THEY鈥橰E ALL over the house, Miss Marble,鈥 said Constable Blewitt, waving his thumb in several directions. 鈥溾楨鈥檚 in the dining room. The missus is in the drawing room. And Freddie鈥檚 upstairs in bed, still raving. The two kiddies look as if they will recover 鈥 little Lucia still can鈥檛 remember very much, she鈥檚 very confused, but young Peregrine is almost back to 鈥榠s 鈥榦rrible self. The dog is still a bit off though. Old Ivy has taken 鈥榠m into the garden.鈥
鈥淭hank you Constable. Where鈥檚 Inspector Culpeper?鈥
鈥溾楨鈥檚 in the pantry, Ma鈥檃m, looking to see what it was they ate,鈥 said the policeman.
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鈥淥h, it was food poisoning was it?鈥 Miss Marble cocked her head on one side quizzically.
鈥淥h yes, Ma鈥檃m. The chief says 鈥榚鈥檚 sure of it. Just has to find out what. If you鈥檒l excuse me, I鈥檇 better see how 鈥榚鈥檚 getting on.鈥
Miss Marble headed off in the opposite direction, and quietly slipped into the drawing room. Someone had turned off the fairy lights on the tree, but the room was still festive. An old-fashioned country Christmas, sighed Miss Marble, who had long ago resorted to a cook-chilled turkey lunch for one. But at least she had survived her Christmas dinner.
鈥淪ome of the Larkspur family were pretty poisonous,鈥 she thought, forgetting this was the season of goodwill. Now the father was dead and so was his wife. And she could hear the awful Freddie wailing upstairs. She thought he was screaming something about giant red spiders. The two smaller children were safely out of the way. A nurse from one of those agencies was watching over them. Miss Marble wondered who was paying.
It wasn鈥檛 that she wished them any harm, but this unexpected tragedy had made her Christmas rather more interesting. Her normally heavy tread was noticeably lighter as she set about her investigations unhindered by the presence of Blewitt or Culpeper. She could hear the inspector in the kitchen, crashing about among the jars and joints in his search for some killer strain of salmonella.
Mrs Larkspur lay draped over the arm of an over-chintzy sofa, a bit too close to the still glowing fire for a corpse, thought Miss Marble absent-mindedly. Quite a handsome woman, really. But that necklace 鈥 scarlet and black beads with a green silk blouse?
Glancing around the room, she filed her observations away at the back of her mind for later scrutiny. The gilt-framed mirror over the marble fireplace positively groaned under the weight of holly and mistletoe and trails of ivy tumbled down to the floor. This year, the holly was glorious, with great clusters of scarlet berries. The mistletoe was disappointingly threadbare.
A movement outside the French window caught Miss Marble鈥檚 eye and she turned to investigate. It was only a squirrel leaping from a branch on the old lime tree. 鈥淪o that鈥檚 where they got their mistletoe,鈥 she muttered to herself. It wasn鈥檛 a bad garden, she conceded. That big bank of delphiniums must be a mass of blooms in summer.
She turned back to more essential tasks, absorbing the atmosphere of the room as if it were the sherry she liked to drink at this time of day. There were the usual useless presents 鈥 a grow-your-own loofah on the mantel and some knick-knacks from those mail-order catalogues that drop out of the Sunday papers in October. The crumpled wrapping paper still lay under the tree, and Miss Marble bent down, picked up a few pieces, and carefully smoothed them out on the table.
Miss Marble moved across to the dining room. Good, she thought. Culpeper had not come up to examine the food still left on the table. A Stilton sat in pride of place, with a little glass jug of celery next to it. There were a few mince pies 鈥 and a lead crystal decanter of port. A cigar butt lay in a small silver platter engraved: 鈥淭o Donald In Recognition of Twenty-Five Years at the 鈥極鈥 Press Company鈥.
鈥淐ouldn鈥檛 have had much regard for his colleagues,鈥 muttered Miss Marble, picking up the butt he had ground vigorously into the platter. Mr Larkspur was still in his place at the head of the table. He had clutched at the cloth when he died and his face was hidden in the folds he had pulled towards him.
There was not much else to see. Chairs left at odd angles by children in a hurry to leave the table. But as she turned to go, a little scrap of white by the farthest table leg caught her eye. It was a flower. Miss Marble turned it round in her fingers and placed it on the sideboard. It was time to look around upstairs.
