as well.”

  “Don’t do that, Mr. Davis,” I said quickly. “You’ll fare better than I would if you stay—a butler need have no fear of a housekeeper’s whims.”

  “Ha. Until she dissolves my budget for decent wine and persuades the mistress to take away my day out. No, thank you.”

  “We can’t all give notice,” I protested.

  “Yes, we can,” Tess said. “We can be like the people in the factories who stop their work until they get better wages.”

  “Good Lord, do not compare me to a factory worker,” Mr. Davis said in indignation. “But she is right, Mrs. Holloway. The mistress cannot sack us all.”

  “Oh, I’d not put it past her,” Tess said darkly. “Mrs. Dragon might convince her.”

  I held up my hands. “Stop,” I commanded. “I have given notice. No one else needs to, and that is all we should say about it.”

  “Who is giving notice?” Lady Cynthia’s question cut through our babble.

  She’d come in through the back door, as she often did when she’d been out with Bobby. She must have dined with her, because she’d missed supper here, or else they’d gone to one of the secret clubs of like-minded women where they smoked cigars and drank brandy.

  Mr. Davis answered. “Mrs. Holloway. Mrs. Bywater tried to cut her days out, and Mrs. Holloway won’t stand for it. Quite right too.” He lifted his chin, as though expecting Cynthia to contradict him.

  Before this morning, Cynthia might not have understood why I was being so stubborn, but now she looked me up and down, a frown in place. Her gaze moved to the house above us, and determination lit her eyes.

  “Right. You stay where you are, Mrs. H.” She pointed an aristocratic finger at me. “I’ll sort this out with Auntie.”

  “Please, do not, your ladyship,” I said worriedly. “The mistress is already unhappy that you speak to me as much as you do.”

  “Absolute rot. Auntie has no business being so high handed. If Uncle doesn’t have his daily dose of your sausages he’ll fall dead of apoplexy. Worse, he’ll rail like a fishwife. I am only saving myself, Mrs. H., believe me. Now move out of my way, or I’ll have to bodily shift you.”

  I couldn’t speak. I stepped aside, trembling, not because I thought Cynthia with her far slighter build could lift the plump mountain of me, but because her compassion had drained me of strength.

  I groped my way to a kitchen chair and sank into it as Cynthia marched out and up the back stairs. The door at the top slammed loudly.

  “Oh my,” Tess said excitedly. “Better than a panto.” She smiled broadly and scuttled out the door.

  “Where are you going?” I had just enough wherewithal to demand.

  “To listen at the keyhole.”

  “Tess!” I protested, but she was gone.

  * * *

  • • •

  I shooed the others out of the kitchen after that, telling them it was high time they went to bed. Mr. Davis said good night and disappeared, but Mrs. Daley never returned below stairs.

  Tess bounced in again as I was sharpening my knives. I’d doused the lights until only one candle flickered, barely piercing the darkness, but I found the absence of light soothing.

  Tess whirled around before she ended up in a chair, facing me across the table. “She gave them a right ticking off, did her ladyship,” she said happily. “Told the mistress she had no business changing things up from what Lord Rankin wanted. That she, her ladyship, knew more about the running of a house than her aunt, and that a good cook was more precious than a diamond necklace or a fine carriage. Lady Cynthia said the household was lucky to have you and they should give you yet another day out if you wanted it, and a rise in wages, and an apology.”

  “Oh dear,” I said in alarm.

  Mrs. Bywater had once chastised me for being too friendly with Lady Cynthia. If Mrs. Bywater convinced herself that Cynthia needed to be under her father’s control, she could tell her husband to cart Lady Cynthia home to her parents, break up the household, and send us all packing. My stubbornness, and Cynthia’s, might mean we were all out a
place.

  “Mrs. Bywater tried to argue,” Tess went on, “but Lady Cynthia said she’d take it up with Mr. Bywater, who likes your cooking, and Lord Rankin, on whose charity her aunt and uncle are staying in this luxurious house. The mistress backed down, I can tell you. She don’t want to go back to their poky village in Somerset when she can live like a fine lady in London.”

  I tried to laugh. “Mrs. Bywater never agreed to give me a rise in wages.”

