adele rawlins ch 3 the poisoned man, part 3

 

Chapter 3 The poisoned man part III

 

I waited for the house to be quiet, and I got up and unlocked the door to the maid’s room, and eased her door to the corridor open.

I was glad I had done so; Basil sat sprawled in an easy chair outside my room. Presumably he had volunteered to watch me.

I went back into the bedroom, and opened the window, passing the rope around the bars. I took off my dress and pulled on my tight knit trousers, and over it a long, black knitted garment I had acquired from Mr. Cohen; he said it was called a ‘garnsey’ and was a fisherman’s garment. I belted it tight around me, and returned to the maid’s room. I went out of the window, and along the brickwork to the other end of the nursery, to tighten the knot of the rope, so that nobody could gain entrance to the room in which I was supposedly sleeping.  At least, not without a lot of male puffing and grunting with tools.

I went directly down, and in at what turned out to be Basil’s window. And if he was upstairs guarding my doors, he was not in his room.

Like the nursery, his room was at the back of the house.  And whilst he was elsewhere, I went through his papers.

I confess, I found his papers somewhere between disturbing and disgusting; I can only describe it as pornography.

Sickened, I restored pictures and writings of his perverse fantasies and moved out of his room. And it seemed to me that I needed to go first to Sophie’s room.  The master bedroom had an adjoining mistress bedroom, and a boudoir or sitting room for her, and a study for Engelbert on the other side of his bedroom. She had a davenport in her boudoir, and it was to this that I turned my attention.

Reader, my years as a burglar had taught me that there is scarcely a simple, innocent piece of furniture to be found, if it is made for the writing, it will have secret drawers for the concealment of such correspondence as are not for public consumption. I had often found caches of money in such places, some in currency so old that the owner du jour had surely not known of the secret drawer; and in one, some rather mouldy macaroons, possibly a treat not permitted to the diet of some poor old person kept on strict rations. As a result, I poked, pulled, turned and tried sliding various carvings, placed probes into anything which might be a recessed hole for a key or just to be pressed, and with sensitive fingers exploring, it was not long before the secret yielded to me.

I found a bundle of love-letters, which was disappointing. They were moderately steamy, but I, who am French, am not shocked by such things nor embarrassed in reading them, being perfectly ordinary in their sexuality and not twisted like Basil’s proclivities. I suppose that a man denied a healthy love life will turn inward and find less than salubrious concepts, but it was a relief to read about Sophie’s lover’s frank but straightforward discussions of their time together.

His name was Dimitri Raskolnikov, and he urged her over and over to try to see her husband’s blueprints of the propellers for ships.

Well, now! That made things clearer.

Sophie had sold out to a foreign power.

Or rather, as some of the tender phrases became more and more formulaic and platitudinous, Sophie had been targeted by a foreign power, and was, judging by the tone, proving difficult at times in being dismissive over her husband’s silly drawings ‘which don’t even look like anything.’ The poison seemed to have been suggested by Dimitri, to confuse Engelbert’s mind, something which had come close to succeeding.

I abstracted the three letters which were of the most interest, and was about to exit the room when I heard Basil’s limping tread on the stair.

Reader, I fled into Sophie’s bedroom and up onto the top of the half-tester bed, where embroidered excrescences hid me from casual sight; and I doubted that Basil could climb in any case. He did not come into the front rooms, but went into his own, and presently went back up the stairs again. I heard his voice, and went up one or two stairs to hear what he was saying.

“I thought I might entertain you by reading,” he said, supposedly to me, the other side of the door.

The revolting fellow had gone to get some of his vile stories to read out!  How shocked a little girl of sixteen that I was supposed to be would have been! I have long held that it is unfair to suppose that those with twisted bodies also have twisted minds, but Basil appeared to live down to that uncharitable view.

I had to get out of this place.

