Page 45 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
Miss Charlotte took a leisurely sip of water. “When did anyone here last see Miss Baxter?”
Another awkward pause.
“Not for months,” said Miss Ellery. “I dare say I haven’t seen her since September.”
“Probably about the same time for us,” said Mr. Steele. Then, at his wife: “Would you not say, my dear?”
Mrs. Steele nodded. “That’s correct, my dear.”
“Miss Fairchild,” asked Miss Charlotte, “have you seen her since September, when you stayed with her on a day she wasn’t feeling well?”
Miss Fairchild shook her head.
“I saw her this past week,” said Mr. Peters breezily. “I was out for a stroll in the small hours of the night and she happened to be out and about, too. She was headed back inside, or I’d have escorted her on the rest of her walk.”
Mrs. Watson stared at him, unable to conceal her astonishment.
Miss Charlotte cocked her head. “How did she look?”
“It was dark, but she looked fine to me.”
“Funny you should mention her late-night stroll. I also saw her this week,” said Dr. Robinson with an easy demeanor, “to consult on her insomnia, of all things. She has a strong disdain for laudanum and wanted to know whether I had anything else that could help her. But she also rejected cannabis, chloral, and potassium bromide. In the end I recommended greater activities. In my experience there is no one who doesn’t sleep soundly after a ten-mile walk. But I most certainly didn’t advise her to do so at night.”
Mrs. Watson had not expected this corroboration.Robinson.Robinson was a most English name, yet she thought she heard a trace of a Continental accent in his speech.
“I saw her today itself,” said Mrs. Crosby.
Mrs. Watson had to suppress an urge to bang her hand on the table and shout,Now this is going too far!
“Is her insomnia better?” inquired Dr. Robinson immediately.
Mrs. Crosby shrugged. “She detests questions concerning her health, especially when something about it displeases her, so I didn’t ask. But she was cross about her father sending outsiders to the Garden.”
“Most understandable,” said Miss Charlotte amiably, as if she weren’t one of those loathsome outsiders. “Is there pudding, by the way?”
It took everyone in the room, including Mrs. Watson, a moment to understand that the topic had moved on from Miss Baxter.
“Yes,” said Miss Ellery, “there should be a nice suet pudding. Mrs. Brown has a way with boiled puddings.”
“Oh, I adore a good boiled pudding,” said Miss Charlotte.
Miss Ellery showed Miss Charlotte how to retrieve the pudding container from a basket. Of the others in the room, only Mrs. Crosby and Mr. Peters also dug into their puddings. Mr. Peters had the air of someone who simply needed more food but Mrs. Crosby seemed to enjoy her pudding as much as Miss Charlotte did, issuing a small sigh after her first spoonful.
For some time, the three ate, and the rest, drinking tea and coffee brought around by Miss Ellery, watched them with varying degrees of uncertainty.
Mrs. Crosby set down her spoon with another sigh. “Mrs. Watson, Miss Holmes, Mr. Peters and I plan to visit the sanctuary after dinner. It’s a tradition at the Garden to offer one’s gratitude there after a safe return from a trip outside. The sanctuary doesn’t open for many other occasions. But since we are going, would you care to join us? I would hate for you to leave without having seen its lovely interior.”
“Why, thank you!” said Mrs. Watson, her surprise genuine. Was this the sanctuary the inside of which Mrs. Felton had never seen, despite her years of service? “We did not expect this privilege but I assure you we are most appreciative of the opportunity.”
“Do be forewarned that the sanctuary is hardly mysterious. It was once the mess hall, when these cottages and lodges were intended as part of a seaside resort. We’ve made it prettier on the inside, but there are no arcane objects or phenomena to be had.”
“I enjoy a séance as an entertaining way to pass an evening, but please rest assured that I did not come to the Garden expecting the occult,” Miss Charlotte answered gravely.
Mrs. Crosby smiled. “Indeed, we have none of that here, only good people gathered together in search of the inner light.”
11
The inside of the former mess hall had been painted blue. The color began as an aquamarine that reminded Mrs. Watson of the clear beach-lapping waters of the Mediterranean, and gradually darkened as the eye traveled upward. Aquamarine, sky blue, twilight blue, and at last, overhead, midnight blue with constellations and their associated astrological signs depicted in gold.
