Too Close to the Sun (55 page)

‘But you say they’re poisonous.’

‘The seeds are, yes.’ He indicated the drawing with his fingertip, touching the part where the fruits were shown. ‘The fruits are very attractive. They’re bronze-to-red in colour, and some of them are spined – it depends on the variety. Though in India people often remove the fruits before they ripen, because of the poison concentrated in the seeds. As I say, it wouldn’t do for children to get hold of them and start chewing them up.’

Grace gave a little nod. ‘But I find that puzzling. You say the plant gives us castor oil – but at the same time it’s said to be poisonous.’

‘That’s correct. The oil from it is used medicinally, but other parts of it are very deadly, oh yes.’

‘I had some seeds …’ she said, and dipping into her bag again brought out a little screw of paper. This she opened and spread, and revealed the seeds she had taken from Edward’s drawer. ‘These,’ she said. ‘Are these the seeds of the plant?’

The doctor bent closer and looked carefully at the mottled, bean-like seeds. ‘May I ask, where did you get these?’ he asked.

Grace was not sure how best to answer this, and went for
the truth. ‘They came from a plant at the house,’ she said after a moment.

‘Growing in a greenhouse, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, it would have to be.’

Smiling again, making light of the whole issue, she said, ‘As I said, I was having an argument with my brother and –’

‘Oh, there’s no doubt about it,’ he said, ‘ – these are from the castor oil all right. They’re easily recognizable – very distinctive.’ He gave an emphatic nod. Then, taking up his pen, he used the tip of it to move one of the seeds on the paper. ‘In the wrong hands those could be very dangerous. Very dangerous indeed.’

Grace did not respond verbally, but merely looked at him questioningly.

‘There have been many cases of poisoning with such seeds in India,’ he said. ‘Very often farmers have poisoned their neighbours’ cattle with them.’ With a slight, ironic smile, he added, ‘And sometimes their mothers-in-law.’

Grace said, ‘But I still don’t understand how the plant can be beneficial and poisonous at the same time.’

‘As you know, castor oil is commonly used – and its manufacture is quite an industry. But a part of the seed other than the oil is absolutely deadly.’

‘What is that?’

‘It comes from the heart of the seed, right inside the kernel – and just the tiniest portion of it is poisonous.’

‘And if you swallowed one of the seeds you –’

‘Oh, you’d need to have more than one. Probably nine or ten. A smaller number could still make you very ill. Three or four would probably kill a child. I must add that I’m not an expert on ricin – that’s what the poison’s known as.’ He pointed to the written title on Billy’s drawing. ‘
Ricinus communis
. Oh, ricin is one of the deadliest natural poisons known to man.’

‘One of the deadliest, you say.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And I’d never heard of it.’

‘I doubt that you would. It doesn’t grow naturally in England. It doesn’t grow naturally in any of the chilly European countries. It needs a warm climate – or at least a temperate one. Of course countries like India and Brazil and Africa are perfect. I doubt very much that England has ever had a case of ricin poisoning. I’ve certainly never heard of such a thing.’ He shook his head. ‘And something else,’ he added, ‘ – you spoke just now about swallowing the seeds. Well, it wouldn’t do any harm to swallow them. They would just go straight through, and be passed in the normal way.’

‘So you’d need to chew them.’

‘Oh, indeed. There’s a story of Greece from ancient times that suspects were given these seeds, and told to eat them, to chew them up. If the suspect died, that was a sign that he was guilty; if he lived, then he was innocent. But what happened is that sometimes the suspects would be given the tip: “Don’t chew the beans. Pretend to chew them, but swallow them whole.” And they did, and they lived.’

A little pause, then Grace said, ‘And if a number of seeds were ground up, and fed to someone, what would happen?’

‘Well, with enough seeds it would be fatal. Though probably you wouldn’t need to grind up the whole bean – that would be rather gritty to eat. Probably it would be better to crush the bean and take out the centre. Do this with several beans and mix the stuff with food, and this would be deadly. Quite deadly.’

‘What kind of form does it take – the illness after swallowing the poison?’