I went out of Basil’s window, and back up to the maid’s room, pausing to untie the rope on my bedroom door. I slipped in cautiously, and moved with care, so as not to alert him with any noise. I went and chose a simple gown, and some boots to wear, a coat and bonnet, and returned to the maid’s room. Here I ate the rest of the veal pie and ham,  as I tied up the clothes in a sheet. I tossed them out of the window, and climbed down, donning them inside a bush in the kitchen garden, and covering my somewhat bloodied fingertips with good York tan gloves.

I walked to Geoffrey’s abode, and let myself in, to await the return of my husband and parents-in-law from church.

 

I confess, I dozed off on the chaise-longue, under the gay quilt Marianne keeps on it.

 

oOoOo

 

 

When the family arrived home, I flung myself into Tony’s arms, and reader! I have to confess it, I sobbed hysterically.

Tony sat down on the chaise-longue and pulled me onto his lap.

“What the devil happened?” he demanded.

“She locked me in the nursery with enough food to keep a gnat alive, and Basil used his key, as they all fit, and tried to debauch me,” I sobbed, succinctly.

“I’m going to kill him,” said Tony.

“I didn’t let him get near me, and I jammed the doors, and I have the information for Papa, but oh! He was reading filthy stories through the door while I was pretending to be locked in, and I… I just had to get away.”

“Dear God!” said Geoffrey. “I would never have asked you to go there if I had any idea you would be so badly treated.”

I managed a hysterical giggle.

“Perhaps you should tell them that as I fled the place, they won’t be made trustees of my million pound estate,” I said.

Geoffrey sniggered.

“How appropriate,” he agreed.

He did not ask about the information, but I could see he was agitated, and I pulled myself together.

“I have the honour to report to your lordship…” I began.

“That’s for the navy; just tell Papa,” said Geoffrey.

“If I do it formally, it hurts less to consider the universal rejection and unkindness,” I said. “I cannot think your friend to be much of a man, for he has no control at all in his own household. Even though I stole food there was no outcry, which suggests that servant peculation is common enough, and hushed up by the upper servants. I was referred to as a ‘foundling,’ though at least Robert Ogrington pointed out I was clearly of their class. To the rest, I was something dragged off the street. Sophie was clear enough that the servant who brought such food as I was given told me that missus hoped I’d either submit or ask to be allowed to leave.  I had an evening meal of pea soup and two pieces of thinly-buttered bread, and a morning meal of a bowl of gruel and a pot of tea. That was it. I had no candles, no firewood or matches to light a fire, a single thin blanket, and if I had not put on my Garnsey and lit the fire, I might have been seriously ill, especially as I had no drink until the tea in the morning.”

“Oh, my dear!” cried Geoffrey. “Your dedication to the country is noted, and I will pass it on.”

“I stole a carafe of water as well as food,” I said, “But I was deeply scared for a while, with bars on the windows.”

I described how I had managed to get into the maid’s room, which had no bars, and also taken possession of the key to that room.

“I must apologise for Engelbert not seeing to your comfort and safety better,” said Geoffrey.

“I accept that he is weakened from the poison, but I do not accept that he is so despised in his own home that his hospitality is abused,” I said. “However, it was Basil who gave me the key, in mentioning Sophie’s fancy-man, and that he believed her to be poisoning Engelbert in his morning tea. He did not, however, see fit to warn the brother who had generously opened his home to him.”

“Nor did he respect his brother to attempt to lay lewd hands on someone who was presented as his ward,” said Geoffrey, grimly. “I will be speaking with Engelbert about this, and I will see that Basil is sent rightabout.”

“I doubt he could hold a trade,” I said.

“He can sit on a stool as a clerk,” said Geoffrey. “He hangs on Engelbert’s sleeve, and if he had a wholesome avocation like painting or poetry or novelising, why, that can be accepted, but not when a man goes beyond what is proper with a young girl. I am shocked.”