  “No,” Tess admitted. “But she said your days out would stand where they were and no more would be said about it. Mrs. Daley was that furious, but gave in, in a voice that froze my blood. But what could she do? Mrs. Daley’s as much a slavey here as we are, the old trout.”

  “That’s enough, Tess.” I was so weary I could barely give her the admonishment. “Listening to a private conversation is bad enough, but you must curb your tendency to speak so about your betters.”

  “Fing is,” Tess said, sliding into her street cant, “Mrs. D. ain’t my better, is she? Not in my opinion.”

  Not in courtesy or human regard, no, I agreed. “Nonetheless, she has more experience and is older than you are. That accords her some respect, whether you like her or not. If you disgrace yourself, you also disgrace me, and then Lady Cynthia’s speech on my behalf will go for naught.”

  Tess took my chastisement good-naturedly. She came to me and gave me an impulsive embrace, mindful of the knives.

  A wet kiss landed on my cheek. “I’ll not disgrace you, Mrs. H., don’t you worry. What I say about the old harpy will stay between you and me.”

  “I despair of you,” I said.

  “I know. But you like me and think I have the makings of a good cook. You’ve said. You want me to do ought else tonight? If not, I’m off to bed.”

  I knew the days were tiring for her when I was not here, though she didn’t complain.

  “Off you go,” I said. “But you are not to repeat what you overheard to anyone. Is that clear?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Tess saluted me. “I told ya, between you and me. Good night, Mrs. H.”

  Another quick hug, and she danced out again.

  I dragged the blade of my carver over the whetstone, reflecting on what Cynthia had just done for me. I was humbled, and grateful. Cynthia had understood why I wanted the days out, and instead of being shocked and angry, she’d made certain I could continue seeing my daughter.

  I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes. It would not do for my vision to be blurred while my fingers were so near the sharp blades.

  I heard a soft tapping at the back door, in a rhythm I’d come to recognize. Setting the knife aside, I hurried through the scullery and unbolted the door to let in Daniel and the scent of the night.

  “I was hoping you’d come,” I said.

  He lifted his brows and started to smile. I’d never expressed this sentiment before, though he’d taken to visiting me after the household had gone to bed so we could speak privately.

  Daniel’s mirth faded as he took in my expression. “What has happened?”

  I fluttered my hand as I led the way to the kitchen table. “Oh, nothing really. Lady Cynthia saw me with Grace, is all, and I had a row with the mistress.”

  As he studied me in concern, I quickly related the tale, including Mrs. Daley’s challenge, and Cynthia’s championing of me to Mrs. Bywater.

  Daniel seated himself at the table, his strong brown hands lying on its top. He’d changed out of his dusty gardener’s clothing and now wore a plain shirt and coat, a black cloth tied around his neck.

  “Lady Cynthia is a fine young woman,” Daniel said when I finished. “She will keep things to herself, I imagine, and think no less of you. She is generous, and all for women being unconventional.”

  “I did not set out to be unconventional,” I protested. “I wanted a husband and child, like every other woman. I thought that is what I had. Imagine my surprise when I learned I did not.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “No, but you know how the world is. I ought to have found out all about Mr. . . . Holloway . . . before I walked up the aisle with him.”

  “Why are you reluctant to tell me his real name, Kat?” Daniel asked with a frown. “He is dead, and out of my reach. I can’t be arrested for wanting to throttle a man long gone, can I?”

  I shook my head. “Least said, soonest mended. I believe that is the saying.”

  “It is.” Daniel fell silent, but I sensed his annoyance that I hadn’t bared my soul to him. I would—perhaps—whenever he bared his to me.

  “When I said I was hoping you’d come . . .” I began.

  Daniel shot me a smile. “Yes, I heard you. I am delighted at the sentiment.”

  “It is because I had a notion to try Mr. Li’s tea after my rather vexing evening. I believe it will taste better if I share it with a friend.”

  “Ah. Very kind of you.”

  I knew it was not what he’d wanted me to say, but I rose to fetch the kettle which I’d left simmering. I warmed the teapot with a splash of water, discarding that and carrying pot and kettle to the table.

  I had retrieved the box of tea from my chamber before I’d started on my knives, and now I took it from my apron pocket.

