that medicine he had from the chemist,’ said Mrs Grinham. ‘And if you ask me, the man what made that terrible mistake ought to be put in prison, or at least thrown out of business!’
‘It might not be the chemist’s fault,’ said Frances. ‘Maybe Mr Garton had an enemy who put poison in the medicine.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Mrs Grinham dismissively. ‘Mr Garton was a good, kind man, who would want to poison him?’
Frances was hoping to explore this idea further, but the moment was lost when a young woman came in from the yard entrance, her cheeks glowing red with cold. She immediately made for the fire, rubbing her hands to warm them. ‘Oh, is that tea? Just the thing! And what a delicious-looking cake! You have excelled yourself Mrs Grinham!’
Ettie stifled a giggle.
‘Please help yourself to a slice,’ said Frances, trying her best to avoid Mrs Grinham’s gaze. ‘I’ve come from the bakery, and there was a bit of an accident about the delivery, and, well, I thought we might as well eat it up.’
‘The bakery?’ said the new arrival, surprised. ‘Well, thank you, I’m sure.’ She was slender and fair, and about the same age as Frances, with slightly protuberant eyes under heavy lids which marred an otherwise pretty face. There was something familiar about her features, and Frances realised that she had seen her in the Grove more than once, though she had never entered the shop. Fortunately the girl did not appear to recognise Frances. She took off her coat and busied herself making a fresh pot of tea and cutting cake.
‘We were just talking about poor Mr Garton,’ said Frances.
‘Oh, yes, that was a very sad thing,’ said the girl through a mouthful of cake. ‘And to think we saw him only about an hour before he died. I can hardly believe it!’
‘Were there many people here that night?’
‘No, just Master and Mistress and Mr and Mrs Garton. It was more like a family dinner than a grand occasion.’
‘I expect it was a very good dinner; better than I’m used to,’ said Frances, wistfully.
‘Artichoke soup, and fried sole, then cutlets and boiled fowls and vegetables, and apple pudding and blancmange,’ said Mrs Grinham, proudly. ‘And that wasn’t all because they were served tea and macaroons and sandwiches in the drawing room afterwards. ‘They all ate very well and there was hardly a crumb left and no one was took ill .’
‘I should think a gentleman like Mr Keane can afford the very best wines, too,’ said Frances.
‘He can,’ agreed Mrs Grinham, ‘though I have heard Mr Harvey say that he might save himself a shilling a bottle and not know the difference. But then everyone knows that Mr Keane came from a very low family and only has his wife to thank for his position.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Frances hopefully, ‘Mr Garton wasn’t poisoned at all. He might just have had a spasm on the heart.’
While they considered this, a young Atlas of a man with long brown hair tied back in a switch and a mild expression entered the room. His clothes were rough yet clean, and there was a whiff of the stables about him, but his presence in the kitchen was tolerated.
‘Here, Adam, what do you think of this?’ said Ettie teasingly, showing him the portrait. ‘Would you believe Master has said it is to be burnt?’
He frowned as he looked at it, then, without saying a word, he took the picture from its frame and tore it in half down the middle. The part with James Keane was consigned to the fire, but the other half he rolled up and placed carefully in his pocket. ‘There, and if you tell anyone, it’ll be the worse for all of you!’ he said, his face flushing red.
‘Now then, Adam, we know it’s just your little way,’ said Mrs Grinham. ‘No harm in admiring a lady. Come, have some tea.’ Ettie poured a large cup and Adam sat in a corner taking large noisy gulps, scorning the cake to munch at a piece of coarse bread. Whatever his thoughts he kept
‘It might not be the chemist’s fault,’ said Frances. ‘Maybe Mr Garton had an enemy who put poison in the medicine.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Mrs Grinham dismissively. ‘Mr Garton was a good, kind man, who would want to poison him?’
Frances was hoping to explore this idea further, but the moment was lost when a young woman came in from the yard entrance, her cheeks glowing red with cold. She immediately made for the fire, rubbing her hands to warm them. ‘Oh, is that tea? Just the thing! And what a delicious-looking cake! You have excelled yourself Mrs Grinham!’
Ettie stifled a giggle.
‘Please help yourself to a slice,’ said Frances, trying her best to avoid Mrs Grinham’s gaze. ‘I’ve come from the bakery, and there was a bit of an accident about the delivery, and, well, I thought we might as well eat it up.’
‘The bakery?’ said the new arrival, surprised. ‘Well, thank you, I’m sure.’ She was slender and fair, and about the same age as Frances, with slightly protuberant eyes under heavy lids which marred an otherwise pretty face. There was something familiar about her features, and Frances realised that she had seen her in the Grove more than once, though she had never entered the shop. Fortunately the girl did not appear to recognise Frances. She took off her coat and busied herself making a fresh pot of tea and cutting cake.
‘We were just talking about poor Mr Garton,’ said Frances.
‘Oh, yes, that was a very sad thing,’ said the girl through a mouthful of cake. ‘And to think we saw him only about an hour before he died. I can hardly believe it!’
‘Were there many people here that night?’
‘No, just Master and Mistress and Mr and Mrs Garton. It was more like a family dinner than a grand occasion.’
‘I expect it was a very good dinner; better than I’m used to,’ said Frances, wistfully.
‘Artichoke soup, and fried sole, then cutlets and boiled fowls and vegetables, and apple pudding and blancmange,’ said Mrs Grinham, proudly. ‘And that wasn’t all because they were served tea and macaroons and sandwiches in the drawing room afterwards. ‘They all ate very well and there was hardly a crumb left and no one was took ill .’
‘I should think a gentleman like Mr Keane can afford the very best wines, too,’ said Frances.
‘He can,’ agreed Mrs Grinham, ‘though I have heard Mr Harvey say that he might save himself a shilling a bottle and not know the difference. But then everyone knows that Mr Keane came from a very low family and only has his wife to thank for his position.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Frances hopefully, ‘Mr Garton wasn’t poisoned at all. He might just have had a spasm on the heart.’
While they considered this, a young Atlas of a man with long brown hair tied back in a switch and a mild expression entered the room. His clothes were rough yet clean, and there was a whiff of the stables about him, but his presence in the kitchen was tolerated.
‘Here, Adam, what do you think of this?’ said Ettie teasingly, showing him the portrait. ‘Would you believe Master has said it is to be burnt?’
He frowned as he looked at it, then, without saying a word, he took the picture from its frame and tore it in half down the middle. The part with James Keane was consigned to the fire, but the other half he rolled up and placed carefully in his pocket. ‘There, and if you tell anyone, it’ll be the worse for all of you!’ he said, his face flushing red.
‘Now then, Adam, we know it’s just your little way,’ said Mrs Grinham. ‘No harm in admiring a lady. Come, have some tea.’ Ettie poured a large cup and Adam sat in a corner taking large noisy gulps, scorning the cake to munch at a piece of coarse bread. Whatever his thoughts he kept
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