‘Well, I never actually had a proven case in India. Mind you, I left the country soon after I qualified, so I wasn’t
practising there for very long. But such cases were well known to the medical profession. And as for proving a case – this isn’t so easy. The thing is, the poison doesn’t leave any residue in the body. It’s all excreted in the normal way – so all you’re left with is the effect – the devastation. Which, of course, along with the symptoms, can be pretty conclusive anyway.’

Grace paused a moment before her next question, then said, ‘What are the symptoms, can you tell me?’

He pondered this question for only a moment before answering, ‘It takes two to three days to die – and there’s a gradual weakening, loss of appetite, sickness, diarrhoea, fever. Heavy perspiration – and towards the end the patient is generally rambling and raving. I think the suffering must be very bad. Sometimes the illness is misdiagnosed – it’s been put down to septicaemia – blood poisoning of unknown origin. It has certain things in common with such an illness.’

Grace said, ‘Do you know how soon after the poison is taken the symptoms begin to show?’

‘They wouldn’t show up immediately. Certain poisons are instantaneous in causing responses, but not ricin. It takes some time for the symptoms to manifest – sometimes up to ten hours – then there’s no going back. I know these things because it’s one of the things we were taught to look out for as medical students. Such a poison being available to just about anybody. And there’s no antidote, as far as is known.’

A little silence fell, then Dr Mukerjee said, ‘I don’t know what else I can tell you, Mrs Spencer.’

‘Oh, you’ve been so helpful. It’s been fascinating. And I’ve taken up so much of your time.’

‘Not at all. I’m happy to help out if I can.’ He smiled. ‘It certainly isn’t something I ever expected to get asked about in a place like this.’

Back at Liddiston station Grace caught the train for the one-stop journey to Berron Wick from where she set out to walk to Asterleigh.

As she walked she thought of what the doctor had told her: outward manifestations of the poison usually started several hours after it was ingested. She thought of the symptoms that the doctor had described, and saw Mrs Spencer once again lying in her bed, tossing and turning in her fever, her voice coming in broken fragments of nonsensical speech.

And she saw again the scene earlier in the bedroom as Mrs Spencer had lain in bed, recovering so well from her bout of pneumonia; and she heard again her words saying that at Mr Spencer’s insistence she had drunk some broth before he had left, before he had gone off to make his journey for his business abroad. And hours later Mrs Spencer had been taken so ill, and her illness all in tune with the symptoms so recently described by Dr Mukerjee. But no, surely not, a voice in her head protested. Surely such a thing could not have happened. But how else to explain Mrs Spencer’s sudden deterioration when she had all but recovered from her common illness? And how else to explain the seeds in Edward’s drawer? They had been put there by him and no one else. And surely there could be no innocent explanation for such an act. Another question came into her mind: what were the seeds doing still in his drawer? If he had made use of them, then why was he keeping them still?

The deepening conviction seemed so overwhelming that it filled her thoughts and blotted out everything in her sight. She was aware of nothing of her surroundings as she passed along, her feet taking her automatically in the right direction. And so at last she came to Asterleigh.

Back in the house she went to the conservatory again, and looked once more at the spot where the plant had stood growing in its large pot. Of course it was not there. Did she,
she asked herself, think earlier that perhaps she had imagined its absence?

After changing out of her outdoor clothes she went into her sewing room and there sat by the window.

Edward got back to the house just after 6.30. Grace was still in her sewing room when she heard the sound of the carriage on the gravel. Billy was with her, having come to her after having his high tea in the kitchen. ‘That’s Mr Edward coming in,’ Billy had said, moving to the window and looking down. Then, turning to Grace:

‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong?’

‘The matter?’ Grace had said. ‘Nothing’s the matter.’

‘You’re so – quiet and – strange. Has something happened?’

‘No, nothing,’ she had said, forcing a smile at him which, she could see, he was doing his best to take at face value. ‘You’re imagining things again.’

Soon afterwards Billy had gone to his room. He was never known these days to hang about in the presence of Edward Spencer.

A minute after she heard Billy’s receding footsteps on the stairs she heard the approaching steps of Edward.

He came into the room and looked at her with a smile. ‘I can always find you in here,’ he said. He had shed his coat and hat and now undid the top button of his waistcoat as he stood there. He held a glass of whisky in his hand.