“Parbleu! So was I,” I said. “But it is plain that your culprit is Sophie, and I don’t even know if she realises she is killing her husband or whether she assumes merely that he will be confused; her, she is a most stupid woman, and selfish, and mean, and all she cares about is her own comfort. I despise her.”

 “You may be assured, I will make many things plain to the whole family,” said Geoffrey, grimly. “I cannot arrest a lady of her age for treason, but I will be asking for her lover to be sent back to Russia as persona non grata and I will make her own role as a traitor plain to her.”

“She won’t understand,” I said. “Papa, it would be far better if a naval architect drew a propellor which was wrong… I don’t know if I am right, but would not the wrong angle create nothing but turbulence?”

“Cavitation,” said Geoffrey, a smile spreading across his face. “My dear daughter! You are a wonder. I will have Engelbert draw up such a thing, and leave it where Sophie may pass it to her lover.”

I smirked.

“And then, you need not wonder who is the spy in the Russian embassy, for you will know, and can set a watch on Dimity Rashspotsoff,” I said.

“Dimitri Raskolnikov,” Geoffrey corrected me absently. “Indeed, I like it very much. I am certain that my superior will agree; Kilvert Holmes will appreciate the irony. He’s in need of cheering up; his son, Mycroft, is just three years old, and is into everything, which would be less trying if he did not already read fluently and is capable of working out compound interest on his pocket money if it is given to him late.”

“A prodigy!” I said. “He will be director of her majesty’s secret service when we retire.”

“No doubt,” said Geoffrey. “I can use your exploits to show Holmes that it is not a waste to educate women; though I fear Sophie is evidence to the contrary for him.”

“No, Papa!” I said. “It is precisely because Sophie has not been well-educated that she has been so foolish; she has no idea of the importance of a drawing of the proposed propulsion system of a warship, and that is why she has been used by an unscrupulous spy, taking advantage of her lack of knowledge as much as her silly nature.”

“Why, there is much in what you say,” said Geoffrey.

 

 

Reader, that was the end of it for me, officially; but I was pleased to learn that Geoffrey dropping the comment that Tizia was so displeased with her treatment that she sought others to be the trustees for her considerable fortune caused much distress. Sophie feathered her metaphorical oars in an attempt to turn against the current she had set herself in and Geoffrey sneered at her.

What, did you think I did not row when at university as Edward Fairfax? I was never a rowing blue, but I performed ably enough.

And Dimitri dropped her like a hot chestnut as soon as he had her drawing, which I assume was one of the factors in the total naval supremacy of the Royal Navy over the Russian fleet, as was to be ably demonstrated in a few more years’ time when we entered the Russian war in the Baltic and on the Crimean peninsula.

As to Basil, he had not managed to do anything for which to be taken in charge; but it came out that he had told Sarah some of his filthy stories from the time when she was fourteen, and she had been at first terrified when Denis Allbright showed an interest in her. The young man was, however, thoroughly wholesome, and had allayed her fears.

When Sarah confessed this, Denis laid Basil out.

“Now I know which filthy person it was who so scared my poor darling!” he said.

“My own brother!” cried Engelbert. “Well, I cannot have such a man in my household any longer.  I have some lands, however, in Jamaica, and he shall go there as a bean counter, where the fever and the ague may eat him up.”

I confess, the idea of Basil having to cope with tropical heat, hurricanes, and with a bit of luck, sharks, filled me with vindictive pleasure.

Once Sophie had fulfilled her function in foisting disinformation onto the Russians, Engelbert separated from her, and paid for her to live in seclusion in a small house in Slough. Where one might hope she was despondent.

 

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.

 

Adele Rawlins; chapter 1; the poisoned man part 1

 this is a three part story and I have  a two-parter to follow

Chapter 1 The poisoned man part I

 

My father-in-law waited until Christmas was over before asking Tony and me to look into a little matter.

