“That’s a regular feature of these arsenical cases, or so his lordship tells me,” replied Bunter. “A very distressing symptom. Had he ever had anything of the sort before?”
“Not what you could call cramps,” said Hannah, “though I remember when he was ill in the spring he complained of getting the fidgets in the hands and feet. Something like pins-and-needles, by what I understood him to say. It was a worrit to him, because he was finishing one of his articles in a hurry, and what with that and his eyes being so bad, the writing was a trial to him, poor thing.
“From what the gentleman for the prosecution said, talking it out with Sir James Lubbock,” said Mr. Bunter, “I gathered that those pins-and-needles, and bad eyes and so on, were a sign he’d been given arsenic regularly, if I may so phrase it.”
“A dreadful wicked woman she must ’a been,” said Mrs. Pettican, “- ’ev another crumpet, do, Mr. Bunter – a torturin’ of the poor soul that longwinded way. Bashin’ on the ’ed or the ’asty use of a carvin’ knife when roused I can understand, but the ’orrors of slow poisonin’ is the work of a fiend in ’uman form, in my opinion.”
“Fiend is the only word, Mrs. Pettican,” agreed the visitor.
“And the wickedness of it,” said Hannah, “quite apart from the causing of painful death to a fellow-being. Why, it’s only the mercy of Providence we weren’t all brought under suspicion.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pettican. “Why, when master told us about them diggin’ poor Mr. Boyes up and findin’ him full of that there nasty arsenic, it give me sech a turn I felt as if the room was a-goin’ round like the gallopin’ ’orses at the roundabouts. ‘Oh, sir!’ I ses, ‘what, in our ’ouse!’ That’s what I ses, and he ses, ‘Mrs. Pettican,’ he ses, ‘I sincerely hope not.’ ”
Mrs. Pettican, having imparted this Macbeth-like flavour to the story, was pleased with it, and added:
“Yes, that’s what I said to ’im. ‘In our ’ouse,’ I said, and I’m sure I never slep’; a wink for three nights afterwards, what with the police and the fright and one thing and another.”
“But of course you had no difficulty in proving that it hadn’t happened in this house?” suggested Bunter. “Miss Westlock gave her evidence so beautifully at trial, I’m sure she made it clear as clear could be to judge and jury. The judge congratulated you, Miss Westlock, I’m sure he didn’t say nearly enough -so plainly and well as you spoke up before the whole court.”
“Well, I never was one to be shy,” confessed Hannah, “and then, what with going through it all so careful with the master and then with the police, I knew what the questions would be and was prepared, as you might say.”
“I wonder you could speak so exactly to every little detail, all that time ago,” said Bunter, with admiration.
“Well, you see, Mr. Bunter, the very morning after Mr. Boyes was took ill, master comes down to us and he says, sitting in that chair ever so friendly, just as you might be yourself, ‘I’m afraid Mr. Boyes is very ill,’ he says. ‘He thinks he might have ate something as disagreed with him,’ he says, ‘and perhaps as it might be the chicken. So I want you and Cook,’ he says, ‘to run through with me everything we had for dinner last night to see if we can think what it could have been.’ ‘Well, sir,’ I said, ‘I don’t see that Mr. Boyes could have ate anything unwholesome here, for Cook and me had just the same, put aside yourself, sir, and it was all as sweet as it could be,’ I said.”
“And I said the same,” said the Cook, “Sech a plain simple dinner as it was, too- no oysters nor mussels not anythink of that sort, as it’s well known shell-fish is poison to some people’s stummicks, but a good stren’thenin’ drop o’ soup, and a bit of nice fish and a casseroled chicken with turnips and carrots done in the gravy, and a omelette, wot could be lighter and better? Not but there’s people as can’t relish eggs in any form, my own mother was just the same, give her so much as a cake what had bin made with a egg in it and she’d be that sick and come out all over spots like nettle-rash, you’d be surprised. But Mr. Boyes was a great gentleman for eggs, and omelettes was his particular favourite.”