鈥淲ell, Miss Marble, seen enough?鈥 Culpeper intercepted her as she reached the bottom of the staircase.
鈥淵es, thank you Inspector. I鈥檇 better be off now. I鈥檝e got some things to do at home.鈥
The next day, Culpeper鈥檚 phone rang. 鈥淚nspector?鈥 Miss Marble had hoped he would answer the phone himself. She did not relish telling Mrs Culpeper that she was going to steal her husband for a good part of Boxing Day.
鈥淵es, Miss Marble?鈥
鈥淚 think I have the answers.鈥
Culpeper鈥檚 heart sank.
鈥淚t was rather more complicated than I had thought but I think I鈥檝e got it straight now. Perhaps if we all met at the Larkspurs in, say, half an hour?鈥
They met on the doorstep. Ivy opened the door and showed them into the drawing room. Miss Marble winced as Blewitt sat down heavily on the sofa where Mrs Larkspur had been the day before. Culpeper stood by the fireplace. Ivy skulked at the back of the room, hoping no one wanted tea.
鈥淵ou think you know what happened then, Miss Marble?鈥
鈥淵es Inspector. Let鈥檚 start with Bella and the necklace.鈥
Culpeper鈥檚 left eyebrow arched.
A very nervous woman
鈥淭he way I see it, Inspector, Mrs Larkspur would only have worn that necklace if she had no choice 鈥 if someone had given it to her as a present. And I think that someone knew what would happen. You remember, she was a nervous type and always chewing at things. She wouldn鈥檛 chew her nails 鈥 they were always beautifully manicured. But she would chew at just about anything else, a strand of hair or a pen. Do you remember at the gymkhana last year, when little Lucia came last in the best-dressed rider competition? Bella was wearing her pearls 鈥 I even caught her chewing at those! And that鈥檚 what she did yesterday. Only this necklace was made from the seeds of the rosary pea 鈥 Abrus pecatorius, according to my reference books.鈥
鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know you were interested in botany, Miss Marble. I thought you were a geologist 鈥 before you retired that is.鈥
鈥淥h yes, Inspector. I鈥檝e been interested ever since the case of the Arboretum Murders. Anyhow, sometimes all it takes is a single pea. You can suck them quite safely. It鈥檚 only when you break through the coat that the poison leaks out. Apparently, the women who make rosaries and necklaces are sometimes poisoried when they prick their fingers stringing the beads.鈥
Culpeper interrupted: 鈥淏ut why do you think it was murder? Any one of the family could have given her the beads, and they might not have known how poisonous they were.鈥
Miss Marble smiled. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the easy bit. I had my suspicions when I heard Ivy and Constable Blewitt discussing the Larkspurs CD collection. She was very keen on opera, yet the collection is mostly old country and western favourites. He bought them for her every birthday. It seems she was too timid to tell him that she hated them 鈥 but Ivy reckons he knew. So did he buy her the necklace? I hunted about among the wrappers beneath the Christmas tree, trying to match up the bits of paper with the presents. Only one present was small enough to fit this piece of paper 鈥︹ She held up a piece of cheap, garish paper. There鈥檚 no label but look, here under the Santa Claus, he鈥檚 written: 鈥楾o Bella, enjoy, from Donald.鈥 There鈥檚 your answer.鈥
鈥淕o on, Miss Marble.鈥 Culpeper was growing impatient.
鈥淲ell, Donald must have hoped that his dearly beloved wife would one day bite on one of his beads 鈥 but what he didn鈥檛 know was that she had every reason to be in a state of nervousness that afternoon because she was going to kill him. I鈥檓 sure that if he hadn鈥檛 insisted, she would never have worn the necklace at all. Once he was safely dead, she would probably have thrown the beads away.鈥
鈥淲ell, then, how did she do 鈥榠m in before she went off and died?鈥 Blewitt was quite enjoying this.
鈥淪he did him in, Constable, in time-honoured fashion. By the time she had read the entire gardening section of the local library she could have taught the Borgias a thing or two.鈥
鈥淪o she really did say it with flowers?鈥
鈥淧lants rather than flowers. Remember how the dining room was when you arrived? Mr Larkspur slumped over the table, head in the tablecloth. Some dishes still on the table?鈥
鈥淵es, he was on the cheese course,鈥 said Culpeper. 鈥淭he vegetable dish was still there. And the jug of celery. We mustn鈥檛 forget the celery must we?鈥 Inspector Culpeper could be quite facetious at times.
