Adele Rawlins ch 2 the poisoned man part 2

 

Chapter 2 The poisoned man part II

 

Reader, I had been preparing to work for Geoffrey for a while, the moment I suspected that he would be happy to make use of my skills; and I had told him that I was happy to be his agent in this. I had had Tony go into York, with my measurements, to a tailor, claiming to carry the measurements of a crippled lad for whom travel was too painful to come himself. I had commissioned black trousers in a knit fabric, to stretch, and rather than just straps under the feet to have full feet in them, like those of acrobats. A tailor would sympathise at such a lad, preferring not to have to put on stockings as well. And I put light soles under the feet myself, and a lining of light chamois within, to preclude having to wear drawers with them, for chamois may be treated with talc to draw forth sweat and oils. I had prepared also a kind of miniature bourdaloue in gutta percha, with a rubber tube to one of Mr. Faraday’s balloons, and a one-way valve, so I could relieve myself on long waits, which I confess had tried me somewhat when lurking to steal back Halliwell’s family ring from that wretch, Deverill. I did not anticipate needing such specialised equipment here, but the reader should not think that I had neglected preparation.

 

“I’ve prepared a room for you,” said Mrs. Ogrington. “Of course, you will not expect to mingle much with the family, so you will eat in the nursery near your bedroom.”

“Ah, you put me in the quarantine, but I assure you, coaching accidents are not contagious,” I said.

No, reader, I had not intended to make waves, but oh! You know my temper, and how it fuels my sarcasm. And I was glad to see the woman blush.

“Why have you not prepared a guest room?” asked Mr. Ogrington, sharply. “And there is no question about poor Tizia being made to eat on her own; how would you feel if it had been you and I who died, and her father treating Sarah in such a way, for we made mutual agreements of care, you know!”

Basil gave a bark of laughter.

“She wouldn’t feel anything, bro, if she was dead,” he said.

Mrs. Ogrington was scarlet.

“Accidente! It is of no moment to me to eat alone, Uncle Engelbert,” I said. “I would not wish to be poisoned by the milk of human unkindness.”

“How dare you suggest anyone would poison you, miss!” cried Mrs. Ogrington.

“You mistake, signora, it is but the atmosphere which poisons, and I will be pleased to stay away from the family who wish me elsewhere,” I said.  “Che Schifo! The Good Lord does not reside in the hearts of any of you.”

“The child is observant,” said Basil. “Poisoned by the milk of human unkindness, I like that, it suits you down to the ground, Sophie.”

“She is pert,” said Mrs. Ogrington.

“When I see that I am to be treated with despite whatever I do, I will not hide how I feel,” I said.

“She has been given cause,” said Mr. Ogrington, with an edge to his voice.

“We did not ask to have a foundling foisted on us, Papa,” said Sarah.

“Hardly a foundling; the child of a colleague of mine in the foreign office,” said Ogrington.

“I’m sure we will warm to her soon enough, but it is sudden,” said Robert Ogrington, pacifically. “She is, after all, plainly of our own class, and not some child from the street.”

“I am sure my lawyer will make some other arrangement for me, as soon as possible,” I said.

“Enough! You must stay in the nursery for the time being, as that is the room set aside for you. I will call for a maid to show you the way, and you can settle in.” Mrs. Ogrington declared.

“Bello! I have the start of a migraine, and I must sleep it off.  It has been very hard to have to bury both my parents and then treated by the family I have been left to as if I am a dog from the street,” I said, lifting my head and looking down my nose, as Mrs. Ogrington rang the bell, and a servant was told to take me to my room.

I took a dislike to the maid as well, whose name was Eliza, and who looked as if she was smelling sour milk.

“You’re in the nursery here, miss,” she said. “And don’t expect no maid to help you dress and undress.”

“Oh, I do not expect anyone in this household to know how to do their job or behave with human decency,” I said. “You may go, Eliza.”

She flounced, but went more impressed than if I had been conciliatory.

