Joan Smith - Gather Ye Rosebuds

Despite my intention, I did not have a root through the attic trunks before Weylin's arrival the next morning after all. Brodagan came down with a toothache in the night, and when Brodagan has the toothache, they hear of it in Scotland and Wales. Morpheus himself could not sleep for the moaning. Servants raced through the halls bringing her oil of cloves and camphor, tincture of myrrh and friar's balsam and brandy-all to no avail. When it became clear that this was one of Brodagan's major toothaches, as opposed to the minor ones that cure themselves after a toothful of brandy, I knew my duty, and I did it.

I got out of bed at two o'clock in the morning and went belowstairs to prepare her a posset with a few drops of laudanum, to let the poor soul rest. I would insist she have that distressed tooth removed in the morning.

Steptoe came to the kitchen to inquire what was amiss. He was wearing a dressing gown that belonged to a dandified lord. It was green silk with gold tassels on the belt. On the pocket some family crest was embroidered. Either Pakenham's or Weylin's, no doubt. I told him of Brodagan's trouble. He stirred up the moldering embers in the stove, and between us we got the milk heated. There was enough for two, and I took the pan with me, planning to have the second cup myself, without the laudanum. I added a few drops of the medicine to Brodagan's cup and went upstairs.

Brodagan lay in bed with a hot brick against her cheek, cushioned with a wad of flannelette. Without her headpiece, and with her face shriveled in pain, she looked no more formidable than young Mary. Mary was with her, warming another brick at the grate, to replace the one in use when it cooled off.

"My sharp grief,” Brodagan sighed from the pillow. “I'll not keep this tooth in my head another day, melady, not if they offer me honey on dishes."

"I have made you a posset, Brodagan,” I said. “I want you to drink it up, and get some sleep. Tomorrow you must have that infected tooth removed.” During the throes of an attack, she always agreed to this, but as soon as the pain eased, she reverted to her claim that if God had meant her to gum her victuals, he would not have put teeth in her head.

"I'll take the hard end of the matter and have it out this time, though it be the end of me,” she moaned. “Why is God doing me such a wrong? I never oppressed a flea in my life."

Mary blessed herself at this questioning of the Almighty. Our servants are all Papists. Brodagan sighed and sipped the posset. “Lie down and get a wink of sleep if you can, Mary,” she said weakly, “for you'll have all the toil of the kitchen on your back tomorrow.” Mary refused to budge. “The girl is an angel to her toes, melady. If her heart was on fire, she'd not leave me in my distress."

"Drink it all up,” I said, holding the cup to her lips until the glass was empty. “You can run along, Mary. I shall stay with Brodagan until she sleeps."

She soon grew drowsy. Mary replaced the cooling brick with a hot one and finally left. I poured myself the other cup of posset and took it to my room. The hot milk was as good as a sleeping draft, and soon I was sleeping as soundly as Brodagan.

And that is why I did not awaken until nearly nine o'clock in the morning. I was just entering the breakfast parlor when Weylin was shown in. His bright eye told me he had enjoyed a good night's sleep. I studied him for any other tacit messages, and thought I detected a trace of admiration as well.

"Borsini is busy with Mama's portrait,” he said. “He hinted to know where I was going when I left the house. I told him I had some business to attend to. He will think I have gone to Aldershot."

I stifled a yawn into my fist and said, “Oh."

Weylin examined me with a worried frown. “You look like the wrath of God, Zoie. Have you spent the entire night searching the attics?"

"No, tending to Brodagan's toothache."

"You have my condolences. I am familiar with the phenomenon. An Irish toothache is like an Irish wake. More sound and fury than a war. By the by, I notice Steptoe keeps bankers’ hours. He did not answer the door."

This was nothing new, but when Mary brought coffee, I asked her to please tell Steptoe I wished a word with him.

Mary blinked in surprise. “Why, Steptoe has left, melady. We thought you had given him his marching papers, for his room is empty and his clothes gone. Brodagan said if she wasn't at death's door, she'd rise up and dance a jig for joy."

"What! Steptoe gone!” I exclaimed.

Both Weylin and myself jumped to our feet in alarm.

"He's gone, miss, but I counted the silver, and he didn't take anything with him, as far as I can tell-except that all the kitchen candles are missing."

"By God, he's found it!” Weylin exclaimed.

"I asked Brodagan to lock the attic door,” I said.

Mary gaped at us as if we had suddenly begun speaking in tongues. I asked her to see how Brodagan was doing, and she left. Without another word, Weylin and I bolted upstairs. The attic door was not only unlocked, but hung ajar. We darted up the narrow stairway, into a scene of chaos.

Barry's trunks had been dragged from the wall into the middle of the room, for easier searching. The contents were flung about at random. The jackets had the lining ripped out. A dozen candles had been arranged in a circle around the trunks, giving the scene a mystical air. They had burned low, indicating a long burning, but at least he had extinguished them before leaving. I sighed wearily, and Weylin uttered a few words never spoken in church.

"Just when I thought Steptoe was beginning to shape up.” I scowled. “He was quite helpful last night when I was making Brodagan's posset. I should have been suspicious that he was awake at two o'clock in the morning. How did he get up here? Brodagan locked the door, and she had the only key."

I picked up a ripped jacket, and there on the floor beneath it sat Brodagan's key ring, with the brass shamrock she carries for good luck.

"How did he get hold of this? It was in Brodagan's room.” Even as I spoke, I realized his ruse. “He knew I was preparing her laudanum. He went into her room and stole the keys, bold as brass, while she slept soundly.” I wondered if he had sneaked a few drops into my own milk as well. That would account for my deep sleep, but I did not mention that. “Borsini is still at Parham, you say?"

"Yes, and Steptoe has not visited, for I have Borsini watched around the clock. He did not stir from the house last night."

"They might be meeting now! Go back to Parham. You'll catch them red-handed."

"If they are meeting, I'll know about it. As I said, Borsini is watched."

I just shook my head in confusion. “At least we are rid of Steptoe once and for all. He won't have the gall to show his nose here after this."

Weylin said, “Let us have a look around his room. He may have left something to tell us where he was going."

I led him to Steptoe's room. Steptoe had packed hastily, leaving half his clothes behind. We searched them for clues, but of course, he was too crafty to leave anything but lint in the pockets.

"This is the dressing gown he was wearing last night,” I said, lifting the green robe, which had been tossed on the end of the bed in his haste. “Quite the peacock! I wonder where he stole this."

"Peacock?” Weylin said, offended. He took the garment and examined it. “He told my valet this got grease spilled on it when it was sent down to be pressed. I shall have a word with my valet about this.” He frowned at the garment. “Perhaps it is just a tad gaudy,” he said sheepishly. “The yellow trim is the culprit."

"Let us go downstairs and have some coffee. I was just about to have breakfast when you arrived."

We went below and found Mama at the breakfast table. “Mary told me about Steptoe,” she said. “Did you find anything interesting abovestairs?"