鈥淎bsolutely not. But I鈥檒l get to the celery in a moment. Let鈥檚 start with the parsnips.鈥
鈥淥h, he was the only one who would eat parsnips, and he only got 鈥檈m at Christmas. Ivy spoke for the first time.
鈥淚f you didn鈥檛 eat parsnips regularly, you might think they were one of those new-fangled varieties of vegetable that are springing up in all the supermarkets 鈥 probably from Peru. But they weren鈥檛 parsnips, they were roasted slices of hemlock water dropwort, Oenanthe crocata 鈥 the most dangerous plant in Britain according to the Ministry of Agriculture鈥檚 handbook of poisonous plants. There鈥檚 probably quite a bit of it growing in that boggy bit of meadow over there.鈥 She pointed beyond the garden. 鈥淎pparently, the poison is particularly concentrated at this time of year 鈥 and cooking doesn鈥檛 get rid of it.鈥
She was getting into her stride now. It would be nice if someone poured her a sherry, but better press on, she thought.
鈥淗ad it just been the parsnips, he might have noticed something was wrong and struggled to get help 鈥 not that it would have done him much good. He must have broken out in a sweat and felt a bit wobbly. But then, a lot of people feel like that after Christmas lunch. He had drunk a fair amount and probably decided to sit quietly at the table until the giddiness wore off. But Bella hadn鈥檛 taken any chances.鈥
鈥淲hat do you mean? She was probably at death鈥檚 door by that time,鈥 Culpeper pointed out.
鈥淨uite probably. But the celery was already on the table.鈥
Culpeper raised his eyebrow again.
鈥淛ust like the parsnips, this wasn鈥檛 really celery. Bella had carefully cut him stalks of monkshood. If you look over there beyond the rose bushes 鈥 those aren鈥檛 delphiniums as I thought to begin with but Aconitum napellus 鈥 monkshood, a close relative with the same sort of blue flowers 鈥 only packed with deadly aconitine. Young Iris from the florist鈥檚 says just stripping the leaves off the stems gives her funny turns. So the aconitine killed him before the water dropwort got him.鈥
鈥淏ut which of them tried to kill the children?鈥 asked Blewitt.
鈥淣o one tried to kill the children, Constable. I must admit it did look a bit that way. But all their symptoms were slightly different. No, they were all sick for entirely different reasons鈥.
The officers didn鈥檛 ask. She never needed prompting.
鈥淚 didn鈥檛 attach much importance to the white flower in the dining room. I thought it had fallen from the table. But those were white lilies. This flower is what they call an Angel鈥檚 trumpet, otherwise known as Brugmansia x candida. In any case, although I don鈥檛 like to admit it, I started off on the wrong track. I thought that like most children, Lucia had found the red holly berries in the drawing room irresistible. A quick chat with the people at the poisons unit in London set me straight. Lucia would have had to eat quite a few and would have been sick, but not so confused. It鈥檚 odd, isn鈥檛 it, how birds can eat as many berries as they like with no ill effects?鈥
鈥淲hat about the mistletoe? It didn鈥檛 have many berries left,鈥 asked Culpeper.
鈥淎h, yes. That was a better bet, especially as the mistletoe had been growing on a lime tree 鈥 lime makes the berries more poisonous. But it takes several days before the poison really gets a grip and Lucia is already recovering. So then I started to think about that white flower.鈥
Silent trumpets
鈥淵es, it鈥檚 very pretty. You probably noticed the pot of them in Freddie鈥檚 room,鈥 said Blewitt. 鈥淚n fact, I bought one at the local garden centre for the wife. Selling like hot cakes this year apparently. One of the kids must have been playing with it. Makes a good trumpet doesn鈥檛 it?鈥
鈥淧recisely, Constable. Lucia decided to play at being an angel, complete with trumpet. When she put it to her mouth to blow, she sucked in the nasty stuff 鈥 atropine, scopolamine and hyoscyamine to be precise. It鈥檒l wear off in a day or two. You know, gangs of robbers used to blow extracts of the plant into railway carriages to knock out the passengers. In Iran, they use it to kill dogs 鈥︹
鈥淪o what was Freddie up to? Not suicide surely?鈥 asked Culpeper.
