Robin Paige: Death at Bishops Keep

Kate made herself smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Fams-worth."

"Why, good morning, Miss Ardleigh," Mrs. Farnsworth replied. "Please, come in. I am afraid you have caught me answering my own bell, since it is my maid's half day." Her golden brown hair was bound back loosely and her green gown flowed without a waist from the shoulders, giving her a look of pastoral innocence, yet with a complexly mysterious knowledge behind the eyes, like one of Rossetti's maidens.

"Thank you," Kate said, masking her relief in formal politeness. She had recalled the vicar saying that Mrs. Farnsworth had only one servant, and had hoped that the woman might be out.

Mrs. Farnsworth's eyes became shadowed. "I was appallingly grieved-and shocked-to hear of your aunt's death. Your note did not elaborate. Please, come into the parlor and tell me what happened. It was a tragic accident, I assume."

Without answering, Kate followed her. The room was dim and chilly, palely lighted by the gas lamp on the wall beside the fireplace and warmed by a fire so small as to be almost symbolic. Kate noticed that the coal hod on the hearth was nearly empty, and wondered if Mrs. Farnsworth had simply allowed herself to run out, or was effecting a necessary economy.

Mrs. Farnsworth put her hands into the embroidered pockets of her dress. "If you like, I can prepare tea. One learns, you know, not to depend upon one's servants for all the necessities of life."

"Thank you, no tea," Kate said. She sat on the plum velvet settee facing the fire-on the edge, as decorum demanded- while Mrs. Farnsworth took the chair where she had obviously been sitting, wrapped in a paisley shawl. Between them was a small rosewood table that held a glass dish of shells and several small framed photographs of Mrs. Farnsworth in various costumed poses.

Mrs. Farnsworth pulled the shawl around her shoulders. "Now, please, Miss Ardleigh," she said, "if it is not too trying, perhaps you will tell me how your aunt died."

"It is very trying," Kate said, "but I will tell you." Lacking a strategy by which to plot a more devious course to the subject, she simply spoke what came first to mind, which was the truth. "She was poisoned."

Mrs. Farnsworth's hands flew to her mouth. She gasped. "Poisoned!"

Kate kept her back straight, her eyes fixed intently on Mrs. Farnsworth. Since they had already arrived at their subject, she would take the offensive. She could do no worse than fail. And even if she were mistaken about Mrs. Farnsworth's role in her aunts' deaths-now that she was actually here, the possibility of error seemed dreadfully real-she doubted that the woman would make an issue of the matter. There was, after all, the business of the forged letters. Kate screwed her courage to the sticking point and plunged ahead.

"Mrs. Farnsworth, this is not a stage and you and I are not merely players. You know very well that my aunt was poisoned, for you provided the means of her death. You killed her."

Mrs. Farnsworth's brown eyes grew large and she gave a little gasping laugh. "// My dear Miss Ardleigh, what fearful lunacy is this? Have you lost your mind?''

Have I? Kate wondered to herself. But she had nowhere to go but forward, doggedly following the track of what seemed to be the truth. "I am accusing you," she said, "of the murders of Sabrina Ardleigh and Bernice Jaggers."

The open mouth and widened eyes registered incredulity, the simultaneous headshake a sorrowful pity. "I very much fear that you have lost your mind, Miss Ardleigh. Perhaps it is the grief of untimely death, for which I hope you will accept my deepest condolences. Sabrina was my friend. But frankly, my dear, I have not an idea in the world who this Jaggers person is whom you say I have…" The slightest smile, as if of disbelief, lifted her lips. "… poisoned."

"Bernice Jaggers was the sister of Sabrina Ardleigh," Kate said, her eyes on the other's face. That little smile had hardened her resolve. "The evening before last, both ate of the mushroom pudding that was prepared from mushrooms you brought to Bishop's Keep. Among them was a Death Cap. My aunts died yesterday." She felt a deep icy chill, a winter in the bones. "Both were ill for hours. They suffered agonizing deaths."

Mrs. Farnsworth cast her eyes down. "I am most sorry for your sad bereavement, Miss Ardleigh." There was a catch in her impassioned voice and when she looked up, the trace of a tear in her eye. She leaned forward, speaking with urgency. "But I assure you that I have never called at Bishop's Keep. And never having been there, I certainly could not have brought such a thing as… mushrooms." She made a little grimace, as if the word summoned up images of dirt and leaves. "Or a… Death Cap, did you say? I regret that I do not know what that is."

Kate's heart was in her throat, and she was oblivious to the chill room around her, the pale gloom, the dying fire. Had

she made a terrible mistake? Had she accused a woman who was guilty of foolishness but innocent of murder? But she had no other course. She could only pursue. She steeled herself.

"You came," she said, relentless, "twice. The first time, you attempted to break in to the library to steal the forged letters and the cipher document; as you escaped, you left a hat. The second time, you came in the disguise of a gypsy selling mushrooms."

Mrs. Farnsworth sat quite still. Only her eyes moved, with a quick, darting motion, right to left, and there was a slight mottling high on her cheeks. For the first time, Kate began to think that she might be right. With the thought came both relief and a heightened apprehension. If Mrs. Farnsworth was the killer, how could she wring a confession from her? The woman was as cold and icy hard as a glacier.

When Mrs. Farnsworth spoke, her voice was distant. "I see that you insist on persevering in these scandalous and absurd accusations despite my assurance that I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." She rose, her bearing imperious, contempt and revulsion in her face. "I must, therefore, decline to speak with you any further. Please leave."

She was the perfect picture of offended, outraged sensibility. How could the actress be dislodged from the role? Kate reached into the knitting bag beside her on the settee and took out the envelope. "I fear that it will not be as easy as that, Mrs. Farnsworth. There is proof of your visit."

The other woman's eyes darkened imperceptibly, but her face remained impassive. When she spoke her voice was without inflection. "Proof? What proof could you possibly have?"

"This photograph," Kate said. She opened the envelope and held it up. "It quite clearly shows you in your gypsy costume at the kitchen door, a basket of mushrooms in your hand."

Mrs. Farnsworth stood unmoving.

Kate put the photograph on the table. "Perhaps you would care to examine it."

Quickly, as if she could not help herself, the woman's glance went to the photograph. Then, with the subtlest of facial expressions, perhaps just the smoothing of the skin around the eyes, her self-confidence seemed to return. She lifted her chin. "A cursory examination, I suppose," she said with cool amusement, "might suggest that the figure in this photograph could be a woman. It might even be concluded- although the conclusion would certainly require an extraordinary feat of the imagination-to bear a slight resemblance to me."

"And to Rosalind?" Kate asked. "Is the gypsy's costume not your costume from As You Like It, in which Rosalind, transformed into Ganymede, dresses as a boy?"

Mrs. Farnsworth's tone was colored by a half-contemptuous disdain. "But the taking of life is not sport for ladies. Why in the world should I wish to kill your aunts, Miss Ar-dleigh? The idea is outrageous!"

"It was not my aunts you intended to kill," Kate said, feeling anger, "but my aunt. Sabrina Ardleigh, a good and kind lady and a friend to you. And you probably intended to kill me as well. The idea is not at all outrageous when you consider what is at stake. The reputation of Dr. Westcott, your own reputation and livelihood, the continuation of the Order of the Golden Dawn-all of enormous importance to you, I warrant, and worth a few risks."