I did go and lie down; I needed an impression on the bed and pillow in case I was checked up on. Indeed, Mrs. Ogrington did come to see if I had gone to bed, and I made little sleeping noises more unladylike than even a simulated snore, which every girl has heard from her dormitory mates if she has been to school. But not commonly the sort of noises a girl pretending to be asleep makes. She muttered something about it being awkward.

Reader, I hope that I am never so lost to charity as to make any bereaved and unwanted child feel unwanted. Well, I undoubtedly was unwanted, but I did not know then quite how unwanted by this woman at the moment.

I arose around six in the evening, and went to the door of the nursery.

It was locked.

So was my bedroom door.

Now, that was unfriendly.

I knew the family ate at seven, and doubtless I would be provided with something akin to a meal by some servant at about the same time, and I suspected the sort of tea which would satisfy a six-year-old would be what was my lot.

I was not happy; especially since my bedroom and the nursery had bars on the window. Me, I hate being trapped. It reminds me of the danger of being with Rochester, and, I think, some deep memory of his poor mad wife, who was a danger to all. 

I investigated my prison, and discovered that there was another room at the other end of the nursery, which belonged to the nursemaid when where were small children. The room was also locked, but there was a gap under the door, with a loose lintel which I removed. I found on the nursery shelves a magazine, which I opened, and was able to pass it under the door and poke out the key with the fine poker in my grate. I drew the pages back slowly, and though the paper and key were too thick to come through together, I drew the key right back to the gap of the lintel, and managed to grasp it and draw it back.

You ask why I did not use any of my lockpicking tools? Well, I did not want to give away that I had such tools or such skills.

I exited the maid’s room, and checked that this key also fit the outer doors of my bedroom and the nursery. Often this is the case, as the locks are all of one design, and it was indeed the case. I relocked everything and returned to the nursery, putting back the lintel, but concealing the key.

I was waiting when Eliza came in with a tray.

“Put it down and give me the key,” I said. “I am a guest in this house, not a prisoner.”

“Missus says you ain’t wanted and can stay put or go away,” said Eliza.

“Missus will get the rough edge of my solicitor’s tongue,” I said.

“I dersent,” said Eliza.

“Well!” I said. “You will at least oblige me by bringing me the rest of my dinner.”

“This is it,” said Eliza.

“Are you telling me that Miss Sarah eats so frugally?” I said, looking at the bowl of soup and two thin pieces of bread and butter. “Or am I to be starved as well as imprisoned?”

She shrugged.

“Ain’tnuthin’ to do wiv me,” she said.  “An’ she says if you don’t want it, I can take it away.”

“Well, you are delightful, and no mistake,” I said, with heavy sarcasm. “I think I can do without it and as you’re only the messenger, I won’t throw the soup at you.”

She flounced, and took the tray away, locking the door behind her.

I let myself out, having given her time to get downstairs, and went exploring.

The servants who were not serving and therefore busy were eating in the servants’ hall, Eliza complaining about being delayed by having to feed the foundling. I found a pantry, and filled a carafe of water, as thirst would be my main enemy, not having been provided with any drink, and helped myself to a generous amount of bread and ham, and a pie of some sort, a box of red phosphorus safety matches, since there was no means to light a fire in my grate, though there was plenty of coal, several pieces of kindling, and half a dozen candles, since there were no gas mantles, nor candles either.

She really did mean to starve me or dehydrate me and make me ill from cold and lack of light.

I had hoped to begin my search during the long evening meal, but having to sneak around to feed myself meant that I had lost a good half an hour, and that made the game not worth the candle.

I dined well enough on my ham, bread, and veal pie; and saved some of it for the morrow, if I was to be left to starve again. I hid the left-overs in the maid’s room, which had every appearance of still being locked against me.  I was, by this time, quite furious. However, there was nothing I might do tonight, and I took myself to bed, as rest is always good.

 

I awoke, suddenly, to find my door opening, and a candle being brought in.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s me,” said Basil. “I brought you some food; I understand you refused whatever gruel Sophie sent you.”