鈥淣o, not Freddie. He went straight from the table to his room to try out a little experiment. He must have read in one of those newspaper supplements about novel ways to get a buzz. Apparently, quite a number of young Americans have tried it 鈥 and had some frightening hallucinations. Giant creepy-crawlies seem to be a common theme. My uncle鈥檚 old groom once told me about a horse dealer who used to liven up his old nags by pushing a few leaves 鈥,鈥 Miss Marble cleared her throat. 鈥淟et鈥檚 say, where you might put the thermometer. It worked a treat, he said. Any part of the plant has the same effect, but you have to be careful. Too much can be deadly 鈥 and even small amounts can play havoc with your memory for a long time after.鈥
Blewitt made a mental note to get rid of his wife鈥檚 plant before his boy discovered it. Miss Marble was off again.
鈥淚t was while I was in Freddie鈥檚 room that I discovered why young Peregrine was so sick. No one was trying to kill him either. Freddie, it seems, was experimenting with more than just Angel鈥檚 trumpets. Did you notice the dermatitis on his hands? I didn鈥檛 think much about it until I stopped to wonder why a 15-year-old boy would have so many pot plants in his room.
鈥淭hen I noticed one of them was a Christmas rose. Perhaps you also noticed the book he had been reading? I鈥檇 have thought Super Mario was more to his taste than that old Greek Pausanias, but you never can tell.鈥
鈥淓xcuse me, Miss Marble, but I鈥檓 confused. Can you tell me what an old Greek geographer and a potted plant have to do with young Peregrine鈥檚 problem?鈥 Culpeper wanted to go home.
鈥淟isten to this.鈥 Miss Marble found the place on the page, and began to read aloud.
鈥溾 Solon invented another trick to outwit the Cirrhaeans. The water in the River Pleistus ran along a channel to the city, and Solon diverted it in another direction. When the Cirrhaeans still held out against the besiegers, drinking well water and rainwater, Solon threw into the Pleistus roots of hellebore, and when he perceived that the water held enough of the drug he diverted it back again into its channel. The Cirrhaeans drank without stint of the water, and those on the wall, seized with obstinate diarrhoea, deserted their posts, and the Amphictyons captured the city.鈥
鈥淪o this chap Solon invented chemical warfare?鈥 asked Blewitt.
鈥淚 doubt he invented it. Nothing鈥檚 ever new is it? Pausanias was describing a battle in 600 BC. Solon鈥檚 hellebore was probably Helleborus niger, the Christmas rose. Freddie thought it might be funny to sentence his brother to Christmas in the lavatory, so he shredded some leaves 鈥 the sap caused the rash on his hands 鈥 and somehow got Peregrine to swallow them.鈥
鈥淵ou鈥檝e forgotten the dog, Miss Marble. I suppose you鈥檙e going to say it was experimenting with drugs,鈥 said Culpeper.
鈥淣ot at all. It was Ivy.鈥
鈥淵ou mean the dog ate ivy?鈥 asked Constable Blewitt.
鈥淣o, Ivy,鈥 she said, beckoning the old woman to join them nearer the fire. 鈥淚vy is a stickler for recycling, saving water and all those things the local greenies keep telling us we should do. Mrs Larkspur asked Ivy to clear the flowers from the dining room table ready for the Christmas arrangement of lilies. So she put the old flowers on the compost heap 鈥 and put the water from the vase in the dog鈥檚 bowl.鈥
鈥淲aste not want not, Miss Marble,鈥 Ivy said a little sulkily.
鈥淔ortunately for the dog, all he got was the water. The flowers 鈥 lily of the valley, Ivy tells me 鈥 have at least 15 different poisons in them. Anyway, that explains the dog.鈥
鈥淪o there鈥檚 no one to arrest?鈥 Blewitt was visibly disappointed.
鈥淚鈥檓 afraid not, Constable. Although you might recommend that the librarian keep a close eye on anyone who spends an unusual amount of time among the botany books.鈥
Strange, thought Miss Marble. Culpeper was looking as down-in-the-mouth as Blewitt.
How, he was wondering, was he going to tell his wife that he wanted her Christmas necklace back?