“There’s a fellow who’s very important to us who has suddenly become sick, and vague,” Sir Geoffrey said. “I had someone get samples of his food and hair and ran a Marsh test, but there was no arsenical poisoning. He is, however, when lucid, convinced that someone is poisoning him. Of course, he might merely be in his dotage, but I cannot think it would come on over a few weeks.”

“What about lead?” I asked. “Doesn’t it have similar symptoms?”

“I… yes, I suppose it could be,” said Sir Geoffrey.  “Can you come to London and mingle with their social set?”

I exchanged a look with Tony.

“Clara is happy as a weekly boarder with Jane and her cousins,” I said, “But we should have to write and say that she is not coming home this weekend and explain that it is because Grandpapa Geoffrey has asked us to help him, not because we don’t want her. I will drive over and see her right away.”

“I will come,” said Sir Geoffrey. “Then I may explain that someone I know may be being hurt and I need your help to stop it. I think she will accept that.”

“Yes, she is a generous little girl,” I said.

Reader, you must remember, I am sure, that we adopted Clara because I chose the right tune on a musical box to jog her out of being mute; and she so needed love. I know what that is like.

We drove over, and stole Clara out of afternoon lessons, so she got a bit of extra family time.

“I wish I could come,” she said.

“I won’t have time to pay you as much attention as you deserve,” I said.

“Grandmama Marianne will, though,” said Sir Geoffrey. “Fine! We’ll steal you for the rest of the week as well, and you shall go to Astley’s Amphitheatre and Gunther’s tea shop.”

“Thank you, Grandpapa,” said Clara.

We had not yet any expectation of a Happy Event of our own, but I was sure that Clara would be a delightful big sister when I did become with child.

 

I spoke seriously to Sir Geoffrey, with regards to his friend, whose name, he told me, was Engelbert Ogrington, a most horrible name, but to blamed on his parents not on him, and not a reason in itself to poison him.

“If it is lead, or mercury, or some other form of Saturnine poisoning, as you suspect, you should administer Iodide of Potassium,” I said. Sir Geoffrey stared at me. “What, Papa, can you doubt me? Do I not read the medical papers especially with regard to legal matters? And it was published in French, by a Belgian doctor named Louis Melsens, who has solved the problem of mercury and lead palsy, for those whose syphilis treatment has been too aggressive. He has had remarkable success. The Iodide of Potassium binds to the metallic poison and makes it soluble and able to be passed harmlessly from the body.”

Tony chuckled.

“Adele acquired an interest in natural science at school, and wrote a paper on poisoning at university when she was masquerading as Ned Fairfax,” he told his father. “As she considered making a career of prosecuting poisoners, she also looked deeply into antidotes.”

“There is also some suggestion that Epsom salts may counteract lead poison,” I said.  “Which was discovered by those who had been poisoned accidentally by lead acetate, also called sugar of lead, via pewter vessels in which vinegar had been cooked, and a repairing lease to Epsom to take the waters coincidentally effected a cure. I’d dose him with both, if I was you. Now, go and tell him that he must take your cure, and write also that he must prepare the way for the orphaned daughter of an old friend to be a part of his household as his ward.”

“You, I assume,” said Sir Geoffrey.

“Eh bien, even so,” I said.  “I considered being more invisible, as the tween floor maid, but I, Adele, I who speak to you, hate and abhor housework, even though I know how to do it. I will doubtless be an unpaid skivvy nonetheless, but at least not rising at five in the cold morning and falling into some bed-bug ridden cot of dubious softness after midnight. Me, I can put up with hardship, but I do not intend to do so if I can avoid it.”

Tony laughed.

“That’s our authentic Adele,” he said.

“I need to know who is in the household,” I said. “It seems unlikely to be one of the servants.”

“I agree,” said Geoffrey. “I… Engelbert is a naval designer, and he is working on the design of a better screw propellor for war ships.”

“Of this, I know nothing,” I said. “You had better educate me further so that I may know if I come across notes or drawings.”