  The box was small, and as I’d observed, wonderfully carved with beautiful flowers, some like the ones I’d seen at Kew today. I opened it, inhaling the tea’s lovely fragrance, and carefully measured spoonfuls into the pot.

  There was enough in the box for three or four brewings, I calculated; that is, three or four if I shared it, more if I kept it to myself. I filled the teapot with the water then returned the kettle to the stove.

  Daniel told me as the tea steeped that he’d made Mr. Chancellor admit he’d been near the house the night Sir Jacob died. “I pretended I was morbidly curious about the stabbing and heard he’d been friends with the murdered man. Asked all kinds of interested questions.” He took the empty mug I handed him and turned it absently on the table. “Chancellor seemed to find my eagerness amusing. He said he’d been on his way to speak to Sir Jacob around nine that night, but upon arriving had been told the man had retired, and so he departed. He’d seen a Chinese man wandering about the street, which he reported to Inspector McGregor. When I asked why he’d assumed the man had anything to do with the murder, he turned red and started to mumble. Finally told me to mind my business.”

  “Did you find out who Sir Jacob went all the way to Kew Gardens to meet that evening? If it was Mr. Chancellor, then why did Mr. Chancellor try to call on him?”

  “I did not. Chancellor claims he had no idea Sir Jacob had come to Kew that day at all. He hadn’t had an appointment with him.”

  “Hmm. Mr. Chancellor might have seen Mr. Li when Mr. Li came to visit me, and decided that if anyone was to be caught for a murder, it might as well be a Chinaman. But does that mean Mr. Chancellor did it himself and is shifting the blame? Or simply decided it was easiest to fix it on a foreigner?”

  “Or did he fix on Mr. Li for another reason?” Daniel mused. “Sir Jacob spent many years in China—perhaps Mr. Li was one of Sir Jacob’s acquaintances there.”

  “Why should he have been?” I lifted the pot to pour out the tea. “China is a vast country with many people in it. Why should Sir Jacob have met Mr. Li, or any other Chinese person now in London, for that matter?”

  “That is not to say they didn’t know each other,” Daniel said. “The world is a strange place. I once met a man in Paris and then saw him again a few years later in Amsterdam, entirely by chance. He’s from Cornwall, and I’m from London, and yet we only came together in countries not our own.”

  “But you know everyone in the world,” I said with conviction. “So the comparison is not apt.”

  As Daniel chortled, I lifted my cup, blew on the tea to cool it, and drank. Daniel did the same.

 
The tea swirled across my tongue like silk, and my world stopped.

  I tasted flowers and fruit, and a smoky note . . . But no, that evaporated in a whiff of anise, which turned to honey.

  Daniel looked at me across his teacup, our gazes locking as we both realized we were drinking something extraordinary.

  I did not want to swallow the beautiful nectar, but my instincts took over, and the exquisite liquid flowed down my throat.

  I drew a breath. “Goodness, I do not believe I’ve ever tasted a better cup of tea.” My voice came out all wrong, the words tumbled. I gazed longingly at my cup, wanting nothing more in life than another taste.

  Daniel set down his mug and stared at it. “Where did Mr. Li find this?”

  “I really have no idea.” I took another sip, closing my eyes. I tasted wet breezes, cool mountains, and a tang of green, growing things.

  “May I?” Daniel reached for the box and opened it. He took a pinch of the dried leaves between his fingers, sniffed them, rolled them, and let them crumble back into the box.

  “This is hideously expensive tea, Kat,” he said reverently. “It’s the finest blend, from the best leaves. What’s sold to servants and the working class is called the ‘dust,’ the broken leaves and stems shaken out after the lot is dried. The best whole leaves are for aristocrats, the nouveau riche, and the Queen.”

  “I do know that,” I said. “I purchase the comestibles for the house, including the tea. Ours comes from Twinings, and I mark the tins for upstairs and those for down very carefully. But how do you know? Have you worked in a tea warehouse?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Elgin Thanos is a mine of esoteric information. He told me all about how tea is processed years ago—over a cup of tea.”

  “Mr. Bywater will spend some money on good tea, but nothing like this . . .”

  It was as though Daniel and I drank the finest brandy France produced, or ate the most elegant chocolate from Flanders, or tested the most magnificently flavored Stilton. With some foods there was no mistaking quality, even to the untrained palate.