“Yes, he made the omelette himself that very night, didn’t he?”
“He did,” said Hannah, “and well I remember it, for Mr. Urquhart asked particular after the eggs, was they new-laid, and I reminded him they was some he had brought in himself that afternoon from that shop on the corner of Lamb’s Conduit Street where they always have them fresh from the farm, and I reminded him that one of them was a little cracked and he’d said, ‘We’ll use that in the omelette tonight, Hannah,’ and I brought out a clean bowl from the kitchen and put them straight in – the cracked one and three more besides, and never touched them again till I brought them to table. “And what’s more, sir,’ I said, ‘there’s the other eight still here out of the dozen, and you can see for yourself they’re as good and fresh as they can be.’ Didn’t I, Cook?”
“Yes, Hannah. And as for the chicken, that was a little beauty. It was that young, I says to Hannah at the time as it seemed a shame to casserole it, for it would ’ave roasted beautiful. But Mr. Urquhart is very partial to a casseroled chicken, he says as there’s more flavour to ’em that way, and I dunno but what he’s right.”
“If done with a good beef stock,” pronounced Mr. Bunter, judicially, “the vegetables well packed in layers, on a foundation of bacon, not too fat, and the whole well seasoned with salt, pepper and paprika, there are few dishes to beat a casseroled chicken. For my own part, I would recommend a soupçon of garlic, but I am aware that such is not agreeable to all tastes.”
“I can’t a-bear the smell or sight of the stuff,” said Mrs. Pettican, frankly, “but as for the rest I’m with you, always allowing that the giblets is added to the stock, and I would personally favour mushrooms when in season, but not them tinned or bottled sorts as looks pretty but has no more taste to ’em than boot buttons if so much. But the secret is in the cooking, as you know well, Mr. Bunter, the lid being kep’ well sealed down to ’old the flavour and the cookin’ being’ slow to make the juices perambulate through and through each other as you might say. I’m not denyin’ as sech is very ’ighly enjoyable, and so Hannah and me found it, though fond of a good roast fowl also, when well-basted with a good rich stuffing to rejuice the dryness. But as to roasting it, Mr. Urquhart wouldn’t hear of it, and being ’as it’s him that pays the bills, he has the right to give his orders.”
“Well,” said Bunter, “it’s certain if there had been anything unwholesome about the casserole, you and Miss Westlock could scarcely have escaped it.
“No, indeed,” said Hannah, “for I won’t conceal that, being blessed with hearty appetities, we finished it every bit, except a little piece I gave to the cat. Mr. Urquhart asked to see the remains of it next day, and seemed quite put out to find it was all gone and the dish washed up – as though any washing-up was ever left over-night in this kitchen.”
“I couldn’t abear myself if I had to begin the day with dirty dishes,” said Mrs. Pettican. “There was a drop of the soup left – not much, jest a wee drain, and Mr. Urquhart took that up to show to the doctor, and he tasted it and said it was very good, so Nurse Williams told us, though she didn’t have none of it herself.”
“And as for the burgundy,” said Hannah Westlock, “which was the only thing Mr. Boyes had to himself, like, Mr. Urquhart told me to cork it up tight and keep it. And just as well we did, because, of course, the police asked to see it when the time came.”
“It was very far-seeing of Mr. Urquhart to take such precautions,” said Bunter, “when there wasn’t any thought at the time but that the poor man died naturally.”
“That’s what Nurse Williams said,” replied Hannah, “but we put it down to him being a solicitor and knowing what ought to be done in a case of sudden death. Very particular he was, too – got me to put a bit of sticking-plaster over the mouth of the bottle and write my initials on it, so that it shouldn’t be opened accidental. Nurse Williams always said he expected an inquest, but Dr. Weare being there to speak to Mr. Boyes having had these kind of bilious attacks all his life, of course there was no question raised about giving the certificate.”