“Of course,” said Geoffrey. “You may have seen pictures in the paper of steam liners and packet boats with immense wheels on the side?”

“Like Mr. Brunel’s ‘Great Western’ which I believe I recall from my youth?” I said.

“Indeed; his ‘Great Britain’ has a screw, which is more efficient. It is…” he paused. “It is like an auger, thrust out of the back of a ship, turned by the steam engines, and as it rotates, it pushes against the sea, thrusting the ship forward.”

I nodded.

“That is a clear picture,” I said. Everyone, after all, knows how an auger works, cutting into where it drills and thrusting the debris aside. “An Archimedes pump works the same sort of way.”

“Precisely,” said Geoffrey. “The first British warships to have screw propellors were the ‘Terror’ and the ‘Erebus,’ some five years ago, and of course the angle of the propellor blades is of vital importance.”

I nodded; I could see this.

“It is, enfin, like plying a spade to clear snow,” I said. “With the right angle, voila, it is no hardship, but poking at it ineffectually is worse than not bothering.”

“Indeed, and a naval screw requires only two or three blades, not a whole Archimedian screw, and the optimal number is also in question.”

“Ah, good, that will help me recognise it,” I said. “So, why do you think he is being poisoned for the plans?”

“Because the poison – and I am sure you are right that it is lead -  makes him confused.  And in a state of confusion thus engengered, he could be talked into showing his papers,” said Geoffrey.

That made sense.

“So, who am I looking at?” I said.

“I don’t suppose you count his wife,” said Geoffrey.

“Why not?” I asked. “You’d count me, or Mama Marianne.”

“Sophie Ogrington has not the least interest in her husband’s job,” said Geoffrey. “She describes it as ‘drawing boats.’”

“Then she is more in danger of accidentally giving away secrets she does not recognise as important,” I said, severely. “Even if it does seem unlikely.”

“Well, Sophie is fifty-two, five years younger than Engelbert,” said Geoffrey.  “They have a son, Robert, who is eighteen, and a daughter, Sarah, who is twenty, and who is married to Engelbert’s secretary, and personal assistant, Denis Allbright. They have no children as yet.  Englebert’s younger brother, Basil, also lives with them. He suffered from infantile paralysis, and though he can walk, he is frail.”

“Eh bien, a man who might resent as much as be grateful for his brother’s hospitality,” I said. “Especially if there is any resentment from Mrs. Ogrington and a tendency to make him feel unwelcome.”

“I… I do not think that Basil would… but you present a compelling reason,” said Geoffrey, a frown of worry ridging his brow.

“You will inform your friend with the unpronounceable name that he is collecting an orphan who is a dependent and I will be very young, very awkward, very shy, and when they go to church on Sunday, enfin, I shall have such a megrim that I cannot be disturbed. For everyone will go to church these days, which was not so when I was small, or at least, was not his habit,” I said, still refusing to name Edward Fairfax Rochester. He is dead, and cannot harm me, but still I have a primeval fear of him.

“And there I was thinking that you would climb in and burgle the house,” said Geoffrey.

“I learned to do that well enough to survive growing up,” I said with dignity, “But to search the house from within, it is by far the more efficient way to do things. But I will wear trousers, so that if anyone comes home early, I can slip out of one window and into another. And I will have two hours clear to search, which may not be enough, but perhaps you can then call in the afternoon and arrange to keep everyone occupied?”

“Marianne and I can do that,” said Geoffrey.

“Good; I will sort out costumes which are of a wealthy child and perhaps a little tight on me.” I said. “I will be a pathetic orphan, oh, but of the most pathetic!  I will be despised and pitied and taken as nothing.”

“Are you going to be French?” asked Geoffrey. “If not, you will have to be careful about your idiom.”

I considered.

“I will be Italian,” I said. “It will give me reason not to say much, and I know Italian well enough to simulate the idiom. Enough for English people and it covers for a slight accent.”

Geoffrey nodded.

