Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Where the lamps quiver

So far in the river,

Seated at a table at the Inn, Margaret saw Peter through the window, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets and walking at a leisurely pace. He looked rather contented which gave Margaret reason to hope that the child had recovered. With little regard for anyone in the Inn's dining hall or on the street, she promptly pulled back the lace curtain and shouted out of the opened window beside her. "Peter!" she called as she thrust her gloved hand out the open window. "Peter!" She waved at him expressively and only relaxed when she was sure she had attracted his attention.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jonas, who witnessed the entire exchange, merely lift his tea cup to his lips for a drink. "Oh really, Jonas, like you weren't ready to flag him down yourself." Content that Peter had seen them and was making his way to the tavern, Margaret returned her attention to the spread of delectables in front of her. "Are you not excited to tell him what we have discovered?" she asked, plucking a cucumber sandwich from the tray between them and placing it on her plate.

"I think you are excited enough for both of us. There is no need for more jubilation." A smirk spread across his face as he spoke. Margaret pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. He was a jolly fellow, with an amiable wit, something which Margaret found very attractive in a man, though she'd never admit as much out loud.

Ainsley was at her side then, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek before turning to Jonas and offering a hand to shake.

"The boy is well then?" Margaret asked. "Don't think I didn't notice that look of satisfaction on your face. Sit." She gestured to an empty chair between her and Jonas.

Ainsley obeyed. Jonas poured some tea into Ainsley's cup while Margaret lifted a plate of biscuits and offered him some. "They are quite good," Jonas offered.

"No," Ainsley replied with a slight motion of his hand. "Tea is enough."

Margaret gave a quick glance to Jonas. It was a look of concern but lacked a note of surprise. Ainsley was not known for his willingness to eat when his mind was on other things.

"Peter Marshall, you ought to eat something. Mrs. Mabel, the innkeeper's wife has gone to quite an effort to produce this fine meal for us," Margaret spoke with a smile as Mabel passed, "and you really should learn to humour me, dear brother." She slipped a scone on to his plate. "Now eat," she commanded with all the love of a doting mother.

Ainsley obliged and began to eat with them.

"We certainly have some news for you, do we not, Jonas?"

Jonas nodded and leaned in on the table, aware of the busy room and not wanting anyone else to hear their conversation. "Traces of arsenic."

"Arsenic." Ainsley repeated.

"Yes, in the stomach," Margaret qualified. She smiled wryly, satisfied.

She saw Jonas give her a look of challenge. She knew he had been preparing with glee to relay his findings and she was now stealing his moment. Relaxing his face, he turned to Ainsley and continued, "Nine grains, in the contents of the stomach. Along with a myriad of other food sources. Hard to tell which was infected."

"What had he eaten Peter?" Margaret asked. "Do you think it could be Mrs. Crane? Please tell me it is not Mrs. Crane, she is quite the dear."

"I hardly think Mrs. Crane would conspire to murder her own employer," Jonas answered before Ainsley had a chance to say anything. "That would hardly be efficient."

"Efficiency be damned! When a woman is scorned she can perform atrocious deeds, can she not Peter?"

Ainsley shrugged but was given no air to offer an opinion.

"Correct me if I am wrong gentlemen, but women nowadays are going to great lengths to have their opinions heard, not that I would condone such an act, of course, but if we are to be ignored in society than what precious few choices are we left with?"

"Oh please do not turn this into another diatribe? My head has yet to fully recover from the last one you offered me on the train." Jonas rubbed his right temple with his index and middle fingers.

Margaret huffed at his insult but turned her attention to Ainsley, who had leaned back in his chair, nursing his tea. "Peter, it has to be Mrs. Crane, she is the only one with access to Dr. Bennett's food."

After setting down his tea cup, Ainsley pressed his finger to his lips and stared out the window aimlessly. "Highly unlikely," he answered after a length. "There is a far greater likelihood that someone at the Manor house meant for him to be killed or at least sickened so he could no longer assist me."

Jonas raised an eyebrow in Margaret's direction, indicating his pleasure at besting her. Her expression was less than amused.

"The funeral cakes," Ainsley blurted out without warning. "It must have been the funeral cake we received at the house. He fell ill shortly after we returned from the funeral."

"Who gave you the funeral cakes then?" Jonas asked.

"The servant, Mary, gave me mine, but Dr. Bennett already had one in his hand."

"Someone must have presented it to him. The mother, or sister perhaps. You said yourself that these women were impeding your progress. Mrs. Lloyd especially," Margaret offered. She looked across the table at Ainsley who seemed even more relaxed then Jonas. She saw Ainsley raise his hand to his chin and lean into the arm of his wooden chair, his face somber and pensive, he seemed able to block out all the sounds around him as he contemplated what he had just learned.

"You can't just go around accusing innocent women of murder," Jonas said. "Someone poisoned Dr. Bennett, yes, but it could be very bad if you point your finger at the wrong person. The Lloyd's could ruin you if you slander their family in anyway. They are very powerful in these parts, from what I gather."

Margaret snorted. Mother had already ruined them. No further need to worry.

"So, what would you suggest he do? They have killed one doctor, what's to stop them from killing another... doctor?" Margaret gave her brother a sideways glance and swallowed nervously.

"I have no proof, not enough in any case to say it is one or the other--"

"Perhaps it is both," Jonas suggested.

"True," Ainsley conceded. His fingers fidgeted with the silverware and then spun his tea cup around on the saucer. Margaret knew he was contemplating his next move. She knew his methodical mind, his penchant for minute details. He was a scientist at his core and she knew he'd be approaching this problem just as his would a dead body, step by step, detail by tiny detail. "Peter, what are you going to do?"

Margaret could see him push his tongue to the inside of his cheek before speaking. "I am going to speak with Walter at Picklow Mills."