‘Yes, well, it’s my special room,’ she said, flicking a glance at him.

‘Your special room?’ He gave a chuckle.

‘I like to have a little place I can think of as my own.’ She could feel her smile false on her mouth.

He nodded. ‘Quite right too. Everybody needs some little place that has a degree of privacy.’

She half-hoped that he would be in no mood to dine with
her tonight – though she knew she was only putting off the inevitable – and would instead choose to have a tray sent up to his study. But this evening he seemed to be in a better mood and no mention was made of his eating alone.

Somehow Grace found herself getting through the meal, though at times she wondered how she managed it. The conversation between herself and Edward was a little stilted and desultory, but it was not infrequently like that of late. Besides, Edward himself did not seem so forthcoming as usual, notwithstanding that he had been drinking whisky quite steadily before they sat down at table, and partook liberally of the wine throughout the meal. When at last they got up from the table he told the maid that she could bring the coffee as soon as it was ready, and he and Grace went into the drawing room.

A bright fire was burning in the grate with the logs crackling and hissing. As Grace sat down, Edward moved to the drinks tray and poured himself whisky from the decanter. Grace did not so much as acknowledge the action with a glance but fixed her eye on the flames of the fire, longing for the time to pass.

‘Would you like something?’ Edward asked, his free hand touching the top of the sherry decanter.

‘No, thank you,’ Grace replied.

‘Are you sure? It’s going to be a cold night.’

‘No, really, thank you.’

Edward nodded, and with whisky glass in hand, moved to stand with his back to the fire. A wind had sprung up also, Grace could hear; it was moving around the house and now starting to rattle the windows. Listening to it, she thought of that evening long ago when she had sat here with the first Mrs Spencer and the wind had howled about them. What changes had been seen in the intervening time. Then, on that occasion, she had been a paid companion,
Mrs Spencer her mistress. Now the title of Mrs Spencer was hers, she was mistress of the house – for what it was worth – and the first Mrs Spencer was in her grave.

The maid, Effie, brought the coffee in on a tray and placed it on the coffee table before Grace where she sat on the sofa. Grace thanked her, and silently the maid departed. The girl’s appearance, Grace thought, could be seen as her cue: she must at some time, and soon, bring up the matter of the maid’s reference.

‘Are you ready for your coffee now?’ Grace asked, and Edward gave a brief, irritable shake of his head. ‘I don’t want any coffee. I’ve got enough trouble sleeping as it is.’

‘One small cup?’

‘I told you, I don’t want any.’

Grace gave a small nod of acknowledgement, then took up the coffee pot and poured a small cup for herself. She did not want any coffee either, but it was a small ritual that helped pass another minute. ‘Oh, I have to tell you,’ she said, as if the thought had only just that moment occurred to her, ‘ – I had occasion to go into your study yesterday.’ And then added before Edward could leap in: ‘I had to get Effie’s reference.’

‘How did you get into my study?’ he said at once. ‘The door’s locked. I always keep it locked.’

‘Mrs Sandiston unlocked it for me.’ She paused, added, ‘I asked her to.’ She flicked a glance at him and then looked away again. He was gazing at her with a dark expression, his hand with his whisky glass half-raised.

‘It’s just that – there was some little panic over getting Effie’s reference,’ Grace said. ‘You said you’d write it and leave it out in the hall.’

‘I forgot,’ he said, his eyes never leaving her face for a moment, as if afraid of missing something that was not in her words. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

‘I know that, Edward. Anyway, as I say, Mrs Sandiston opened your study door and I went in and found the reference at once. There in the middle drawer where you’d left it.’

The briefest pause before he said, ‘And what else did you find?’

‘What?’

‘I said, what else did you find?’

She forced herself to look directly at him now, her unflinching gaze meeting his own. ‘What else did I find? I didn’t find anything else. I wasn’t looking for anything else. I opened the middle drawer of your desk and there was the maid’s reference. I saw what it was at once, so I didn’t need to go rummaging around.’

Silence between them, a silence that hung in the air like a fog untouched by the sound of the wind that buffeted the house. It was a silence that Grace knew she must break in order to save the situation.