“Good,” he said. “You can pass as English when you put your mind to it, though.”

I sniggered.

“I can pass as a Yorkshire woman,” I said, “But happen tha friend would be reet mardy at that, sithee.”

He laughed.

“Not exactly out of the top drawer,” he said.

So, I was to be half Italian, the child of a respectable opera singer married to an English ambassador, both of whom were dead with no known family.  I was to be sixteen, which I could simulate well enough.

Geoffrey went ahead to both alert his friend and to feed him the antidote to his poisons. Hopefully he would be less vague and confused when introducing me to his household, where he must continue to take the antidote, assuming he was still being poisoned.

 

 

Tony and I travelled to London, and I went to see Mr. Cohen.

“Well, I see you made a happy marriage,” he said.

“Yes, I am Mrs. Rawlins now,” I said.  “I… I don’t know if my grandmother told you, I have done some work for the police, and it means I may need specific clothes.”

“Eh, I figured out that old Mrs. Deleven and her granddaughter were one and the same long since,” he said. “And wise of you to hide as an old woman!  and you’ve dressed as a lad, too; and I don’t ask questions, but if you got yourself into police work, I can’t say I’m not relieved.”

“Mr. Cohen, you were always my good angel,” I said. “And I wanted to put business your way for my disguises to say thank you, for I know you’d not accept more.”

“Perhaps you’d put a few children through school, that need it?” he asked.

“I’d be more than willing,” I said. “I tried to do so with a street girl, but she ran away to go back to being a prostitute.”

“Alas, the meshugas of those who see it as easy money cannot be calculated,” he mourned. “What can I help you with?”

“Nominally upper class young girl,” I said “About sixteen, not well off, but not impoverished. I know it’s a long shot.”

“Alas, I can help you out with that,” he said. “And I say ‘alas;’ for such means that a young girl died, and her effects came to me. I am assured that it was not a fever as such but a heart condition arising from rheumatic fever.”

“And that can happen at any level of society,” I agreed. “She may help her country by the use of her clothes, and I will buy the lot, and at good price, save any you have earmarked.”

“They are out of the league of most of my customers; I thought of you when they came in, when you were at school,” he said.

“I’ll pass them on, after use, to my old preceptress, who keeps clothes for those of her girls whose parents are… inadequate,” I said.

 

I became Tizia; which is a joke in Italian, as it is synonymous with ‘some girl’ as Tizio is ‘some boy’ and part of an idiom parallel with our English ‘Tom, Dick, or Harry.’ I did not think that anyone would understand it, since Mrs. Bridges was truly interested in languages and we learned some very interesting and unusual facts in the languages we learned.

Geoffrey introduced me to Engelbert Ogrington. He looked horrified.

“Geoffrey! This is a child! I cannot expect her to…”

“Engelbert, she is one-and-twenty; my daughter-in-law is extremely capable. Trust her; and she will also keep an eye on you to try to prevent further harm occurring. It was she who suggested an antidote, and you are much better even after two days.”

“I am,” he agreed.

Since he looked three parts dead, and the rest more like one of the Egyptian pharaohs one might meet in the British Museum, I had to conclude that the intervention of antidotes had been timely indeed. I smiled austerely.

“I am, after all, supposed to be harmless,” I said.  “Introduce me; be kind to the poor orphan, but otherwise do not alter your regime. I am your eyes, and I will see all.”

What could he do? He took me back to his household, who were all waiting to look me over, as he had prepared them somewhat for having been left the care of an orphan, by a colleague.

I whispered a shy, “Buon Giorno” and then made that into a “Good day to all. Thank you for receiving me,” and fluttered my eyelids down hastily.

The wife regarded me without enthusiasm, and muttered something about school. The daughter and her secretary regarded me with as much sympathy as if I was stealing food from their mouths.  The son looked on me in mild surprise that I should exist, and the brother gave me a sympathetic smile. I hoped he was not the spy.

Che Bello! I was in.