“That is very kind of you,” I said.

“I thought a pretty little thing like you, with nobody else in the world, might consider being nice to me,” said Basil. “It would be our little secret.”

I rolled off my bed, reader, and grabbed up the poker.

“Oh, I have heard from schoolfriends about people with ‘little secrets,’” I said. “Take your lewd thoughts out of my room now.”

Basil leaned back on the crutch he used.

“Bit of a virago, ain’t you?” he said.

“You have no idea how much of a virago I can be,” I said. “I won’t be fool enough to assume that your damaged legs will make you less dangerous; your arms are doubtless stronger in compensation.”

Reader, I was afraid.

He laughed, a mocking laugh.

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to have a bit of clandestine help in exchange for some fun, I’ll take away the food,” he said.

“Do; it makes me nauseous to consider what you want me to buy it with,” I said, with more distaste than grammar. “Get out.”

“Even for the key to your door?” he held that up.

“I had thought you were perhaps a single piece of leaven in the lump of this family, but I was wrong,” I said. “Get out. I will be barring the door with the chest of drawers.”

He laughed again and withdrew.

I knew he was laughing because he knew all the keys worked in all the locks.

I pulled the chest of drawers over this door into the corridor.

The other door, into the nursery, opened outward.

It had a fancy hook on the door for hanging one’s dressing gown or similar. It was ornate enough, and with strong enough screws to attach the rope used to tie up my trunk to it, and tie it to the bars on the window.

I smirked when the nursery door rattled an hour or so later.

“You bloody virago,” said Basil’s voice.

“I bite my thumb at you,” I said.

“Well, don’t expect me to save you when Sophie and her fancy-man poison you,” said Basil.

That was information.

Sophie had a fancy-man, and Basil believed her to be a poisoner.

“And what makes you think she really is a poisoner?” I asked.

He gave a rather cynical laugh.

“Well, someone is poisoning my brother,” he said.

“Eh… Accidente! Perhaps you should worry about that, and wondering if you will be next, rather than trying to debauch guests,” I said. I had almost said, ‘eh bien’ and I must be careful.

“You know, you’re a clever little girl,” he said. “I wouldn’t put it past her.  But I only eat from dishes she has partaken of; and she does not bring me tea in the morning.”

“A good man would warn his brother, if he believes this,” I said. “Now, go away; I have a headache.”

Reader, I did have a headache with all that was going on. He went away, however, and I did go to sleep.

I was rudely awakened by a hammering on the door to the nursery.

“What are you up to?” demanded Eliza’s unlovely voice.

“Protecting myself from Mr. Basil,” I said.

“Oh, he tried it on, did he? Well, he ain’t here now, so if you wants your breakfast, come and get it,” said Eliza.

I undid the rope, rapidly making myself up with the ease born of many years practice, and my pallid face with dark bags under the eyes peered out at her.

“Gawd! You look as if you died three days ago,” said Eliza.

“You’re no oil painting yourself,” I said.

“Huh, I hates Sundays, hustle bustle, and then hang arahnd in church and poked if you takes a nap,” said Eliza.

“I can’t go out,” I said. “I feel too ill. But I must drink something.”

“There’s a pot o’ tea an’ gruel,” said Eliza. “Miss Sarah has any eggs going, account o’ bein’ wiv child, they reckon.”

“I suppose that is fair,” I said. “I could not face a more robust breakfast, anyway.”

I drank tea, and ate the rather lumpy gruel, and it was gruel, not porridge. I did not manage all of it. I then went back to bed, and presented a ghastly face when Sophie Ogrington came to look in on me.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“Perhaps being locked in without water, as well as a migraine,” I murmured.

“I’ll get you water; I don’t want you dying on us,” said Sophie.

No, I wager she wouldn’t want anyone investigating a death; it might spoil her plans with her husband, if Basil was right.

I murmured thanks, and let her lock me in with a carafe of fresh lemonade and a glass. Which I had to trust, for the reasons cited, that my death would be inconvenient.